Jim had left his cap, badge, and sidearm in his vehicle, which indicated that alcohol would be involved in whatever happened for the rest of the evening. He had a beer and a shot. He was out before Bobby was. Dinah was sipping at a double shot of Gran Marnier, warmed, in a snifter. Kate brooded over a sparkling water over ice, with lime.

The mood was not what you could call convivial.

As one might expect on a Friday night after breakup and before fishing season, the Roadhouse was jammed to the rafters. A gang of climbers stumbled in unshaven and smelly from a successful summit of Big b.u.mp, and Bernie poured out Middle Fingers for all, the downing of which was accompanied by chanting and cheers from everyone else in the bar. Park rats admired insanity so long as it was sincere, and there was nothing more insane or sincere than the ambition of every mountain climber on the North American continent to summit the technically unchallenging but relatively high Angqaq Peak. Pastor Bill of the Jesus Loves You New Gospel Little Chapel in the Park and his congregation of four, down two since the wife of one had run off with the husband of another the year before, were singing hymns in the back room, although a rhythmic c.h.i.n.king sound accompanied by zither music indicated that they might be sharing s.p.a.ce with the belly dancers that practiced at the Roadhouse once a month.

Jimmy Buffett was wasting away again in Margaritaville on the jukebox. "Come on, babe," Bobby said to Dinah. "Let's dance." He pulled her into his lap and rolled out into the middle of the floor, where they wove a complicated little spiral of wheels and feet to a calypso beat.

"This could be our first date," Jim said.

Kate closed her eyes and shook her head.

"A double date," he said. "We can hang out without you getting all stressed that I'm going to jump your bones."

Kate drank water.

"I am, of course, but that comes later. Me, too."

"Jim," Kate said.

"Kate," Jim said, and grinned.

She couldn't stop herself. She laughed.

"That's better," he said, and waved over another round. When Bernie had come and gone he said, "I haven't seen you since Tuesday. I see you're still living and uncharred, which I find to be a good thing. What have you got on Dreyer?"

"Nothing."

He looked skeptical. "Nothing?"

"Nothing." She shook her head and rolled the ice-filled gla.s.s back and forth across her forehead. "Jim, I was born and raised in this Park. I've howdied, as they say, with just about everyone who has lived or is living in it. I'm related by blood to at least a third of them, by marriage to at least another third, and the last third owes me one way or another. People talk to me because they know me and because they know I've been around forever."

"You got diddly."

"In the past three days, I've talked to anyone who ever said hi to Len Dreyer going into the post office, anyone who ever stood in line behind him at the Niniltna General Store, anyone who ever b.u.mped into him in this bar. He did some kind of work for just about all of them, fixed roofs, laid floors, dug foundations, fixed boats, cars, snow machines, four-wheelers, hair dryers, irons, blenders, Skilsaws, and one 1994 Harley-Davidson two-tone blue and silver Fat Boy with twenty-four thousand miles on it that is apparently driving Archie Spring either into his second childhood or the sunset, depending on whether you talk to him or his wife."

"An all-purpose, super-duper utility handyman."

"With a work ethic that wouldn't quit. His mother must have been frightened by a slacker when she was pregnant. He always showed up when he said he would, he always stayed on the job till it was done, and he always got it right the first time."

"He could have gotten rich in a town like Anchorage."

"Why didn't he, then?" she said, frustrated. "And why didn't he live higher on the hog in the Park?"

"How did he live?"

"You know his cabin burned down?" He nodded, and she pulled out a photo and shoved it at him. "Got that from the a.s.sociation files, you know that survey they did of every building in the Park and its history back when the ANCSA money started coming in?"

"Sort of like a Doomsday Book for the Park," he said, nodding.

"Yeah. Emaa wanted a starting place, an inventory for when she went looking for federal money to build housing."

They bent their heads over the photo. It showed a tumbledown shack made of weathered boards, with a roof that looked like it was about to slide in one direction and an outhouse in the background that looked like it was going to crumble in another.

"One man's hovel is another man's castle," Jim said, straightening. "What about family?"

"Did haven't any."

"Friends?"

"Didn't have any."

"Women?"

"Jim, I don't think this guy's been laid since he arrived in the Park."

