"She's your friend."

"Yes. And now I think you believe that I didn't kill your brother. Like me, you trust Miss Rice's instincts."

"I need to see the last batch of photographs she gave you, the ones she had developed after Josh went missing."

William Swahn's surprise appeared to be genuine. He splayed his empty hands to say that he did not have any such pictures.

It was late in the day when the CBI agent entered Cable Babitt's office and introduced him to her pet forensic technician, a small man with a pug nose that made him appear ten years old at first glance. "I want this to be a joint investigation," said Sally-he must call her Sally. "So I'm here to share what we've got so far."

Did he believe this? No. At least she had not come to arrest him for tampering with evidence, but that might well be in his future.

She rested one hand on the shoulder of her companion. "This young man has a few details you might find interesting."

Her young man seemed a bit on the sullen side, maybe thinking it was pointless to update him on a crime that no longer belonged to the County Sheriff 's Office. If that had not yet been spelled out, the youngster's attitude made it plain enough.

Cable gestured toward the two chairs in front of his desk, and his visitors sat down.

The woman reached out to the forensics man and lightly thumped the back of his head in the way of prompting an unruly child. On this cue, the technician pulled out his notebook and read from the pages with no inflection, clearly bored by this chore. "A yellow raincoat was found in the grave."

"I was there-I saw it," said Cable. "Just get on with it, son."

Some of the woman's arm bones were found in the sleeves. That might fix the time of death. According to the weather bureau, there was only one shower that day."

"And it didn't last long," said Cable, "only fifteen or twenty minutes." With another thump from Sally Polk, the younger man ceased to slouch in his chair, and his voice was more respectful when he said, "Yes, sir. Thank you. The yellow raincoat was manufactured in New Jersey, but it's not traceable by stores. They were sold all over the country."

"I traced it," said Cable, with a satisfied smile, and the younger man looked up from his notes. "Son, we call it a slicker, and so does the company that makes it. I'm sure you've got their name in your little notebook. They did sell them all around the country-for a while. A few years after the sales dried up, the stock was sold to a liquidator. That was the year Josh Hobbs disappeared. And the liquidator's best customer for those slickers-more than half the stock-was Mrs. Mooney. She owns the dry-goods store in Coventry. She sells lots of stuff like that to visitors who believe it never rains in California. The victim probably bought it locally, but her description won't fit any missing-person report filed in this county. So I guess we got a dead tourist."

This bit of detection had been a cakewalk, for he had stopped by the dry-goods store where his own yellow slicker had been purchased that same year. And all of his information had come from a five-minute chat with the proprietor. However, the crime-scene tech was clearly impressed.

Sally Polk seemed amused, even pleased, by the sheriff's little victory.

He would never understand women.

"Well, there goes half your problem," she said. "If the female victim's not county, then the state's obliged to track down her identification. Oh, and the tourist angle-good catch. That locks her into a new tourism mandate for the CBI. The governor's just death on anything that might discourage the tourist trade."

Cable closed his eyes. All hope of contesting jurisdiction was shot to hell. He had just handed it to her. She must see him as the kind of fool who should not be allowed to tie his own shoelaces for fear of accidentally hanging himself. He turned his attention back to the technician. "Son, what else you got?"

"The hiking boots suggest that the female victim went into the woods of her own accord. Very good boots-held up real well. They were bought for function not style. No personal effects were found on or near her remains. That could indicate that she knew her assailant. The perpetrator might've disposed of her identification because he knew he'd be the prime suspect."

Cable nodded, though the same could be said for Josh Hobbs. This was padded-out information, probably scripted by Sally Polk. And now he knew that she was not planning to share everything-just the obvious things. "What about Josh's camera? I know he had one with him that day."

"Nothing like that was found," said the younger man. "We did a perimeter search and came up dry. But there's still excavation work going on at the gravesite. It might turn up." Once again, he bent over his notebook. "Judging by what's left of the woman's clothing, she was slender. We agree with Dr. Brasco's estimate of five-ten."

"Tall women do stand out in a small town," said Sally Polk. "Does that sound like anyone local?"

"Yes," said Cable, "but not a dead local. And you already know that woman wasn't from around here. So you're working on a theory of mistaken identity, right? Now why is that?"

"No particular reason, Sheriff. Let's say I'm open-minded. Is there anything else I can do for you today? Any more questions?"

Cable shook his head. "No, that does it, thanks."

"You asked about the camera," said Sally Polk, "but not the boy's knapsack. I looked up your old missing-person report, and there it was. Josh Hobbs was carrying a bright green knapsack the last time he was seen alive." She smiled.

If a spider could smile-

Cable flirted with the idea that she had already found Josh's knapsack in its new hiding place behind his garage. No, that was paranoid.

Before he could recover from this little ambush, she raised one fluttery hand to wave away any necessity for a response. "Who remembers details after twenty years?" Preparing to leave him now, she slipped her purse strap over one shoulder and dropped one more bomb. "How come you never arrested Oren Hobbs?"

"Oren had an alibi for his time that day. A witness puts Josh on a hiking trail by himself."

"I need a copy of that witness statement." Sally Polk said this so sweetly. She might be a neighbor lady come to borrow a cup of flour.

He spun his chair around and reached for the key that Oren had left in the lock of the credenza, but it dangled from the lock of the lower drawer- not the one that held the labeled case files. After a full minute of searching, he realized that the unmarked red folder was gone.

"Lose something, Sheriff?" asked the woman behind him-right behind him-standing over his bowed back.

He opened the upper drawer and thumbed through the other folders, but the red one was not among them. "Damn reporters." Cable slammed the drawer. "One of them must've taken a file. It was bright red, so that'd be the one to catch his eye." Always best to mix truth with the lies. "Those bastards were all over this place yesterday."

"Reporters." She mulled this over, as if taking him seriously. "I suppose that's… possible. I understand Oren Hobbs was in here yesterday. Local boy-I think he'd have a better chance of getting past your people out there in the squad room."

So she had interviewed his deputies and discovered Oren's unescorted office visit. And now Cable called himself six kinds of a fool. He had never seen this moment coming.

Sally Polk was holding her notebook, idly leafing through the pages. "Ferris Monty seems to think that Oren Hobbs is working this case with you." She looked up from her reading, to smile at him. "I'm sure that must be wrong. You'd never give a civilian-a suspect-access to evidence. Let's say Mr. Hobbs gave one of your deputies a story about being told to wait for you in your office. I think that story works well for everybody concerned about covering their tails. Don't you agree? Did you say this was a red folder?"