Nora smiled. “He’s also pretty cute.”

“Oh, shut up,” Corrie said, and added sarcastically: “You can come, too—as my chaperone.”

30

THERE DIDN’T SEEM to be anyone in the outer office, and the inner office door was almost, but not quite, shut. Corrie led the way and knocked.

“Come on in,” came Watts’s strong voice.

Corrie opened the door and stepped in. She hadn’t actually been in Watts’s office before, and she was surprised. The outside of the building was nice-looking, if a bit sterile, but the sheriff’s office itself was more like a cabin in the mountains, with knotty pine walls hung with a couple of small Navajo rugs and the head of a bull elk over a bricked-up fireplace. The desk was neat as a pin, and filing cabinets lined one wall.

“Now, this is a pleasant surprise,” Watts said, standing up. “Special Agent Swanson. And Dr. Kelly, too. On a beautiful Monday morning, no less. You’re just in time—I was about to head out to lunch. What can I do for you?” He ran his hand through his curly hair. “Oh, sorry,” he added. “I should be offering you a seat.”

“Thanks,” said Corrie. They sat down, and he did likewise.

“Any developments?” Watts said.

“Yes,” said Corrie. “But … well, can this be kept confidential for now?”

Watts nodded. He folded his hands and leaned forward, an expression of interest and attentiveness on his face.

“Are you familiar with Anzuelo Canyon?”

“I’ve heard of it. Out by Pie Town?”

“That’s right,” Nora told him. “There’s a pueblo ruin above the canyon called Tziguma.”

“Never been there.”

Corrie hesitated, then removed the photo from a manila envelope and placed it in front of Watts. “That’s an aerial photo of the area.”

Watts picked it up. “Looks old.”

“We’ve dated it to roughly 1940.”

“So this is Anzuelo Canyon?”

“Yes,” Nora said, pointing at the photo. “And that’s the location of the old Tziguma mission church. Destroyed during the Pueblo Revolt.”

He nodded. “Where’d you get this?”

“I got a warrant to search the Gower farmhouse,” Corrie told him. “It was tucked behind an old picture.”

“Interesting.”

“So yesterday afternoon,” Corrie continued, “we went there.”

“Find anything?”

Corrie swallowed. “We didn’t have time. We were shot at.”

Watts almost stood up. “Shot at?”

Corrie told him the story. Even before she had finished, Watts had gotten up from his desk and was reaching for his hat. “Let’s go.”

“What about your lunch?”

Watts waved this away. “You saw where he was shooting from, right? You can bet he left tracks and maybe other evidence, as well. We need to get out there while the sign is still fresh.” He fitted the hat to his head, lifted his revolvers and holsters from a hook, buckled them on. “We’ll take my vehicle.”

*

They arrived at the edge of the canyon as the sun passed the meridian, casting small puddles of shadow below the rock formations.

Watts examined a digital map on his cell phone. “We’ll approach indirectly, above the canyon. It’s a little longer, and a bit of a bushwhack, but safer.” He took off hiking along the rim, while they followed, circling around through the sparse pi?on and juniper scrub. After half a mile he suddenly stopped, spreading his arms to halt the others.

Slowly, he knelt and examined the ground. Then he gestured for them to come over.

“See that?” he said, pointing to fresh marks in the sand. “Someone came through here. Large foot: maybe size eleven. A man. Heavy. These are no more than twenty-four hours old, probably less.”

“So you think it’s the shooter?”

“Let’s follow the tracks and see where they go.”

He moved forward, keeping to one side. The sections in sand were easy to see, but Watts seemed able to follow the footprints across areas of hard gravel and even bare rock.

Even Nora was impressed. “How do you do that?” she asked.

“It’s sandstone, so a walking man leaves faint abrasions. Here, take a look.”

Corrie dropped to her knees and looked, with Nora peering from the other side.

“I can’t see anything,” Corrie said.

Watts ran a finger lightly over the sandstone surface. “There are loose grains here, but not here.”

“I still don’t see it.”

“It’s not hard when you spent half your childhood looking for lost cows.” He laughed. “That’s why I became a cop instead of a rancher. I don’t ever want to track a cow again.”

The man’s trail followed the top of the canyon, circled around past the slot, then climbed up the back side of the mesa, arriving at a rimrock plateau.

“That’s it,” said Corrie. “Over there is where he was shooting from.”

“You two stay back,” Watts said. “I’m going ahead. I’ll call out when I’m finished.”