“Kevin,” his mother said sharply.

“Not now, Mom.”

Walt stepped closer to the bed and looked down at the boy. “I’m giving you a chance that the Ketchum officers won’t.”

“The alarm went off. We panicked,” the boy said. “I’m going to sleep now.” He closed his eye tightly.

Walt’s radio squawked. He listened as the dispatcher called out a series of codes followed by “…dba: Aker’s Veterinarian Services.” He checked his watch: 2 A.M. Two break-ins in one night. He called in. The vet’s clinic was outside city limits and less than half a mile south of the hospital. Walt was the closest officer.

“I gotta go,” he told her. “But I’ll be back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “And neither is he.”

A Ketchum Police Department squad car, its rack flashing red, white, and blue, was parked at a hurried angle in front of the clinic’s log cabin entrance. The front door had been left open and the lights were on. He saw the uniformed officer inside, using the phone.

Walt parked the Cherokee and took over responsibility from the Ketchum cop. Brandon was the next to arrive, his trailer only a quarter mile down the road. The two men couldn’t look at each other. Mark Aker’s pickup truck pulled in and, much to Walt’s surprise, so did Fiona’s Subaru.

Aker hurried into the building. Brandon followed. Fiona collected her camera gear. She wore what could have been pajama bottoms and a faded pink T-shirt under a down vest and a pair of blue Keens.

“I’m right up the hill in the Engls’ guesthouse. I heard the siren,” she explained.

“If you’re here as part of my office,” he said, “you’re welcome inside. If you’re here for the newspaper, I’d ask you to hang back.”

“Understood. I’m here for you,” she said.

They caught up to Aker in an exam room. Walt spotted the broken cabinet and the busted padlock clasp on a refrigerator.

“Meds?” he said.

“Knew what they were looking for.” Aker donned a pair of latex gloves and looked through the cabinet.

Fiona stepped away from them and began photographing.

Aker glanced out the window, shouted, “Oh, shit!” and hurried outside.

Walt followed as he crossed the courtyard. Aker entered the back barn and threw on some exterior lights. Animal eyes-dozens of them-peered from the dark.

“They let them all out!” Aker shouted. Walt followed at a run into the back barn. Empty, the cage doors hanging open.

Aker cursed a blue streak, pacing back and forth. “Most of these are sick animals.”

“How many?” Walt asked.

The vet shook his head and shot him a hot look. “They’re under my care,” he mumbled. He threw open another door, looking across a second small courtyard. “Oh, God…My training dogs…I can’t believe this! Who would do such a thing?”

Walt thought he knew the answer to that. “ Brandon!” he shouted. His deputy came running, arriving out of breath. Walt said, “When you followed Bartholomew, did you happen to find out where he was staying?”

W alt rolled down the window to fight off the internal heat that arose from him sitting two feet from Tommy Brandon. The Cherokee passed into Ketchum city limits. “Is she there? Did you leave her there when the on-call came through?”

“I think maybe this is between you and her,” Brandon said.

“This is me asking you if my wife was in your trailer when you got the call.” Walt waited for Brandon to say something. “If you’re going to sleep with my wife, you could at least own up to it.”

“She’s there,” he said, turning to face the passenger window.

Walt gripped the wheel more tightly. “How long?”

“Sheriff…”

“A month? Six months? What?”

“Turn right,” Brandon instructed. He navigated Walt through back streets to a Trail Creek condominium that he and Fiona had identified while following Bartholomew.

“I didn’t even know these condos were here.”

“Brand-new,” Brandon told him.

Walt shot him a look. Did he mean the condos or his relationship with Gail? He let it go, realizing he’d already gone too far. But the guy was fucking his wife, so he expected a little slack.

To him condos all looked the same.

On his fourth ringing of the doorbell, he heard footsteps. He and Brandon displayed the creds for the benefit of the door’s fish-eye lens. Bartholomew opened the door, barely awake.

“A few questions,” Walt said.

“My attorney,” Bartholomew grumbled. He scratched the crotch of his boxer shorts. “I’ll write down the number.” Before Walt could object he’d shut the door. When he opened it again he had a phone to his ear and his hair had been finger combed into place. “Not answering,” he said. He set the phone on the side table. “Why don’t we try this again tomorrow morning.”

“We can do this in Hailey, if you like,” Walt said. “Hailey, as in taking a ride.”

“Because?”

“The local vet’s was broken into and all the animals liberated. Sound familiar?”

Walt considered himself to be a good judge of character. If that was the case, Bartholomew knew nothing about the break-in.

“It’s three in the morning. I’m hungover. And you’ve got us wrong: First Rights is focused on child labor and every human’s right to free speech. I do not condone or support militant animal rights groups. Not now, not ever.” He rubbed his head. “It’s too late for this.”

If not politics, had the animals been released as a ruse to cover the theft of medical supplies?

He thanked Bartholomew and said good night. The bewildered man stood watching as he and Brandon returned to the Cherokee.

“What just happened?” Brandon asked from the passenger seat.

Walt kept his eye on the road as he asked, “What does she see in you? Or is it all about the sex right now?”

They drove in silence, not a word spoken, for the return to the vet’s. As he parked the car Walt said, “We have two kids, you know,” and left Brandon in the car thinking about that.

T revalian heard a woman’s voice say, “Isn’t that him?” It came from the hotel’s registration desk. His instinct was to flee.

He turned and headed up the stairwell, pretending he’d not heard her comment.

At 3 A.M. the hotel lobby was empty. The woman at registration had to have been speaking to someone. The hotel detective?

He cautioned himself to stay calm. They couldn’t possibly connect him to the recent events. He’d changed shirts. Donned a jacket. Shaler’s clothes were in the knapsack slung over his right shoulder.

“Sir? Mr. Meisner?” A male voice a few feet behind him.

He knows my name.

Trevalian stopped and turned on the stairs. He was looking at a man in his mid-forties, fit and darkly tanned. A full head of hair. He’d sprung up the stairs like a ballerina.

“Yes?” Trevalian said.

“I wonder if you might have a minute?”

“You are?”

“Neil Parker.” He offered a business card. Sun Valley Company. Guest services.

“It’s three in the morning.”

“There’s been an…incident,” Parker said.

Two things occurred to Trevalian: They’d found the compound he’d cooked, or they had him for the break-ins.

“It’s a situation that requires discretion on all our parts,” Parker said.

“I’m afraid it’s very late, and I’m very tired and I don’t understand.” Trevalian evaluated his chances of breaking the guy’s neck without any noise. Not great.

Parker climbed another step.

Trevalian extended his hand to stop the man. “I don’t like tight spaces,” he explained. He could knee the man in the face from this position.

Parker lowered his voice. “There’s been an incident with one of our staff. A Ms. Cunningham.” He answered Trevalian’s blank expression. “Lilly Cunningham. Our lounge singer in the Duchin Lounge. I believe you met Lilly.”