Sheila, already unconscious or dead, might have been hauled in the back hidden from sight under a tarp or bags of garbage. A small-framed woman, she might have been squeezed into one of the toolboxes. Or she could have been forced into the cab, her pack thrown in the back.

Of the various situations there remained only a few constants. If the truck had been used in the crime and had been used to transport Drury, Anna could look for anything that might indicate the presence of an iridescent green backpack, Sheila herself, or any signs of a struggle.

The truck bed indicated neither the first nor the second possibility and was so battered from years of use that any trace of the third would blend right in.

Anna moved to the cab.

Karl's tidiness ended at the door. From the evidence that met her eye, Anna could have made a case for the man living in his vehicle. Loose papers and empty Gatorade containers covered the seat. The dash held compass, maps, sunglasses, sticky Styrofoam cups, and two monkey wrenches. The floor on the passenger side was ankle-deep in papers and crumpled soda-pop cans.

Again Anna considered going home. There was still time for that second cup of coffee.

"Just look."

Careful not to arrange Karl's heap into any telltale orderliness, she began picking through the piles. The dash provided nothing more damning than an empty tin of Red Man chewing tobacco. If that were the extent of Karl's sins against society he would go unpunished. At least in West Texas.

Not wanting to slide through the flotsam of Karl's life, Anna got out and went around to check the glove box from the passenger side. She glanced at her watch: 6:45. Soon she must give it up or leave it for another day.

The glove box produced the expected pencils with broken leads, pens without caps, and registration papers. And a hypodermic syringe without a needle.

Anna sniffed at it delicately but only because she'd seen cops on television do it. Unless it was filled with Jean Nate or Windex she doubted she'd learn anything. Hoping Karl wouldn't miss it, that he wasn't diabetic and would die from lack of a syringe, she dropped it in one of her sandwich bags and stowed it in her shirt pocket.

Law Enforcement rangers had only ten weeks of training to a regular cop's sixteen. In the old days, before crime had moved into the parks, it had sufficed. This morning Anna found herself missing that month and a half. Maybe that's when they'd covered Sniffing Suspicious Substances.

With one potential "find" to her credit, the search took on more interest. Scooping up the mess on the seat one section at a time, Anna checked the upholstery. Near where the driver sat was a dark stain on the vinyl. At one time seven or eight drops of red-brown liquid had fallen on the seat. Most of it was smeared away but some had caught in the fabric where the smooth surface had been worn and frayed. If a victim had been stretched across the seat, head on or near the driver's lap, blood from face, neck or shoulder wounds would have dripped just there.

Excitement trembled in her hands as she scraped up some of the frayed cloth with her pocket knife and stowed the shreds carefully in a fresh sandwich bag. Anna was having fun. Intent upon the hunt, she had forgotten about the big kindly man who gave carrots and sugar to the horses.

Neither the rest of the seat nor the floor offered up any more promising items. On the passenger door, just above the handle, were two long smears of mud. If a victim had lain on the seat as Anna imagined and if she had struggled, the mud from her boots could've smeared the door at just that place.

Feeling like Sherlock Holmes on a good day, she began scraping the mud into a third Baggie. Maybe there was a difference between Dog Canyon dirt on the park's northernmost edge and dirt from Frijole or McKittrick on the southern borders.

"Sorry Miss, but rangers aren't allowed to carve their initials on Roads and Trails vehicles." The voice so startled Anna, she actually squawked like a duck.

Smiling, Harland was looking down through the window glass to where she squatted. His thick dark brows asked the question he seemed too polite to phrase: "What the hell are you doing?"

Anna had no answer. The bag, the knife, the time of day- none could be explained away by even the most ornate lie.

"Good morning, Harland." Straightening up, she folded the knife and slipped the Baggie into her trouser pocket. Anna wracked her brain and drew nothing but blanks. Except for the truth, there was no good reason she could come up with for scraping dirt from the inside of a Maintenance vehicle's door. Harland was waiting while she decided which was the lesser of the two evils: telling him nothing or telling him something-anything.

"There has been a little matter that's been concerning Paul," she began, feeling her way. "Nothing serious. I was hoping a look at the truck would clear it up. Just guess-work and speculation at the moment. If I find out it's a real problem you'll get a full report. If, like I expect, it's just gossip, I'll tell you the whole story over a beer and we'll at least get a good laugh out of it." Hard-eyed, Harland waited for a better explanation. Anna smiled in a way she hoped looked as sheepish as it felt. Nothing is more disarming in a woman than incompetence.

"I'll hold you to that beer," Harland said finally. "And especially that laugh. But right now chivalry's dead. You get to handle Karl all alone. He hates anybody messing with 'his' truck." He nodded toward the gate where Karl, looking like a storm about to break, was hurrying in from the parking lot. Harland gave Anna a wink and, whistling, sauntered across the yard to his office.

Investigative paraphernalia safely tucked out of sight, Anna had a little more presence of mind. "'Morning, Karl," she said easily. "I left my sunglasses in the barn yesterday. I thought you might have picked them up for me. They were on top of the oat bin."

Karl stared at her for a full three seconds, his face utterly blank, and Anna felt her belly grow cold.

"No," he said. "They weren't there. I gave the mules some oats with their dinner. I'd've seen them."

Anna had no idea whether Karl had been fooled or not but the fun had gone out of the morning as quickly as it had come into it. "Thanks anyway," she said and made her escape.

"Anna, headed back to housing?"

It was Harland. Anna hoped she'd not been obviously hightailing it out of Maintenance.

"Yup. Getting my pack. Backcountry patrol."

"I'll walk with you, keep you safe from the forces of evil." He smiled, his gray eyes taking in the hundred yards of peaceful road between the yard and the housing area. The great threats were a desert cottontail the size of a small boot and two butter-colored butterflies. "I forgot my radio," he confided in a stage whisper as he fell into step beside her.

Anna laughed. "I do it all the time." She was mildly impressed that he walked. Most of the staff seemed to drive their private cars the quarter-mile to the Maintenance Yard where they traded them for a government vehicle.

"Perfect day for the high country," Harland said wistfully. "I wish I was going with you. Don't ever let them promote you to GS-11," he said earnestly. "You'll be trapped behind a desk forever after."

Anna looked up at the green and brown hills, then the pale cliffs of the escarpment. The tops were fringed black with evergreens robbed of color and shape by distance. "I won't," she said, and meant it.

Harland smiled. His teeth were straight and white but they looked like they were his own.

Fifty is not old, Anna found herself thinking, and wondered why.

Harland reached down, picked up a cigarette butt and put it in his hip pocket. "What has Karl done to get the Ranger Division's notice?" he asked.