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the horizon. Mountains and forests fenced the city. Whoever founded it, Mickey thought, must’ve really wanted somewhere they would be left alone.
    It was already ten p.m. by the time he arrived at the Sheriff’s station, so he decided to head to the motel instead. The Bureau had booked one for him that looked like a box of matches. He drove around a bit and found a bed and breakfast in what looked like an old Victorian home instead. He parked and walked to the front door. It was unlocked and he stepped inside.
    “Hello?”
    “Just a minute,” a female voice said. A few moments later an older woman in a robe came down the stairs.
    “Sorry, the door was unlocked.”
    “That’s all right. What can I do for you, sir?” She pulled her robe tight.
    “I was wondering if you had a room available for a few days?”
    She stared at him. “Haven’t seen you here before.”
    “No, ma’am. You haven’t.”
    “Just passing through?”
    “Something like that. I’m here to meet the sheriff. She requested my help with something.”
    “Oh, well, why didn’t you say so? Come in, we’ll find something for you.”
    Mickey shut the door behind him and followed the woman up the s tairs. Several rooms with closed doors lined either side of the hall, and she used a key to unlock one. The room had one bed and a window that overlooked a garden in the backyard.
    “It’s fifty a night , and I take cash or credit card.”
    Mickey pulled out his wallet and gave her his credit card.
    “I’ll be right back with a receipt,” she said.
    He placed his bag down on the floor. The town and forest just beyond the window were quiet and empty. He opened the window as the woman came back and placed his card and a receipt on the nightstand.
    “Fresh towels and soap are in the bathroom. Breakfast is at seven a.m. sharp, so don’t be late.”
    “Thanks.”
    “So what’re you doing for the sheriff, exactly?”
    “There’s a case she wanted me to look at. I’m a federal agent.”
    “Oh. Is it the Hennleys ?”
    “It is.”
    The woman shook her head. “Such a sweet family. Especially that girl of theirs, Janessa. Her mother and I volunteered with the PTA together some years ago. She was so warm. Just a sweet girl. I wish the sheriff would just hurry up and find whoever did that.”
    “Thanks for the room,” Mickey said.
    The woman stood still. Mickey held her gaze. Most people were unable to maintain silent eye contact for more than a few moments without growing uncomfortable. She fidgeted a little and then said, “Well, I should let you get some sleep.”
    “Thanks again,” Mickey said, and shut the door.
    He lay down on the bed. Though he wanted to take a shower, fatigue penetrated every muscle in his body. He was asleep before he could even kick off his shoes.

11
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    T he bulb in the ceiling glared like an unwelcome guest in his room. The sun came through the windows, brightening the room further and reflecting off a mirror on the far wall. Mickey’s watch beeped. He clicked it off and retrieved the amber bottles from his bag. He ran the water in the bathroom sink until it was cold. Cupping his hand under the stream, he took each pill one at a time, then returned to the window.
    He dressed in the traditional clothing J. Edgar Hoover had forced down the throats of special agents in the Bureau for sixty years: black suit, white shirt, dark tie. The outfit police agencies expected. Whenever Mickey showed up in jeans, the officers were less likely to help or listen to him.
    He’d missed breakfast, so he went straight to his car and headed for the Sheriff’s Office. The streets were nearly empty, the roads lined with mom-and-pop stores and fast-food restaurants. Children played on a playground near the Sheriff’s Office.
    He pulled into the Kodiak Basin Justice Complex. A few uniformed officers were relaxing near their cars, smoking. They glared at him as he retrieved his iPad and went inside. Only two