"No, no, I did not. Sadly, Jane Liebowitz died in an abortion clinic bombing in North Carolina in 1997. Ranelle Foster Smith, fortunately, is still alive, and is residing in Sitka, Alaska. She runs a local art gallery and has apparently become quite renowned for her native basketry. It turns out that she is part Inuit."

"Will you go see her?"

He swallowed before he answered.

"Actually, I've presumed upon an old colleague of mine to do that for me. She is already on her way up from Seattle to pose a few questions to Ms. Smith on our behalf. It's apparently not a convenient trip.

Getting to Sitka, I mean. From anywhere. It involves… seaplanes." I could feel the seat shiver as Kimber Lister shuddered at the thought of being confined in a seaplane.

I pulled left onto the county road to head toward town. The shadows of the big trees close to the river provided a cool canopy.

"What about the two cowboys, Kimber? The hands who took care of Gloria's horses?"

"Actually haven't put too much energy into finding them. They were out of town the day the girls disappeared. We've already confirmed that.

But… I suppose there is something to be gained from talking with them, too.

Just in case."

I thought more about the cowboys.

"I wonder who watched the horses when the two cowboys were out of town. Maybe someone else was on the ranch that day-another possible witness."

For the first time since he joined me in the front seat, Kimber looked at me.

"I hadn't thought of that possibility. I'll have to inquire. Would Gloria have taken care of the horses herself on those days when her ranch hands were gone?

I'm afraid I'm rather ignorant about ranching and things. Would it be likely that the chores are something she might just do herself? Or would she bring someone in to help from the outside? I just don't know. That's another question that I can have my friend pose to Ranelle during their meeting."

He scribbled a note on an index card that he pulled from his breast pocket. He replaced it.

I changed the tone of my voice and asked, "How are you doing, Kimber? This has to be difficult for you. Leaving your routine like this."

"I'm doing better than I expected, thank you. So far I've been anxious, but I haven't had an actual panic attack, though I will admit that last night at your house was less than pleasant. Mostly I think I've been anxious about having a panic attack. Does that make sense?"

"Of course it does."

"The day has been long. I'm looking forward to having some time to myself at the B and B to refresh myself before tomorrow. I'm afraid it might be another grueling day. The stable and bunkhouse may turn out to be crucial sources of evidence. Need I say that I won't be joining you and Russ and Flynn for dinner this evening? I'm hoping there's a pizza place in town that delivers. I'm sure you will understand."

"Do you have energy for one more question?"

"Yes?"

"Are you confident about what we're doing here? The forensics? Will this be enough to end the investigation?"

"Once we're on someone's trail, Alan, Locard is like the big bad wolf. We'll huff and we'll puff until we blow the house down. If these forensics don't pan out, something else will." With that pronouncement he pulled his hat down over his eyes and slunk low on his seat.

Once in Steamboat, I checked in to the bed-and-breakfast for both Kimber and myself and gave him his key. Flynn and russ had already settled into their room without any apparent consternation about the sleeping arrangements.

I walked down the hall and inquired about their dinner plans. Flynn wanted to go to an early movie before she ate. Russ wanted to visit the hot springs in Strawberry Park.

I wanted to do neither.

I wanted to be home in Boulder with my pregnant wife. My presence in Steamboat, it had turned out, was superfluous. I was sorry I'd come. I was considering leaving for home first thing in the morning.

Kimber knocked on my door a few minutes after I'd settled into bed for the night. I thought it was around eleven o'clock. I was sleeping naked and the B and B didn't provide robes for its guests, so I answered the door dressed as though I were attending a toga party on a cheap cruise line.

Kimber said, "So sorry to disturb you. May I impose for just a moment? Flynn and russ haven't returned from their excursions yet." He stepped past me into the room without waiting for my assent. Kimber was someone accustomed to getting his way. He sat in a small club chair beneath the room's only window, which was a double-hung in a narrow gable. Paisley engulfed him from all directions-wallpaper, upholstery, pillows, I noticed that he hadn't changed his clothes from earlier in the day.

I sat back against the headboard of the bed and pulled the comforter over my legs.

"Sure, why not?" I said.

While he spoke I assessed him for signs of incipient panic. I didn't see any symptoms.

"My friend made it to Sitka at dinnertime in Alaska and phoned me right after speaking with Ranelle. Ranelle has no recollection of ever seeing Mariko or Satoshi at the ranch that night or any other night. Tami? She's not sure about her. Maybe, she says. Ranelle says that Mrs. Franklin was a frequent visitor of Mrs. Welle and thinks that perhaps Tami may have accompanied her once or twice." I said, "So we now have confirmation about Mrs. Franklin's visits to the ranch?"

I was wondering what about this information warranted invading my room after I had gone to bed.

"That's correct. In addition, Ranelle was able to provide my friend with some more information about the two men who took care of the horses on the ranch."

"Great," I said, without any enthusiasm. I wanted to go back to sleep. My suspicion was that Kimber had stopped by just for company.

He was trying to keep his robust voice down, but seemed physically incapable of whispering.

"Both men, Frank Jobe and Thomas Charles Charles-Ranelle said they called him Double Chuck-are living on a ranch outside Austin, Texas. I've been searching databases all evening. They continued working together after they left the Silky Road in 1992. They worked briefly at a ranch near Dallas until 1993."

I pulled the comforter all the way to my waist.

"There's more, isn't there?"

Kimber's posture was atrocious. The round-backed club chair made it appear that both his clavicles had collapsed forward.

"Yes, there's more. The man who covered for Frank Jobe and Thomas Charles when they were out of town? I located him, too. He still lives close by here. Place called Oak Creek. I found it on the map. Do you know where it is?"

"Yes. I've driven through it a few times. Stopped there once to use the bathroom at the Total station. It's not exactly a metropolis."

"How long would it take us to get there?"

I shrugged.

"Guessing? Twenty minutes. Maybe a little more."

Kimber moved toward the door.

"I'll wait for you downstairs." He grabbed the doorknob.

"I almost forgot. Ranelle said that she and Jane did some major scrubbing of one of the bunkhouse rooms the week after the girls disappeared.

Made some extra money by agreeing to paint it all themselves, too."

I tried to control my breathing.

"Whose room? Franks or Chuck's?"

"Neither. The common room, she called it. Ranelle says that there were three little bedrooms, the common room, and a kitchen in the bunkhouse. She was sorry to hear it had burned down. She and Jane and the two cowboys apparently had some good times there."

"Does she remember any blood?"

"She surely does not."

The man who lived in Oak Creek was named Robbie Talbot. Robbie Albert Talbot.

Because of the hour I half expected him to greet us with a twelve-gauge at the ready, but he invited us into his home as though he'd been expecting all along for us to show up during the appearance of Jay Leno's last guest of the evening. When Kimber called him Mr. Talbot he told us his nickname was Rat and asked us to call him Rat.