“Is that past or present tense?” Walt asked. “The thing.”

Cutter adjusted himself in the chair. “We had a history. She wanted to update the files, as it turned out. Keep them current. But I discouraged that. Didn’t avoid it completely, but discouraged it.”

“Physically?”

“Meaning?”

“You don’t understand physically discouraging someone?”

“She can be…difficult…to say no to. Was…I guess I should say. Can’t get used to that.” He moved in the chair once more. Then he lowered his voice, despite the room being empty. “I slept with her the night of Paddy’s party. The cocktail party at his place. During the party. It just kind of happened.”

Walt had seen the two up on the balcony hallway. He maintained his poker face, but inside he was reeling. He’d not anticipated Danny’s candor. “That sounds like encouragement to me. I’m talking about discouragement.”

Danny’s eyes went distant, then focused and found Walt. “You’re talking about her arms, aren’t you? I bruised her, didn’t I? She was pissed at me for that. Steaming mad. Said if Stu saw any bruises…She was afraid of Stu. I gather the resentful-old-man thing is not entirely an act.”

“What bruises?” This was what Walt asked, but mentally he made a note to check on Stuart Holms’s jealousies.

“She came by the house. This is yesterday morning. We had words. Allie liked getting her way, and our ways were a little divergent. I took it a little too far. What can I say? Shit happens. She liked to play the sex card, and sometimes, quite frankly, it got a little old. Scratch my itch and I’ll do you favors. But I didn’t want any favors.” He paused and rubbed the corner of his lips with his knuckle. “Rehab wasn’t totally lost on me.”

“Who doesn’t want the favors of a woman like Ailia Holms?” Walt asked.

“A man who’s had Ailia Holms,” Danny answered. “It wasn’t those kind of favors. It was money stuff. I didn’t want her help, that’s all.”

Walt said nothing.

“The really strange thing?” Danny asked rhetorically. “I was attacked by a cougar the day before yesterday. Did you hear about that?” He studied Walt. “I’m sure you did. Thing could have taken me down, taken me out, and instead it turns around and leaves me alone. Just like that. Gets you to thinking, I’ll tell you what. You kidding me? You know what I decided? I want to be useful. To make my life useful. To someone, something, other than me. And I want to get there on my own. Break out the frickin’ violins-I can see it in your face-but I’m serious, Sheriff.” He scratched his lips again. “And now Allie out Adam’s Gulch last night. A cougar. Right? Maybe the same cougar. How bizarre is that?”

“It’s plenty bizarre,” Walt said flatly. He noted that Danny Cutter had put Ailia’s attack as night. Not even Royal McClure had done so. He struggled with seeing Danny Cutter as guilty. He didn’t want to believe it.

“So, when was the last time you saw her?” Walt probed.

“And that’s another thing,” Danny said, not answering directly. “Who goes on a run twice in the same day? Are you buying that? That’s not Allie. That’s not right.”

“The last time you saw her?”

“Yesterday afternoon. I had a meeting with Stu-a business thing. Allie stopped by.” He paused. “I’ve got to tell you: I didn’t love it-her stopping by. And Stu was weird about it. They had it planned-frickin’ choreographed-and I was the odd man out. And I hate that.”

Walt searched the man’s face and decided he was telling the truth.

“I don’t know how much of this is relevant, Sheriff, but you’re probably going to hear it anyway… Stu agreed to invest some serious money in a thing I’ve got going. I’ve got to tell you: That surprised me in the first place. And then he drops this bomb on me that the deal comes with strings attached. The strings were Allie: I take her on as my partner or forget the investment.”

“And you didn’t like that because…?”

“Because of the strings. Whether you or anyone else believes it, I’m serious about changing my act. But the thing is: Stu must have known about us. What kind of husband sets up his wife like that? What kind of fool sense does that make?”

Walt made notes, wondering at the interconnections and the involvement of the husband. “Maybe later today, maybe Monday, I’ll get the preliminary autopsy report. We’ll know if it was an accident or not.”

“Since when is a cougar attack not an accident?”

“I’ve got to ask for your passport, Danny.”

“What?” The man looked shell-shocked.

“Everything we’ve discussed here is confidential. I hear it come from someplace else, I’m coming after you, and let me remind you, this conversation was recorded with your consent.”

“You’re flipping me out. What do you mean ‘not an accident’?”

“I need your passport on my desk by five P.M. I don’t get it by five, I’ll seek a warrant.”

“Where are you coming from? Me? I liked Allie. Not an accident? Leave me out of this. Please.”

“No way to do that. I’m sorry to say this, Danny, but you might want to call Doug.” Doug Aanestad had served as Danny’s attorney during the drug bust.

“I’m starting over here. I actually have something good going.” He was pleading now. He looked a little pitiful. Sounded childish as he mumbled, “I have a business plan. A good one. Ask Paddy. Come on, Walt. You know this town. I’m toast.”

“It’s messy,” Walt said. “I wish I could tell you otherwise.”

“Me in a mess?” Danny asked, sarcastic anger boiling out of him. “Now there’s something new. Give me a break, Walt. Come on! Please.”

As Walt stood, he stopped the iPod from recording and pocketed the device. He placed a hand on Danny’s shoulder, tried to think of something to say, then turned for the door.

F iona was leaning against the Cherokee’s front bumper, impatiently tapping a newspaper against her thigh. She wore khaki capris and a lavender shirt with oversized white buttons. Valet parking had left the Cherokee under the lodge’s massive portico out of the noonday sun. Walt unlocked it with the remote, and Fiona climbed in without invitation.

As Walt took the wheel she said, “Drive me over to my car, please. It’s too hot to walk, and I’ve been waiting an eternity.” She rolled down the window. “I looked for you everywhere.”

“You could have called,” he pointed out.

“I tried. You weren’t picking up.”

“Ah…I was in the basement. The bowling alley.”

She looked at him askance.

“Business,” he said. “I’m a sucky bowler. Don’t go there.”

“It’s my fault,” she said, as Walt turned into the massive parking lot looking for her car. He hoped she might direct him, but her tone told him to keep his mouth shut. “You know when you’ve got a name or something right on the tip of your tongue, but you can’t for the life of you remember it? It was like that for me.” She looked at him, her eyes begging that he make the connection.

Walt stared back blankly.

“The bird droppings,” she said, holding the newspaper out in front of him now and blocking his vision.

He took her by the wrist, moved the paper out of his way, and pulled over. “What about them?”

“I made the photos.”

“I was there, Fiona. I know that.”

“Not those photos,” she said dismissively, as if it was the clearest thing in the world. “Read!”

Walt took the paper from her. It was folded open to page five. The article was titled “Bombs Away: County Pound Goes to the Birds.” Walt recalled his father teasing him about the article.

“And there’s something else-” she said.

Walt cut her off. “Let me read.”

“I blew it.”

“Hang on. Swallows at the pound,” he said, remembering.

“Hundreds of them leaving bird droppings on all the cats and dogs,” she said, caught up in his enthusiasm. “The health department threatened-”

“To close them down. Yes.”