She blew out an annoyed breath. “Probably. I just don’t remember that well. He was ordinary, mildly irritating but only because he seemed more interested in asking me about that sort of thing than about the refuge. Coop, I have dozens of conversations any given week with people I don’t know and don’t remember well.”

“Most of them don’t kill people. Try harder.”

She pressed her fingers to her eyes, thinking, thinking, trying to put herself back to that summer, that brief period. Hot, she thought. It was hot that summer, and insects-the parasites and diseases they could carry-were something they battled constantly.

Cleaning, disinfecting. They’d had an injured marmot. Or was that the summer before?

The smells. Sweat, dung, sunscreen.

Lots of tourists. The summer was prime for that.

She got a vague picture of standing in an enclosure, giving it a second rinsing after cleaning and disinfecting. Explaining to him? Yes, explaining to him about the procedures and protocols for providing safe, clean, healthy environments for the animals.

“The cougar’s enclosure,” she murmured. “I’d cleaned their toys. The blue ball Baby especially liked, the orange pylon, the red ball. All cleaned and stacked while I rinsed, and I explained all the steps to the daily cleanings. And…”

She struggled, but still couldn’t really see him. Just another guy in boots, cowboy hat, jeans. But…

“At some point he asked if I thought I was reclaiming sacred land for my people and their spirit guides-the animals. I was busy. I’m not sure exactly what I said. Probably that I was more interested in protecting the actual animals, and educating people, than spirit guides.”

Coop nodded. “So you dismissed him again.”

“Damn it.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “Now I sound like a bitch. I wasn’t bitchy about it. He was helping out. I wouldn’t have been bitchy. And what I said isn’t even entirely true. The cougar’s mine. Spirit guide or talisman, or whatever you choose to call it. But it’s private, it’s personal. I don’t trade off it.”

“Do you remember anything else? What he said, or did? How he reacted?”

“We were busy. Chichi was sick-the leopard we lost that fall. She was old and sick, and I was distracted. I don’t know, honestly, whether it’s hindsight or I’m projecting now that I know all this, but I didn’t particularly like him. He’d just sort of pop up out of nowhere. Just be there. He spent a lot of time around the enclosures, watching the animals, and me.”

“You? Specifically?”

“It feels like that now. But people do-it’s my place. I’m in charge and the refuge carries my name. Except… Baby didn’t like him. I’d forgotten that. Baby likes attention, but he wouldn’t come to the fence when this guy was around. He wouldn’t purr. In fact, a couple of times he charged the enclosure fence when Ethan was around. And that’s not Baby’s normal behavior. He’s not aggressive, and he likes people.”

“But he didn’t like this one.”

“I guess not. Otherwise, Ethan wasn’t here that much or that long, and we didn’t interact much. He didn’t wear a bear-tooth necklace or anything like that. I would’ve noticed, and remembered.”

“It would’ve stood out in a place like this. Animal refuge. You’d have noted it, commented.” Coop studied her face. “You wouldn’t have liked it.”

“You’re right about that. Coop, do you seriously think this man has killed all these people? That he’s the one who killed Melinda Barrett?”

“No proof. All of this is circumstantial. It’s speculation.”

“That’s not what I asked. Is it what you really think?”

“Yeah. Why aren’t you afraid?”

“I am.” The shudder caught her unexpectedly as if to prove it. “But being afraid doesn’t help. I need to talk to my parents. They need to know.”

“My grandfather’s taking care of that. I thought they’d be here.”

“I asked them to stay home tonight. I used guilt,” she added with a tight smile. “You’re worried about me? How about me being worried about you? I’ll worry if you don’t get a decent night’s sleep, and so on. My father put in six hours on the search today. My mother rode fence, they brought Jerry Tobias in to ride with her, and he hasn’t ridden fence in five years. Now I wish I hadn’t said anything. If they were here, they’d be tired, but I’d know they were okay.”

“Call them. You’ll feel better.”

She nodded. “If you’re right, he’s been killing since he was basically a boy. I can’t understand what drives someone to that, to make death his life’s work.”

Coop sat back, scanning her face. “That’s exactly what it is. His life’s work. You may not understand what makes him, but you understand that. I got some background. He spent some time in the system as a kid. Bounced from his parents to foster homes and back again. His father did some time, small time. Knocked him and his mother around off and on. She never pressed charges. They moved around a lot. Then he’s off the grid for a while. It looks like they did itinerant work, around here, in Wyoming, Montana. His old man got busted for poaching right here in the national forest.”

“Here?”

“When Ethan would’ve been about fifteen. No record of the mother at that time.”

“I could have met him,” she murmured. “I don’t remember him, but it’s possible. Or passed him in town or on the trail when we went hiking.”

“Or he might’ve seen you. Your family. Maybe he and his father came by looking for work.”

“I don’t remember.” She sighed, irritated with herself, and got up to dig up some crackers. She pulled a hunk of cheddar out of the fridge while she talked. “My parents don’t hire drifters as a rule. I think that policy was mostly because of me. They’re generous, but they’re protective. They wouldn’t have hired strangers, especially not when I was about thirteen and we’re talking about a man and his mid-teenage boy.”

She paused, worked up a smile as she set the quick snack on the table. “And I’d remember a fifteen-year-old boy who worked around the farm when I was that age. I was just really starting to find boys interesting.”

“In any case, from what I’ve been able to put together Ethan took off right around that time, and that’s when I lose him for a couple years. I picked him up when he got work as a trail guide in Wyoming. He’d’ve been eighteen. He lasted six months. Took off with one of the horses, some gear and provisions.”

“A man doesn’t steal a horse when he’s going to hit the road. He steals it when he’s going to hit the trail.”

With a nod that might’ve been approval, Coop topped a cracker with cheese, then handed it to her. “You might’ve made a half-decent cop.”

“It’s just plain logic, but what about his parents? Maybe if we were able to talk to them we’d get a clearer picture.”

“His father died eight years ago in Oshoto. Complications from a lifetime of alcohol abuse. I can’t find anything on the mother. Nothing for the last seventeen years. The last I had, she cashed her paycheck in Cody, Wyoming, where she worked as kitchen help in a diner. Nobody remembers her. Seventeen years,” he said with a shrug. “But up until then she worked. A few weeks, a few months, some space between jobs. But she picked up jobs wherever they were. Then she didn’t.”

“You think she’s dead.”

“People who are motivated enough, afraid enough, figure out how to hide. She could’ve changed her name. Hell, she could’ve moved to Mexico and gotten remarried and is at this moment bouncing a fat, happy grandkid on her knee. But I figure, yeah, she’s dead. Had an accident, or maybe her husband tuned her up once too often.”

“He’d have been just a boy. This Ethan. If that happened, if he saw that happen…”

His face went hard, went cold. “That’s what his lawyer will say. The poor, abused boy, damaged, broken by an alcoholic father and a passive mother. Sure, he killed all those people, but he’s not responsible. Screw that.”