The men on the hill stood close together between a bright orange hovercraft and a stand of dead-looking larch, branches bare even of snow. They spoke little, and all of them faced the road, shoulders hunched as if against a brisk wind, although the air was still.
A distant whine broke the silence. One man went to the edge of the hilltop. He was in uniform: nylon jacket, striped pants, a bone-colored Western hat. The jacket was open in spite of the cold, revealing a pistol belt. On the shoulder a patch read sheriff’s department with ironwood* Montana below. He shaded his eyes and looked out over a white expanse broken only by the dark gray of a newly plowed road. “That’ll be Johnny,” he said quietly.
A cruiser pulled up behind the two cars already parked. An officer emerged, dressed like the sheriff. Putting on his hat, he walked to the packed snow lining the road. He hesitated a moment, as if looking for an easier path, then made his way along the trail of footprints leading to the hill.
Halfway up, he stopped to face a splash of dark red, clotted and sunk deep. He studied it without expression before going on.
“Well, Johnny,” the sheriff said as the deputy reached the top. “You’re not going to like this, but”—he nodded over his shoulder. “Take a look.”
Without a word the deputy walked past the hovercraft. There, under the trees, lay a body. Female, unclothed, height and weight average, hair black . . .
He squatted for a closer look. The other two, a rancher in a sheepskin jacket and an overcoated man wearing an armband marked vigilance-501-committee gathered behind him as if waiting for answers.
The corpse had a boneless, doll-like appearance. Both arms were broken all along their length, one pulled completely out of the socket. The hand on the other was bent back flat against the wrist. The ribs had been crushed on the near side, jagged edges poking knifelike through skin. The breasts had been mutilated.
But the face . . . the face was just gone, an oval of raw meat speckled here and there with shining bone. A hole gaped in the lower part, and there were broken stumps of what must have been teeth.
He raised his head. The sheriff was pulling at his mustache. “We got a real winner out there somewhere, Johnny.”
“That we do.”
A soft throbbing echoed from the hills. On the eastern horizon a small dot grew into a lifter, its curved, deltoid hull white as the snow below it. The deputy got up, brushing off his pants.
Edging closer, the vigilante said, “What do you think, Nast?”
The deputy turned away. “I think that’s a dead girl.”
Banking toward them, the lifter lost height, red cross visible on its tailfin. As it passed overhead, the trees swayed and a wave of warm air crossed the hilltop. Halting at a level spot at the foot of the hill, the lifter dropped to the snow, setting down daintily.
A small figure in a camelhair coat emerged, followed by two men carrying a folded stretcher. Fumbling on a pair of sunglasses, the coroner climbed the hill. “What you got for me?”
The sheriff gestured toward the trees. “Right back there.”
Walking past him, the coroner whistled. “Where did you come from?” he muttered as he set down his black boxes. Kneeling next to the corpse, he cracked open the largest unit. The system hummed as it powered up. “You gentlemen will want to give me some room.”
They moved back. The emergency team stood off by themselves, mumbling to each other. To one side the sheriff spoke to the vig, who gave Nast a brief glare.
“Remains have been moved,” the coroner said without raising his head. He attached a probe to the body and stuck another into the snow.
“That was Wes,” the sheriff called out.
“I didn’t think it was right, her lying out there like that,” the rancher said, his voice tight.
“It’s okay, Wes,” the sheriff said. “We’ve been through it.”
“I thought it was a dead steer,” the rancher went on in a voice so quiet, it was barely audible. “I couldn’t turn the hover. It was like I was pushed here.”
“Thirty seconds,” the coroner called out. He got up and turned to the vig. “Ben, step aside there. You’re in hologram range.”
The sheriff walked up to Nast. “You want to see to this?” he asked.
The deputy nodded. “Okay. What’s Lassiter doing here anyway?”
“I was having coffee with him when the call came in. It’d be nice if you weren’t so hard on him.”
Nast smiled mirthlessly. “Hell with the vigs,” he said.
A beep sounded, and the coroner went back to his boxes. “What you thinking, Stan?” the sheriff called out.
“I’m thinking I’ll head back to the lab and see if I can get a time of death. No question about cause, I don’t believe.”
The sheriff grimaced. “Right. Johnny’s handling it. I’ll have him call you.”
“About two, I guess,” the coroner said. Behind him the emergency team was shifting the corpse to the stretcher. One of them straightened and made a gagging sound.
Going to the hovercraft, the sheriff spoke to the rancher. The vig paused to say a word and with a sulky glance at Nast headed downhill. “Thanks for coming, Ben,” the sheriff called.
The coroner reached the lifter, the stretcher just behind him. Turbines keened as the hatch closed. The sun vanished, obscured by clouds.
“Told Wes you’d call for a statement,” the sheriff said, returning to Nast. “He’s worried about his girls. Can’t say I blame him.” He shook his head. “He ain’t been right since the war.”
“Who has?”
The sheriff glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “You sure you want to take this on, John? This is one bastard we might not catch.”
“The corpse would have been visible from the road.” Nast spoke simply, without emphasis, as if they had discussed this before. “Wonder why it was dumped there?”
“You’re looking for reasons,” the sheriff said. “Whoever did this doesn’t have . . .” His words were lost as the lifter took off and roared overhead. Then the fans of the hovercraft began turning behind them. Shrugging, the sheriff bobbed his head toward the road.
Halfway downhill Nast came to a halt at the single splatter of red. His eyes were thoughtful, as if he were trying to imagine one spot on earth that hadn’t been soaked in blood.
The sheriff looked at the red uneasily and went on. After a moment Nast followed, shivering and raising the collar of his jacket. It would snow before dark, and spring was still a long way off.