I punched my speed-dial and heard: “Good afternoon, Mister Andre. Did you wish to speak to the judge?”“Molly, you REALLY need to go out with me,...you know. Can’t understand why you haven’t, unless you think I’m too young.”Laughter, then, “Sir, you’re already married, too. I’m twenty-five, and you’re only sixty-two. I need someone older, more established and responsible — those kinds of things.”I groaned (for effect) and said, “Well, hell. I’ll wait a few years and try again, I guess. And while. They were dead, buried deep in one unmarked grave. As were the Indians.Patcheye was young, skinny, and restless. Always moving, fiddling with something. She was also dressed in a man’s suit. Well, I guess maybe it was a woman’s suit, small and fitted. A coat with padded shoulders, vest, and trousers.She looked back and forth at Cayuse and me with the alertness of a jackrabbit.And got right to it, “You got to stop those killers.”“Killers? More than one?”“I don’t know. You’re the law, what do you. More

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