Tiny poured Travis into Casper's arms. Casper gave the scene in the kitchen such a comprehensive scan that Peter was sure he wasn't as drunk as his two companions. Casper nodded at him. «Let me put Romeo to bed. I'll be back.»

Tiny gave Susan a hug. «Peter, you cooking breakfast, bro? Waffles? Holy shit, I'm staying for breakfast. Make me four, man.»

Sebastian stared at him, appalled, then disconnected the sat phone and turned to Peter. «Sebastian, what happened? Was it the Yukon? Is the river ice there yet?»

He shook his head. «Peter, you're not gonna believe…» He stopped, scrubbed down hard over his face with both hands. «Peter, that idiot kid I left there got tanked on home brew, kicked his pregnant girlfriend in the belly, then burned down the cabin.»

Peter stared at him, his mind like a whiteout, blanked out like an Alaskan snowstorm. «What?»

«Burned down,» Sebastian repeated, sinking to the floor. «Charlie's on her way here. She didn't have anywhere else to go, so I told her to come. Peter, she's seven months pregnant.»

«What was the guy looking for in Jacob's room?» Susan was chewing on a thumbnail. «He must have known that we took the duffel bag. I mean, we took everything, right?» She stared at Sebastian in shock. «What? What did you say? A fire?» Peter blinked. «Maybe he was looking for the journal. Jacob's journal.»

«What journal, Peter? Jacob didn't have a journal in the stuff we took from his room.»

«I don't know, Susan. Didn't you say he had a journal? Somebody did. I don't remember. I mean, I never saw a journal, but somebody said he had one.»

«There was no journal in his things.» Susan started paging back through her memo book. «You're right, Peter. It was Travis. He said he was at the front desk and Jacob came downstairs and found his journal.» «So who else was in the room when Travis mentioned the journal?»

«Let's see: me, you, Travis, Nelson, Mike. My deputy, Howie. Maybe some of the EMTs.»

«Wasn't Casper there? Jesse and Phillip?» Peter couldn't remember. His memory was getting fuzzy the last few days, scattered, flashes of intense feeling rather than actual memories. When he looked up again, and put a big plate of golden brown waffles on the table, the kitchen was empty except for Susan, staring blankly down at her memo book, tapping her pen on the edge of the table. «Where did everybody go?»

«Tiny staggered out. I think that's him snoring like a log truck on the couch. Sebastian left in a snit.» «What's he in a snit about?»

Susan made a note in her notebook. «Well, he told you his home had burned down, Peter. And then you replied by saying something about Jacob's journal.»

Peter felt a frisson of shock in his belly. «Susan, that's ridiculous! His home is a fishing shack with an outhouse. My home is Sebastian's home. He knows that. It has been for, what, fifteen years?» «I think closer to twenty,» she said.

«I'm the one who should be in a snit! How long is he going to give me this time before he starts getting itchy feet, starts playing with his sleds and snowshoes and staring at the horizon like he's a desperate con about to go over the wall?»

«Listen, can I ask you something? Do you guys ever just have a conversation? You know, talk?» Susan stood up, put her memo book in her pocket. She took the top waffle off the stack. «I'll have mine to go. Thanks, Peter.» * * * * *

Peter couldn't believe it. Jacob was living with a cop? A cop put those marks on his body? Cops were supposed to be like Susan. They were the people you turned to when there was an emergency. Cops were people who would come and help you when you were in trouble. Cops weren't supposed to be hulking bullies who kept their younger, smaller lovers tied to them with the threat of violence, or with battering, hateful fists. Peter couldn't get that picture out of his mind, of Jacob cowering, covering his head with his arms, while angry blows, fists and feet, rained down on his fragile, naked back. It wasn't right. That he was a cop made it a hundred times worse.

Peter picked up the phone and dialed the number Jacob had listed when he made his reservations. «Yeah.» The voice was sleepy and gruff. «Yeah, hello?» «Did you know Jacob Klein?» «Who the fuck is this?»

«This is Peter Moon in Alaska. The police here told me you have an alibi for the night Jacob was murdered, so I guess that means you didn't kill him. Do you have an alibi for the bruises up and down his back?»

The man's voice was hoarse and ragged, like he'd been screaming, or crying in his sleep. «Whatever I did to him, I never got him killed, you son of a bitch. He came to your hotel and he was murdered.» His voice broke. «Did you touch my Jacob, you sorry fuck? And now he's dead? When we find out why, Peter Moon, we're gonna find out that it's your fault Jacob is dead. And then I'm coming for you.» * * * * *

The living room smelled like Susan's drunk tank. Tiny was snoring on one sofa. Jesse was covering him with the cashmere throw, and Phillip was trying to wrestle his bunny boots off.

Casper came down the stairs. His face was damp, as if he had thrown cold water over his face. «Where's Travis?»

«I put him to bed up in my room. He's too drunk to go home, Peter. We ought to watch him today.» «And how did that happen, exactly?»

Casper gave him a narrow-eyed look. «I guess it happened the usual way, Peter. Unless you want to physically restrain him, which I believe is considered kidnapping, you can't keep that adult man from drinking bourbon with me and Tiny.»

Peter felt a bit shamefaced. «I'm sorry, Casper. You're right. I don't know what's wrong with me today.» It seemed like every time he opened his mouth he was making someone

angry, deservedly so, because he was, in fact, acting like an asshole. «Casper, I'm sorry,» he said again. «I've put you in a terrible position. I don't know what I'm thinking this morning.» Casper nodded. «You've got a full plate right now, Peter.»

Peter had seen the Yukon ice break up once. He'd been up the river, camping with Sebastian. The power of the thing, the inexorable tumble and tear when the ice started moving, the noise of it, the shrieks and roars of the ice tearing itself to pieces had made him feel so utterly small and helpless, made him want to put his hands over his ears and hide his face in his sweater. He'd hated it, and of course Sebastian had pulled off his long undershirt, bared his huge chest to the sky, thrown his arms out like he was daring the river to come and get him, bellowed with joy at the cold, and the coming spring.

Peter was starting to feel that again, the inexorable flow of events. Like the river was heading this way, and the ice was tearing up everything in its path. He turned on his heel and went back into the kitchen, got the five-gallon plastic ice cream bucket with the handle he used for picking blueberries. He went back through the living room to the front door.

«Jesse, Phillip, there's breakfast in the dining room. I apologize about the absence of any fresh fruit; I put out a fruit salad you might like, but…»

They were both looking at him with sad, sweet faces, very puppylike. «Peter, you're working yourself to death! Why don't you let us fix lunch for you?» Jesse looked ready to slip a cardigan over his shoulders. Phillip would bring the slippers. Was he turning into Mr. Rogers?

«It's true I'm feeling a bit undone,» he admitted, «but cooking is what I do to relax!» He shushed them, headed for the door. «You two are doing me a huge favor already by watching those puppies. Puppies today might be the final straw.»

The front gravel drive and lawn was still torn up from the emergency vehicles, the tire ruts full of muddy water. The sun seemed to be playing hide and seek with the clouds. One moment the sky was bright blue, the next cold gray shadows skittered across his face. Peter