"That's a detail best left to the people who know the countryside," Davenport suggested. "You know where he is-he's buried. Now they just have to find the exact spot."

"They don't consider a dead man a detail up here," Virgil said. "So. If somebody dies, feel free to call me for a funeral donation. Other than that, I'll see you in a week or so."

"Seriously, Virgil, you all right?" Davenport asked.

"My nose hurts worse that I can possibly believe," Virgil said. "My nose hurts so bad my front teeth hurt."

"I know how that is," Davenport said. "I'm on my fourth nose. If you like to fight, that's what happens."

"I don't like to fight," Virgil said. But maybe he did, a little; he'd absolutely kicked Slibe's ass, he thought, not counting the nose.

"Could have shot him," Davenport said.

"No, I couldn't."

"Then quit bitching about it," Davenport said. "See you in a week. Take some time at night to get all the paper done. I'll okay the overtime-you can even add a little to it. Take it easy."

"Okay."

Virgil was about to hang up when Davenport said, "Hey-wait a minute."

"Yeah?"

"Weather wants to know-what happened to the ear?" Weather was Davenport's wife, and a plastic and reconstructive surgeon.

"I don't know. It was all ripped up, and we didn't treat it too well. It got stepped on, and got some dog shit smeared on it…"

"Dog shit?"

"Yeah, this was just down from the kennel, in a field they used to train the dogs. Anyway, it was pretty messed up, and they couldn't get it to go back on," Virgil said.

"So… what'd they do with it?" Davenport asked.

"I don't know. Disposed of it, I guess."

"How do they do that?"

"Hell, I don't know," Virgil said. "Throw it in a ditch?"

SLIBE WAS TAKEN UNDER the wing of his attorney, who didn't allow him to say anything about anything; but Phillips was happy. "We've got him. We know it and they know it. We don't need anything else-Lifry or Washington or McDill."

"We're gonna get Washington and McDill, because of the rifle," Virgil said.

"We'd have to prove that he was the one that used it, and not his son," Phillips said. "Now, we don't really have to do it. We can pack all that information into the sentencing recommendation, to clean it up for the relatives of the dead people."

"What about the Deuce? He's all shot up."

"Well, we'll have to see," Phillips said. "I anticipate further court proceedings."

"Yeah. I anticipate a court order that says, 'Dear Itasca County: Please drop your shorts and bend over.' "

"Maybe. We've got further issues with the Ashbach family that are still outstanding," Phillips said. He seemed happy at the thought of the further issues. "Like Wendy lying to you. All those issues could go away in a proper settlement."

"I love talking to lawyers," Virgil said. "It gives me a fresh, clean view of life."

VIRGIL RAN INTO SANDERS'S father, Ken Sanders, in the hall outside the sheriff 's office, and the old man said, "I missed all the excitement. I understand Slibe beat the crap out of you."

"Ah, I had him," Virgil said. "I didn't want to hurt him, when it wasn't necessary."

Sanders smiled: "I guess that's one view. And I guess I'd rather have a broken nose than one ear. Though, I gotta tell you, you look a little odd with those white things sticking out of your nose."

"I can take them out in an hour," Virgil said. "I'll be good as new."

"Except for the nose brace and the tape."

"Well, yeah."

Sanders stuck an index finger in Virgil's gut, said, "Check you, cowboy," and went on his way.

VIRGIL WENT BACK to his motel and found Zoe walking down the hall, apparently having gotten no answer when she knocked on his door. She looked miserable. "Well, it's all over for me and Wendy. I rushed out there when I heard, but she's back with Berni. Big-time."

"Zoe… give it up," Virgil said. "She doesn't love you. She loves herself. I mean, you're not going to be able to compete with that."

"Oh, I know it," Zoe said. "Sig keeps saying that I ought to get more in the scene over in Duluth, or down in the Cities."

Virgil patted her on the shoulder. "Look. You're planning to buy the Eagle Roost…"

"Eagle Nest."

"… Nest. You want to turn it into a lesbo destination, right?"

"We don't use the word lesbo that often," she said, "but that's correct."

"You're going to meet somebody. Somebody who's successful, like yourself, and you're going to have a terrific relationship," Virgil said.

"You think?"

"It'll happen," Virgil said.

"You going over to see Sig?"

"Oh, yeah. If you show up tonight, by the way, I guarantee that you won't be buying the Eagle Nest, or having a great relationship with anybody, because I'll choke the life out of you."

"Come have coffee with me tomorrow morning," she said. "I'll want all the details, about what my sister does in bed. I know she's been getting ready." She stood on tiptoe and pecked him on the cheek. "See you tomorrow; and good luck."

LIFE, AND CRIME, were complicated. There was a lot of work yet to be done: statements to be taken, evidence to be marshaled, reports to be written. Expense accounts to be submitted.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he was heading for Signy's.

HE'D JUST PULLED off his shirt when his cell phone rang. He looked at the number: Sanders. Damn. Well, he was going to Signy's, he didn't care what else had happened. He pressed the "talk" button: "Yeah?"

"We had people walking through the woods on the other side of the fence from Slibe's-looked like some machinery had been through there," Sanders said. "We've got a patch of roughed-up dirt, about car-sized. Bunch of dead trees and brush pushed over it, but… we got your crime-scene boys coming out in the morning. I think it's probably Windrow."

"Sounds like it," Virgil said. "I'll be out there to watch."

He hung up, and caught the image of himself in the dresser mirror: his eyes dark, sad. Windrow had been a good guy, full of life. If Virgil hadn't told him about Wendy…

NOW HE NOT ONLYwanted to go to Signy's, he needed to. Needed a human touch; and a little physical pleasure. He was not a man to boast, Virgil thought to himself, but he was going to turn the woman every way but loose. They'd been dancing around each other for a week, and she'd as good as told him that she hungered for Dr. Flowers's Female Cure.

Virgil got cleaned up, carefully pulled the cotton packs from his nostrils-that hurt like fire-and shaved and perfumed himself, although he didn't call it that. Old Spice was a manly deodorant, not a perfume, even if you did put a small splash under the testicles.

When he was ready, he checked himself in the mirrored door of the motel room: tapered long-sleeve shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, second button casually undone, boot-cut faded jeans over high-polish cowboy boots with the decorative teal-colored Thunderbird stitching up the sides. Women went for men with polished boots.

I am a genuine piece of crumb cake, he thought, admiring his image in the mirror; there was that thing about the aluminum brace on his nose, and the tape, and the incipient black eyes, but a woman of quality could see past all that.

THERE WAS A KNOCK on the motel room door, and he thought, No.

And he thought about turning out the lights, so they wouldn't shine around the curtains, or under the door… He could lie on the bathroom floor, and stop breathing…

Another knock, louder. "Officer Flowers, please, I need some help."

A genuine piece of crumb cake, Virgil thought. He opened the door.

He'd never before seen the woman standing on the walkway. She was older, in her fifties, wearing walking shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, and pink plastic-rimmed glasses with a retainer cord. She said, "They told me you were here."