Free Hard Truth- Pigeon 13 by Nevada Barr Page A

dark, glo-rious miles into the park, Gwen maneuvered the vehicle into the circle of road at the handicamp. A ranger patrol vehicle was still parked in front of their site. Leaning against the hood, arms and ankles crossed, was the woman who'd ridden with them to the hospital.

"Ranger Pigeon," Heath said. "What the hell does she want?"

"You seem to have taken against her," Gwen said mildly.

Heath only grunted. There was something about Pigeon that set her off. Not something. One thing: Ranger Pigeon could walk. Most people could, but they didn't offend Heath in the same way. Anna Pigeon walked like a big cat-sure-footed, graceful, her feet touching the ground lightly as if ready to spring. There was nothing of hesitation. Nothing of fear. Around her Heath felt her disability more acutely, was humiliated by it. When they'd ridden together to the hospital, she'd found herself wanting-needing-to let Ms. Pigeon know that she'd been a climber, that she was in the chair by accident, not by birth, as if that made one damn bit of difference.

Gwen parked the RV. "I'll get your chair around," she said.

"No. She can come in here."

"I thought you were dying for a fag?"

Only Gwen still called them fags and the image usually brought a smile to Heath's face. Not tonight.

"I can wait," she said.

"Suit yourself."

Heath was doing it again, squirming inside. The truth was, in the snivel seat in the RV, she was like anyone else. She didn't want to lever herself out, drag her legs, cinch her straps and wheel herself in front of Ranger Pigeon. It wasn't that she was afraid of seeing sympathy-or worse, pity-in the woman's eyes. The ranger's face showed nothing but a polite business-like interest, but it was... She didn't know what it was but she still hated herself for it.

Ambient self-loathing. Gwen brought the ranger toward the RV. Heath swiveled her seat to face into the living space. "Get used to it," she muttered.

nine

Rain and wear had removed visible traces of the blood, but the skid marks on the asphalt and two pieces of broken headlight assured Anna she'd left Bear Lake Road at the right place. An elk carcass wasn't a subtle thing. She'd thought finding it wouldn't be a problem. But then Rita Perry was a big woman, probably strong; maybe she'd felt the need to carry it farther back into the woods where visitors wouldn't accidentally get so much as a whiff of it. Every park had a way of disposing of animal remains that was idiosyncratic to its needs and the sensibilities of the superintendent. In Glacier in northern Montana, at least in the back-country, carcasses were let lie and, knowing grizzly bears would be coming to clean the bones, area trails were closed. On the southernmost district of Natchez Trace, when a deer was killed by an automobile, the body was taken to the Catholic orphanage in Port Gibson where good fresh meat was welcomed. In Rocky Mountain, where predators and motherless children were rare, the dead animals were simply dragged into the trees, out of sight, to return to the earth through the bellies of smaller omnivores.

Anna had chosen to view these particular remains because she was new to the park. The dead were quite informative and she wanted to see if the animal was crippled, old, flea-bitten, diseased, fat, sleek, male or female, if its coat was fine or mangy. Due to a chronic wasting disease, a freakish malady with a gruesome set of symptoms embracing the best of multiple sclerosis and Alzheimer's, Rocky's elk were some of the most closely watched ungulates in the wild. Reams of information were cached in the research center available for the asking. Eventually Anna would get around to reading them. For now, her brain worked better in fresh air with visual, tactile and olfactory show-and-tell.

It was possible Rita had taken the carcass to the dump for some reason or another. If so, Anna wasn't going to pursue it. Not only didn't she have time before she headed into the backcountry, but she wasn't