'You responded to the 911?' I said.

'I was the second unit to arrive.'

'I see.'

I got out of the cruiser and stepped under the yellow tape. But she didn't follow me.

'Where was the girl?' I said.

'Down there in those bushes by the water.'

'Undressed?'

'Her clothes were strewn around the ground.'

'On the ground by her?' I said.

'That's right.'

The soil in the clearing was damp and shady, and tire tracks were stenciled across the pine needles that had fallen from the trees.

'And Lucas was in his truck, passed out? About here?' I said.

'Yes, sir.'

'You don't have to call me "sir".'

I walked down to the riverbank. The water was green and deep, and cottonwood seeds swirled in eddies on top of the current.

'You know, I never heard of a rapist being arrested because he was too drunk to flee the crime scene,' I said.

But the deputy didn't answer me. The ground among the bushes was crisscrossed with dozens of footprints. I walked back to where Lucas's truck had been parked. Mary Beth Sweeney still stood outside the crime scene tape, her hands in her back pockets. Her arms looked strong, her stomach flat under her breasts. Her black gunbelt was polished and glinted with tiny lights.

'This is quite a puzzle,' I said.

'The sheriff just told me to give you the tour, Mr Holland.'

She put on a pair of dark green aviator's sunglasses and looked at the river.

'Did Lucas attack her in his truck, then pass out? Or did he attack her in the brush and walk back to his truck, have a few more drinks and then pass out?' I said. 'You don't have an opinion?'

'I'll drive you back to your car if you're ready,' she said.

'Why not?' I said.

We drove through rolling fields that were thick with bluebonnets and buttercups, then crossed a rusted iron bridge over the river. The river's bottom was soap rock, and deep in the current you could see the gray, moss-covered tops of boulders and the shadows they made in the current.