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Raye slammed an angry fist against the wall so hard his naked flesh quivered. “Them goddamn sons of bitches. They took my briefcase. It was in the closet. The ball-less bastards took my briefcase.” From the pile of clothes that had been thrown on the floor, he grabbed a pair of boxer shorts, some socks, a pair of jeans, and a white pullover sweater. He began hurriedly to tug the clothing on.
    “What are you doing?” Cork asked.
    “Hell, I’m going after ’em.”
    “That won’t do any good, Willie.”
    “You don’t understand,” Raye said. “Shiloh’s letters were in that briefcase.”
    “Whoever it was, they’re gone,” Cork told him.
    Willie Raye slumped onto the bed. “What do we do now?”
    “In her letters, did Shiloh ever mention anybody out here by name?”
    “Nope. She seemed pretty careful about not doing that.”
    “What about the name Ma’iingan?”
    “That’s a name?”
    “It might be.”
    “Never heard it before.”
    Cork walked slowly around the room, noting where fingerprints might have been left, where, if he’d still been in charge of investigations, he would have made sure they dusted. “What did Shiloh talk about in her letters?”
    “The past mostly. Our past.”
    “Her mother?”
    “Not really. She doesn’t remember much about her mother.”
    “Willie, do you know a woman named Elizabeth Dobson?”
    “No. Should I? Why all these questions, Cork?”
    Cork stood in the closet doorway. A big walk-in closet. A closet bigger than his entire kitchen at Sam’s Place. The walls were lined with cedar. He turned back to Arkansas Willie Raye.
    “I just had a talk with some federal agents. They’re here looking for your daughter, too.”
    “Federal agents? What on earth for?”
    “This woman, Elizabeth Dobson, was apparently a friend of Shiloh and had been receiving letters from her, too. She’s been murdered, Willie. The FBI thinks it was because of those letters.”
    “I don’t get it.”
    Cork continued moving around the room. Near the window, he bent and studied carefully a yellow birch leaf that lay on the rug.
    “The therapy that Shiloh was involved in might have brought back the memory of the night Marais was killed. Or at least that’s what the federal agents are speculating.” He picked up the leaf. “They think someone might be trying to make sure she doesn’t leave the Boundary Waters.”
    “Christ, Marais died fifteen years ago. Shiloh was only six. What could she possibly remember that would be of any use now?”
    “Maybe it’s not important what she remembers. Maybe what’s important is what someone is afraid she remembers.”
    Willie Raye’s eyes settled on the board Cork still held in one hand. His mouth opened and he took in a quick breath. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I guess I was lucky.”
    “Luckier than Elizabeth Dobson,” Cork agreed. “I’m going to have a look around.”
    Cork checked the rest of the inside of Grandview, then went outside and followed the flagstone walk as it curved toward the lake. He passed through a small stand of birch where a pile of boards lay, a lot of them two-by-fours, that looked like debris from a building project. Finally, he came to the dock. The water stretched away in unbroken darkness. The nearest signs of life were the lights of the Quetico on the far shore. Cork considered the outboard he’d heard when he arrived. A small boat could easily have pulled up unseen and left the same way. He thought it interesting that Harris and the other agents were staying just across the water, and that the interview with the FBI in Schanno’s office had delayed him just long enough for someone to steal the letters from Grandview.
    Raye was fully dressed and watching through the sliding doors when Cork came back.
    “I’m going to leave you now and go talk to someone who may be able to help us.”
    “Who?”
    “Just a man I know. You’ll be okay here?”
    “I’ll be fine. But Cork, if someone is after Shiloh, we