"And when was that?"

"Near as I can figure, before I was born." She sat back, glum. "He may have shook hands with somebody between then and now, but that'd appear to be about the limit of Dreyer's human contact."

"You'd be wrong about that."

They looked up to find Dandy standing there with an insufferably smug look on his face.

"Dandy," Jim said.

"What are you talking about?" Kate said.

He pointedly ignored her. "I've been asking around."

"You've been what?" Kate said. She looked at Jim, who appeared less than thrilled.

"Conducting my own investigation, and it looks like I've been doing better than you." Without invitation, Dandy sat in Dinah's chair and pulled out a small spiral notepad that looked a lot like the one Kate carried when she was on a case. He flipped it open. "Len Dreyer's had five girlfriends. Susan Brainerd in the Park, Vicky GordaofF down in Cordova, Cheryl Wright in the Park, Betsy Kvasnikof-Dandy allowed himself a reminiscent smile -"and most recently Laurel Meganack."

"You're kidding me," Jim said, startled out of his disapproval into something like respect. "Laurel Meganack? Of the cafe Laurels?"

An arm snaked around Kate, startling her. It was only Bernie, removing her empty gla.s.s and replacing it with a full one. "Thanks," she said, squeezing the wedge of lime.

"Sure." He lingered until Jim gave him a look. "Oh, all right," he said, and moved on to Pastor Bill's table, at which service showed signs of ending. Kate's eyes followed him.

Jim noticed her thoughtful look. "What?"

"Nothing," Kate said. "Nothing at all." She looked at Dandy. "How sure are you about Dreyer's girlfriends?"

Dandy looked affronted. "They wouldn't lie to me," he said righteously.

He might even be right about that, she thought. "How long did they last?"

"According to them he was a hit and run kind a guy," Dandy said, smirking.

"One-night stands? Two? Be more specific."

Dandy looked at Jim, who raised an eyebrow. "I didn't ask," he said, on the defensive. "None of them sounded like it was very permanent. What does it matter?"

"You have dates?"

He showed her his notes. Jim took the pad and ripped out his notes. "Hey," Dandy said.

Kate looked at Jim. "Looking for love in all the wrong places?"

"Sounds more like scratching an itch," he said.

She nodded. "To me, too. Dandy, did he talk to any of these women, mention family, where he was from, anything like that?"

Fingering his depleted notepad, he looked relieved. "No. I did ask that. Vicky said it was one of the reasons she wasn't interested in it lasting. He didn't talk much."

She nodded. "Good work, Dandy."

Dandy looked gratified. "Even if no one asked you to do it," Jim said. "You've done enough, all right? Leave this to us now."

Dandy's face fell. "But I thought-"

"No," Jim said firmly. "Dandy, you don't have any training. We've got a six-month-old murder here, we can't afford to have amateurs messing up the evidence. Not to mention which, the murderer is most likely still in the Park. He's already demonstrated a willingness to kill not to get caught, twice. You heard what happened to Kate's cabin. Just luck she wasn't inside when it got torched."

Dandy's mouth set in a stubborn line. "I can handle myself."

"I don't doubt it. But you're done. I mean it, Dandy. Thanks for what you've accomplished so far, I appreciate it, I really do. But you're done now."

Dandy opened his mouth, recognized the implacability of Jim's expression, and closed it again. "Fine," he said tightly, and marched off.

Jim handed her the wad of notes and Kate stuffed them into a back pocket. "Why don't they have an ID on Dreyer yet?"

"His prints aren't in the system."

"Don't they have to be if you're in the military? Isn't that standard procedure?"

"We don't know that he was."

"Bobby thinks he was." She thought about the five women Dandy had found, and frowned into her drink. There was something about it, something about all five of the women, something she couldn't put her finger on.

Bobby and Dinah came back to the table then, Bobby roaring up in his chair and skidding to a halt that rose him up on one wheel. Dinah squealed and he kissed her, putting those patented Clark moves on her like she wasn't his wife.

"Jesus," Jim muttered, "take it outside."

Kate looked at him with such open-mouthed surprise that he had to laugh, albeit a little painfully. It was difficult to watch Bobby manhandle Dinah in precisely the way he'd like to manhandle Kate.

