“What?” Heck blurted.

“You didn’t know? Didn’t you stop at the house?”

“I didn’t see a house. I hightailed it west as soon as I saw your prints.”

To a troubled Trenton Heck, Owen explained about the killing, the terrible butchery in Cloverton. He then told him about the antique cars stowed in a barn. “I figured he’d try to lead us off track with that motorcycle. He drove it south a few hundred yards and dumped it in a marsh somewhere to fool everybody, I’d guess. Then he took the Cadillac and came here. That man is too damn smart.”

Heck asked, “What’s your interest in all this?”

Owen stooped down and retied his boots, which were muddy and scuffed but looked as expensive as Heck had guessed they’d be. The tall man stood and said, “Was my friend he killed at Indian Leap. And my wife saw him do it.”

Heck nodded, thinking that this put a whole new spin on the evening. “Tell you what, let me get my dog. He stays and keeps quiet when he’s told but mostly it addles him.” He walked off into the woods, glancing at the signposts of bushes and trees for direction.

“You’re quiet when you move,” Owen said, impressed. “You hunt?”

“A bit.” Heck chuckled.

They found Emil sitting nervously, shifting weight from paw to paw. He calmed as soon as he saw his master.

Owen asked, “Purebred blood?”

“Edouard Montague of Longstreet the Third. He’s as pure as they come.”

“Quite a name.”

“That’s what he came with but it wouldn’t do of course, not around here. So I call him Emil and he answers to it. If he ever mates a pure bitch I’ll have to put his full name on the papers but till then it’s our secret.”

Walking back to the clearing beside Heck, Owen asked, “How’d you follow the scent if he was on a bicycle?”

“That’s nothing for Emil. Hell, he’s gone through a foot of snow in a blizzard. So you think maybe he’s after your wife?”

“I don’t really know. But it’s too dangerous to leave in the hands of cops who don’t know what they’re doing.”

This rankled Heck and he said, “You got your state troopers on the case, you know.”

“Well, a lot of mistakes’ve been made, I should tell you.” Owen glanced at Heck’s pistol. “You mentioned a bounty. You’re a professional tracker?”

“I hire out my dog, yep.”

“How much’s the reward?”

Hot-faced, eyes fixed on the dark forest, Heck said, “Ten thousand dollars.” He spoke emphatically, as if making clear to Owen that even if he was just a hired hand he wasn’t coming cheap.

“Well then,” Owen said, “let’s go catch this psycho and make you some money. What do you say?”

“Yessir.”

Heck roused Emil with Hrubek’s scent and off they went through the woods. The track was easy to follow now, with abundant ground scent in the moist forest. The dog’s excitement and the uncanny atmosphere of the woods at night urged them forward in a kind of dazed ecstasy, and they could do nothing but give in to this lust. They crashed through the brush. Hrubek could’ve heard them coming from a hundred yards away but there was nothing to be done about it. They couldn’t have both stealth and speed, and they chose the latter.

Michael watched her carefully, irritated that she was crying so much. It made him very anxious. The blond woman didn’t speak. All the points of her face-her nose and chin and cheekbones-were red from the silent tears. She quivered and shredded a paper napkin between her fingers while Michael paced. “I had to take down your telephone. Stop that crying. The line’s sure to be tapped anyway.”

“What,” she sobbed, “are you going to do to me?”

He walked through the living room, his huge muddy feet pounding on the boards. “This is a nice place. Stop crying! I like your eyes. You don’t have masks on them. Where did you get it? The house, I’m speaking of.”

She glanced at the small cap on his head. “What are you-?” He repeated his question sharply and she stammered, “My mama died and she left it to me. I’ve got a sister. It’s half hers.” As if he intended to steal it, she added, “We own it free and clear.”

Michael lifted the Irish cap by the brim, courteously tipping it to her. He rubbed his hand over his smooth head. In the bright light a residue of the blue ink was still visible. He saw her staring at the cap as he replaced it. He smiled. “Fashionable, isn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?”

He frowned. “My hat. Fashionable. Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she exclaimed. “Very. Extremely.”

“My car rolled over and over and over. She was a good car while she lasted.” He walked closer and examined her body. He thought it was strange that although she was a woman she didn’t frighten him. Maybe because she was so frail. He could lift her with one hand and could snap her neck as easily as he had the raccoon’s earlier in the evening. What’s that smell? Oh, it’s woman. The smell of woman. This brought back an indistinct and troubling memory. He felt darkness around him, claustrophobia, fear. Rocks and water. Bad people. What was it? His anxiety notched up a few degrees. He also found he had a fierce erection. He sat down so that she wouldn’t notice.

The wind slammed against the windows and the sound of the rain grew louder. The clatter of muskets, he thought. Lead balls cracking apart a thousand heads… He covered his ears at this unnerving sound. After a moment he realized that she was staring at him.

“People are after me,” he said.

“You’re a convict?” she whispered. “You escaped from the prison over in Hamlin?”

“Nice try. Don’t expect to get anything out of me.

You know too much as it is.”

She shivered as he leaned forward and stroked her fine hair. “That’s nice,” he muttered. “And you’re not wearing a fucking hat. Good… Good.”

“Don’t hurt me, please. I’ll give you money. Anything…”

“Give me a penny.”

“I have some savings. About three thousand but it’s in the bank. You could meet me there at nine tomorrow. You’re welcome to-”

Michael roared, “A penny!”

She dug frantically into her purse. He looked over her shoulder. “You don’t have a microphone in there? A panic button or anything?”

She looked mystified then whispered, “No. I’m getting you the penny like you asked.”

Guilty, Michael said, “Well, you can’t be too careful.”

He held out his massive hands and she dropped the coin into his palm. He held it up behind her head. “What seven-letter word is on the penny?”

“I don’t know.”

“Guess,” he said petulantly.

She wrung her hands together. “E Pluribus Unum. In God We Trust. Legal Tender. No. United States. Oh, God, I can’t think!” Then, sotto voce, she began murmuring the Lord’s Prayer.

“It’s right behind seven-letter Abraham Lincoln.” Without looking at the coin he said, “The word is right behind him, seven letters, like the barrel of a gun pointed at his head.”

He poked her scalp with a blunt finger. She closed her eyes and whispered, “I don’t know.”

Michael said, “ ‘Liberty.’ ” He dropped the penny on the floor. “I’m pretty hungry. What’s to eat?”

She stopped crying. “You’re hungry?” She gazed at the kitchen. “I have some roast beef, some vegetarian chili… You’re welcome to it.”

He walked to the table and sat down, easing into the chair. He delicately opened a paper napkin. It covered only a part of his huge lap.

She asked, “Can I stand up?”

“How can you get me dinner if you don’t stand up?”

She hurtled into the kitchen and busied herself preparing a plate while Michael sang, “ ‘For I love the bonnie blue gal who gave her heart to me.’ ” He played with the pepper mill. “ ‘Her arms, her arms, are where I want to be!…’ ”

She returned, setting a tray in front of him. Michael roared, “ ‘For I love the bonnie blue gal who gave-’ ” He stopped abruptly, picked up the fork and cut a piece off the beef. This, together with a portion of Jell-O, he put on the pink saucer and placed it in front of her.