"Riley," Wexler tried. "Let's sit down a minute."

"No, oh God, no!"

"Riley…"

She retreated from the door, moving like a cornered animal, first darting one way and then the opposite, as if maybe she thought she could change things if she could elude us. She went around the corner into the living room. When we followed we found her collapsed on the middle of the couch in an almost catatonic state, not too dissimilar from my own. The tears were just starting to come to her eyes. Wexler sat next to her on the couch. Big Dog and I stood by, silent as cowards.

"Is he dead?" she asked, knowing the answer but realizing she had to get it over with.

Wexler nodded.

"How?"

Wexler looked down and hesitated a moment. He looked over at me and then back at Riley.

"He did it himself, Riley. I'm sorry."

She didn't believe it, just as I hadn't. But Wexler had a way of telling the story and after a while she stopped protesting. That was when she looked at me for the first time, tears rolling. Her face had an imploring look, as if she were asking me if we were sharing the same nightmare and couldn't I do something about it. Couldn't I wake her up? Couldn't I tell these two characters from a black and white how wrong they were? I went to the couch, sat next to her and hugged her. That's what I was there for. I'd seen this scene often enough to know what I was supposed to do.

"I'll stay," I whispered. "As long as you like."

She didn't answer. She turned from my arms to Wexler.

"Where did it happen?"

" Estes Park. By the lake."

"No, he wouldn't go-what was he doing up there?"

"He got a call. Somebody said they might have some information about one of his cases. He was going up to meet them for coffee at the Stanley. Then after he… he drove out to the lake. We don't know why he went there. He was found in his car by a ranger who heard the shot."