Bobby came up for air and dove into his beer, surfacing with a loud, satisfied smack of his lips. "d.a.m.n, this was a good idea. Bernie!" he bellowed. "More beer!"

From that point on there was a mutual unspoken agreement that no serious business would be discussed, no Dreyer, no Jeffrey, no Jane, no abusive husbands or dope-dealing video renters or arsonous murderers. There was flirting, between Bobby and Dinah and between Jim and Dinah and between Bobby and Kate. There might even have been a little between Kate and Jim. The stories started tall and got taller. Dinah danced with Bobby again, and then Jim, and then Old Sam, who had patented a kind of schottische-rhumba combination that was the dread of every woman in the Park.

After a while it got crowded enough that Bernie missed a signal for another round and Kate went to the bar. Bernie was busy filling a tray, and while she was waiting she said h.e.l.lo to the man glowering into a gla.s.s of beer.

He nodded, a single, straight-up-and-down movement, his ill humor making his black face look like a thunderhead, ready to shoot lightning at any moment. "Ms. Shugak."

"Didn't see you come in," she said. She thought about asking him to join their table. She thought better of it.

"Robert did."

Ah. If so, Bobby had not mentioned it to the rest of them, which told its own story. She looked down the bar and caught Bernie's eye. He held up one finger, made a circular motion, raised his eyebrows. She nodded.

"You appear to have some influence with my brother," Jeffrey said stiffly.

Hating to ask favors of an inferior, Kate thought. "n.o.body has influence on Bobby Clark," she said. "He's his own man. He does what he wants, when he wants."

She could tell he was resisting the impulse to glare. "Nevertheless," he said. "I'd appreciate it if you'd tell him you think it's a good idea to see his father alive one last time."

"I don't know that it is," Kate said.

This time he didn't resist. "He's his father. He wants to see his second son before he dies. That can't be too hard even for you to understand."

It was the "even for you" that did it. "You hate it that he's happy, don't you," she said, looking at him as if she were peering through a microscope. "You could have handled it better if he were broke, hungry, maybe homeless. Instead he's got a home and a wife - "

He snorted.

" - and a child, and a life. Your father made Tennessee so unliveable for him that he escaped into the army, and war, to get away from it. Just out of curiosity, did you know he'd left both legs in Vietnam before you came? Did your father know?

Did either of you bother to find out where he went and what he did when he left you?"

"He ran away."

"Which at this point only confirms my already high opinion of his intelligence," Kate said, and watched with interest as his face flushed red enough to be seen even given the already dark color of his skin and the dim light of the bar.

Fortunately, Bernie finally scooted down the counter to toss her a package of beef jerky. He felt the tension between her and Jeffrey Clark and gave her a quizzical look.

Kate tossed the jerky back. "Mutt's over at Auntie Vi's with Katya and Johnny," she said. "But thanks."

Bernie gave Jeffrey Clark one last look, decided it would be unwise to meddle with a volcano that close to eruption, and busied himself with filling gla.s.ses. "How's the hunt going?"

She gave him a long, considering look, and gave a nonanswer. "We're taking the night off."

"Oh. Ah. Well. Here you go." He shoved the tray at her and answered a call for another round at the opposite end of the bar, a look of barely suppressed relief on his face.

She delivered the drinks and stood for a moment, indecisive. "What, you're waiting for a f.u.c.king invitation!" Bobby roared.

She jerked her head. "Gotta flush," she said, but when she got to the back of the room she ignored the door into the rest room and went out onto the back porch instead. A set of stairs led down into the rest of Bernie's domain.

There were two neat rows of cabins, each big enough for a queen-sized bed and a bathroom, which could not, contrary to rumor, be rented by the hour. There were two covered picnic areas with brick barbecues, and tables and benches made of logs sawn in half. A neatly gravelled trail led through a stand of birch trees to a two-story house built of imported cedar, fronted with a large deck held down by a full suite of wrought-iron lawn furniture and an enormous gas grill. Kate went up a wide stair-case laden with deep, square flower boxes at tastefully interspersed points and knocked gently on the French double doors. After a few moments they opened. "h.e.l.lo, Kate." "Hi, Enid. Could I talk to you for a few minutes?"