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"I told four people," Olson said. "At dinner Friday night. I told the Bentons and the Packards."

"Where are they now?"

"They went back home for the weekend," Olson said.

"How far is Burnt River?" Lucas asked.

"Five hours. By car."

"Do you have their phone numbers?" Lucas asked.

"Yes. Of course."

"I want you to call them," Lucas said. "If somebody answers, like Mrs. Benton, I want you to ask for her husband. If Mr. Benton answers, I want you to come up with a reason to talk with his wife. Just thank them for helping you out."

"I'd feel like I'd be betraying them," Olson said.

"But you won't be, if they're home," Lucas said.

"I'll know"

"People are dying," Del said.

Olson made the calls from the motel phone, with Lucas listening on an extension. Both couples were at home. "Couldn't be them," Olson said.

"You only told four people," Lucas said.

"Only those four. We walked across the street to Perkins and had dinner together before they left. Right after dark, on Friday."

Lucas thought for a moment. Burnt River, Burnt River. What if they'd been going about this all wrong? Or half wrong? A deep, old connection, but not family. Someone who'd known her from the old days, someone who'dHe picked up the phone and called Lane. "You know that genealogy you made up? Who was the guy who nailed Alie'e on the baseball diamond?"

"Gimme a minute, I'm watching the game," Lane said. A moment later, he was back. "Louis Friar," he said. "The people up there call him the Reverend, but he doesn't know why."

"Thanks. I'm running. Talk to you tomorrow," Lucas said. He turned back to Olson. "Who is Louis Friar?"

"He's a guy up in Burnt River."

"Would either the Bentons or Packards know him?" Lucas asked.

"Yes. His parents, especially. Louie's parents and my parents and the Bentons and the Packards and a few other families, we're all in the same social circle. Play cards and stuff."

"He once had a sexual relationship with Alie'e."

"That's just a rumor."

"Everybody in Burnt River believes it. They all seem to think it happened."

"Yes. I know," Olson said.

"Do you think he might have felt protective toward her? You think he might have"

"No, no he's just a guy. He's got a lawn service. He goes around to resorts and stuff, and does landscape maintenance."

"Single guy?" Del asked.

"Yes."

"Deer hunter?"

"Probably. I don't know him that well. He was a couple years behind me in school."

Lucas got back on the phone, called Rose Marie. "Call the airport, authorize the big chopper. We need to go to Burnt River, right now, tonight. Three of us."

"You think you might make the fifteen hours?" she asked.

"Got my fingers crossed," Lucas said.

"Get over to the airport. I'll call."

Chapter 28

To Lucas it felt like three in the morninglike he'd been up foreverbut the chopper lifted off a few minutes before ten o'clock, with Lucas, Del, and Olson in the back. Before they left the metro area, Lucas called the Howell County sheriff's department, got switched to the sheriff, and gave him a quick summary. He asked if a sheriff's department car could meet them at the Sheridan airport, the nearest to Burnt River. The sheriff said he'd send a couple of cars, and would ride along himself. "Kind of interesting," he said.

The flight took a little over an hour. Lucas was unaffected. Fixed-wing planes scared him; when they came down unexpectedly, the people inside wound up as postage stamp-sized pieces of meat. With a helicopter, you always had a chance.

The sky had been mostly cloudy in the Cities, but they put down at Sheridan under crystalline skies, with stars as brilliant as those that Lucas had watched from his cabin the week before. They were met by two Ford Explorers with light racks. The sheriff and two deputies climbed out to shake hands, and the sheriff said, "Who do we want to find first? This Friar guy?"

"Yeah," Lucas said. "If he's not around, we'll want to talk with his parents, and take a look at his housesee if there's any sign that he might be involved with Alie'e."

"You might have trouble getting a warrant if you've got nothing more than an urge to look around," the sheriff said. He was a square-shouldered, square-faced man with a brush mustache. He wore jeans and cowboy boots, even with the snow. "Our judges aren't all that cooperative."

"We've narrowed down the number of people outside the police department who knew about the man who was shot tonight," Lucas said. "There were exactly five. That includes Mr. Olson hereand we know where he was tonightand two Burnt River couples, who are here, at home. But if Friar isn't hereand he couldn't be, if he's involved in the shooting tonight, not unless he's got his own chopperthen we think he's worth looking at. He once had a sexual involvement with Alie'e."

"Okay, I know the guy now," one of the deputies said. "If he's the guy who nailed Alie'e. They call him the Reverend."

"What do you think?" the sheriff asked the deputy. "You think he could do it?"

"Far as I know, he's just a good ol' boy," the deputy said. "He might've had a couple of DWIs over the years. Nothing serious."

"How about if his parents tell us they told him about Spooner?" Lucas asked.

"Might get you a warrant on that," the sheriff said. "Especially since it's Alie'e."

"So let's go," Lucas said.

Del and Lucas got in the back of the sheriff's truck, while Olson got in with the other two deputies. Once inside, Del told the sheriff, "I told your guys to kinda keep an eye on Olson," he said. "He's not entirely out of the woods yet."

"They can do that," the sheriff said. He pulled a cell phone from His pocket, turned it on, ran through a call list, and pushed a button. A minute later, he said, "Hey, Carl, this is me, you get anything on Friar? Yeah? When? At McLeod's? Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, we're going out that way, then."

He rang off and looked at Lucas. "You may have wasted a trip. The Burnt River town cop says a guy he ran into at the Yer-In-And-Out Store saw Friar shooting pool with some friends at McLeod's Tavern out on the lake. They were there a half hour ago."

"Goddamnit," Lucas said.

"So what do you want to do?" the sheriff asked.

"We're here, let's talk to him," Lucas said. "Then we can go wake up the Bentons and Packards and find out what they have to say. It had to come out of heresomeplace along the line, it had to come from Olson, the Bentons, or the Packards." But he was no longer sure of it; what if it was a departmental leak? Or what if Olson was lying, and he was running another guy, one of his disciples? Maybe somebody who thought Olson was Jesus?

"Whatever you say," the sheriff said. He called the other car, and they swung toward McLeod's.

McLeod's looked exactly like five hundred other lakeside taverns: snow-covered parking lot with mounds of plowed snow on the side; fake dark-brown log-cabin styling; small windows under the eaves at the front; a Christmas wreath on the door; snowmobile parking at the lakeside. "We don't have any snow in the Cities yet," Lucas said as they pulled in.

"That's because you're practically living in Miami," the sheriff said.

"I guess that accounts for the palm trees outside the office," Del said to Lucas.

Talk in the bar stopped when they all walked in; Lucas could feel the heads turning. They clumped down toward the game room, through a haze of barbecue smoke. The deputy who knew the Reverend said, "That's him in the red shirt."

Louis Friar was focusing on the five-ball when he saw them all coming. He stood up and grounded his cue and said, "Evening, Sheriff." He looked puzzled, then saw Olson and said, "Hi, Tom. Sorry about Alie'e, jeez"