The Hunt

door, because his mother listened for things like that. But instead of staying in his room, he tiptoed back to the top of the stairs where he could listen without being seen.

The boy learned a lot that way.

“I wish I were here under more pleasant circumstances,” Sam Harris said.

“Is it about the girl who was kidnapped?” his father asked.

“There’s no easy way to say this, which is why I asked my deputy to stay in the car. I felt you needed the opportunity to consider the situation first, without gossip and detractors using the information to damage your career, Judge.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Ryan knew that annoyed tone. His father didn’t like people who “kissed butt,” as he called it. It meant that they tried to be your friend because of what you did, not who you were. Since his father was a judge, an important position, he said a lot of people tried to kiss his butt, but he didn’t respect them.

“I’ll get right to the point,” Sam said. “The FBI is on its way to interview your brother-in-law, David Larsen. He is now considered a suspect in the Butcher investigation.”

“Davy? I don’t believe it,” his father said.

Uncle Davy? The Butcher? Ryan slumped against the wall. That would mean he killed that college girl Ryan had found last week, the girl who wouldn’t leave Ryan alone in his dreams, eyes staring at him like a dead doe.

Not Uncle Davy. He took Ryan fishing at the end of every summer. Mom went with them to their cabin by Big Sky Lake, but she didn’t like to fish. Uncle Davy knew everything about the birds, trees, animals. He’d taught Ryan how to figure out which berries were edible and which would kill you.

Uncle Davy listened to him, really listened. Ryan couldn’t talk to anyone else about his parents, especially about his mother. Ryan didn’t think she really liked him. Oh, she probably loved him-all mothers did-but all the things she did for him, from baking cookies to washing his clothes to meeting with his teacher, seemed like things she just had to do. Like she had a “How to Be a Mom” checklist.

His uncle understood. “Delilah doesn’t really like anyone,” he told Ryan once. And when Uncle Davy said it, he’d realized it was true.

Ryan missed part of the conversation downstairs and he strained to hear. His mother had said something, her voice so low he couldn’t make it out.

“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Parker. I know this comes as a shock to you, which is why I wanted to let you know before the press gets wind of it. I’m keeping it under wraps as long as possible, but you know these federal cops. They’re a bunch of media hounds, just aching to get their picture in the paper. And if they hurt good folks such as yourselves, they don’t care one iota.”

“I’ll have my attorney be in touch. Consider Davy as having counsel, Sam.”

“I understand.”

The deputy left, and at first Ryan didn’t hear anything except mumbled voices.

“Did you know?” His father’s voice was raised. His dad never raised his voice to his mother.

“No!” his mother said. “Davy had nothing to do with what happened to those girls.”

“Shit, Delilah, this is bad.”

“You know how the FBI is. They’re always trying to railroad someone.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“Davy has nothing to do with this.”

“I wish I believed you. I need to contact my attorneys.”

Ryan retreated down the back stairs and walked out the kitchen door, careful to ease it closed. He ran to the barn and didn’t realize he was crying until his vision blurred.

Why would the police think Uncle Davy had killed that girl if he hadn’t?

He’d seen Uncle Davy last night, camping in the back meadow. That wasn’t unusual; his uncle liked sleeping outdoors. He came up all the time and camped or stayed at the cabin. But Ryan usually knew beforehand when Uncle Davy was visiting.

His mother hadn’t said anything about him coming last night. Maybe she didn’t know.

Ryan quietly saddled Ranger and walked him out of the barn until he was out of sight of his house, then he mounted the horse.

He didn’t know what he was going to do. He wanted to warn Uncle Davy, tell him the police had it all wrong.

But what if they didn’t?

The camp was a mile from the house. Uncle Davy had camped there before, so Ryan knew exactly where it was. But as he approached, he saw no one.

He spotted gear neatly packed and stowed in the rotted-out trunk of a ponderosa pine. He frowned. Why hadn’t his uncle come up to the house for breakfast this morning like he usually did when he camped? Where was he now?

Boot prints headed down toward the canyon that formed the western border of the Parker Ranch. Ryan wasn’t supposed to go down there, but he’d done it many times. There was a really cool boulder field at the bottom. He, Sean, and Timmy went there whenever they thought their moms wouldn’t find out. But steep slopes and sudden drop-offs made it dangerous, especially for Ranger.

Still, he knew the area. He’d be careful.

He was about to dismount when the sound of movement stopped him. Someone was walking up the steep slope.

“Uncle Davy?”

His uncle came into sight at the same time he reached for the rifle slung across his back.

That’s when Ryan noticed the belt buckle Uncle Davy wore. Why did it look strange?

Then he knew. Uncle Davy had always worn the bird buckle. Just like the one Ryan had found in the woods near the dead girl. Only now, Uncle Davy’s bird belt buckle was gone.

CHAPTER 29

Quinn called Miranda while driving from Bozeman to the Parker Ranch. He tapped the steering wheel, eager to get there, hating that it seemed to take forever. There was a lot of ground under the “Big Sky.”

He told her about David Larsen’s family connections. She didn’t say anything for a long minute. “Are you sure?” she finally asked.

“Yes.”

“And they didn’t know?” Her voice caught.

“He didn’t live with them; it’s very likely that they didn’t know about his activities. But-” He paused. How much should he tell her?

“But what?”

He had to trust her with the truth. It would all come out sooner or later.

“Larsen was arrested for rape when he was eighteen. The charges were dropped when the victim refused to testify. His sister, Delilah, was his alibi.”

“And you think he was guilty.”

He took a deep breath. “Yes, I do.” Then he told her why. “The girl had her breasts cut.”

“And his sister lied for him?”

“We don’t know what happened then. She could have been threatened by him, manipulated. Maybe she lied because she thought he was innocent but didn’t have a good alibi. We can’t know until we talk to her. That’s where I’m going right now.”

“I can’t believe that a woman would protect a rapist. She’d have to be sick, just like him.”

“Are you still at the University?”

“No. Booker drove me to the Lodge an hour ago. I was going stir-crazy. We’re going to take a section south of