Bones

the lawyer out.”

“And the ranger and the botanist say the others were tired but doing okay as of this morning?”

“Yes.”

“And the ranger hasn’t been with them much, right? I mean, after this lawyer got stepped on, the ranger had to hike out and back in — had to find the others — and now he’s hiked out again. Spent most of his time on the hoof.”

“I think so — at least, that’s the way it sounds to me.”

“Tell me about the people in this group — you don’t need to bother with the ranger, I don’t think he figures into this part of the equation very much. Just tell me about the others.”

“Including Parrish?”

“Especially Parrish.”

Frank told him as much as he could, although he knew little of Ben Sheridan, David Niles, or Andy Stewart. From Dalton’s questions, he soon figured out what the other man was interested in: How would this group work together? Who would make decisions? How fit were they? How experienced as hikers?

The main problem before them — where had the group gone after they left Newly? — started to feel more like the kind of problem he worked with every day. Human behavior. So if you were this person, thinking the way he does and in this situation, what would you do next? Instead of the unfocused, nagging anxiousness of the past few hours, Frank knew he had something to work with, something he could set his mind to.

“You think Parrish was bringing these women to this place alive?” Dalton was asking.

“Yes,” Frank said. “He told us he flew Julia Sayre to the airstrip, made her hike for about a day, forced her dig her own grave, then tortured and killed her. Everything about it was planned. He had chosen her long before he made the kill. He isn’t disorganized or opportunistic. You listen to him talk, it’s all under control.” He frowned. “Except . . .”

“Except this victim you caught him on.”

“I wasn’t the one who caught him. Not my case, but—”

“Was it difficult, catching him on that one?”

“No,” Frank said, already seeing where this was going. “It wasn’t as difficult as it should have been.”

“Broke a pattern?”

“Stinger, with only one body and nothing more than Parrish’s own version of the Sayre case,” Jack said scornfully, “how the hell could the cops tell which of two cases set the pattern?”

But Frank was not so quick to answer, because he knew — he knew there had been other victims. He had said as much to his bosses when news of the deal with Parrish came down. Every other detective in the department had said as much. They had all known that the D.A. had made a wrong call.

“Mr. Dalton’s right,” Frank said. “Parrish broke a pattern.” He drew a steadying breath. “He wanted us to catch him.”

“Because—?” Dalton asked.

“Because he knows that he’ll escape.”

“He might want to,” Jack said, watching Frank begin to pace, “but he couldn’t know who would be going up into the mountains, or how heavily guarded he’d be.”

Frank didn’t answer. He was thinking of Parrish’s two known victims. Dark hair, blue eyes. Near Irene’s age.

“Never mind polishing that strip of floor, Frank,” Dalton said. “Get over here and take a look at these maps. Mother Nature has given us a little time to figure out where our man made himself a couple of cemeteries. According to what this ranger and botanist said, we’re looking for two meadows divided by a ridge. That could be several places, but not as many places as you’d think.”

“No,” Frank agreed. “Those two made it in less than a day, carrying a body and hiking in the rain.”

“Julia Sayre a big woman?”

“No. And the remains might be nothing more than a skeleton or a partial skeleton after this much time.”

“Right. So let’s see what this ground looks like and start making circles. Come up with some likely places, then as soon as the weather clears, we’ll take a pass over them. Save some time if we do a little thinking before we go.”

After the first hour of looking at the maps, Frank felt less optimistic. There were so many places the group could have reached within the time allotted, and the likelihood of finding the right one seemed small. But as Dalton continued to study them, he found reasons to eliminate one or another, narrowing the field. “I’m not saying cross them off the list altogether,” he said, standing up and stretching, “but they aren’t where I’d look first.”

When he walked away from the table, Frank said, “You aren’t stopping now, are you?”

Dalton opened his mouth to make a rude reply, then closed it. He studied Frank for a moment, then said, “Do you some good to take a break from it, too. I figure I’ll enjoy a little dog time. You all do what you want. I’m going to attend to my guests.”

He moved to the floor and began to wrestle with Deke and Dunk, who entered into the spirit of the game immediately, complete with loud and dramatic barks and growls.

Jack gave an apologetic look to Frank and Travis. “Stinger has to do things in his own way,” he said, trying to keep his voice low and yet still be heard over the ruckus. “No use trying to push him. But I’ll go with you if you want to leave . . .”

Frank’s need to reassure himself that Irene was safe tempted him to leave — tempted him until it was almost