Dr. Weston: doctor, coroner

"So who was that?" Victoria Moretti was a tall drink of water, but the cool blonde beauty could be a giant pain in the ass. "Who was it?" she insisted.

"No one, Filly, Jealous?" He neither liked nor disliked her, but she had an irritating ability to annoy. "Where's Walt?"

"He's coming, I happened to be in the neighborhood so I decided to see what was going on."

"Come on," he said, and started up the hill, not bothering to see if she would follow. He twisted a piece of tape around a tree for whoever came after them.

They climbed the path to the clearing, Vic complaining, every so often, asking if they were almost there. He said nothing but kept climbing. When they reached the clearing, he pointed, "There, next to the log. Looks like her head was bashed in by a rock. She's been here a few days, but no one saw her. She looks like she might be Cheyenne, but I don't recognize her. Maybe an autopsy will say if she was raped or not, then killed to make sure she didn't talk. Think Walt can find the time to investigate this?"

"Investigate what?" Walt Longmire appeared, climbing under the tape. He looked at the girl laying on the ground. "What a shame," he said, "Who'd want to kill a pretty girl like this?"

Walt Longmire was a tall, raw-boned Wyoming cowboy, but he wasn't a bad guy. Their paths crossed too often, but he was generally respectful of Mathias and stayed out of Cheyenne business, about as often as Mathias stayed away from the county. On occasion, both were known to go behind the other's back, but they generally respected each other's territory. The arrangement could be mutually beneficial, and if necessity dictated that they needed to work together, it could be done with a minimal amount of difficulty.

"Did she have any ID?" Walt asked, "did you find the murder weapon?"

Mathias shook his head, "For all I know he took it with him, or threw it as far away as he could. All I have is her, and unless she has a record, or we can get a photo ID, we have no way of even knowing who she is. How long do you think it will be until she can be autopsied?"

"I don't know how busy the coroner is, Mathias, if he's not backed up it should be soon."

"Well, there's a former FBI pathologist who's staying at the casino, if you can get a room for her, she might be willing to do it."

I knew it, thought Vic, but I didn't know that Mathias liked white women. Now that's a surprise.

"I'll see." Walt had a congenial temperament, until you crossed him. "If this pathologist is willing to help out, I'm sure it would be appreciated. Maybe I should transfer her back to you, there's always another murder victim waiting, unfortunately."

They set about doing the small things that made up a crime scene investigation. Mathias was not surprised when they turned her over and found nothing, she looked like she hadn't been moved since her murder. Full rigor had set in, but it told them nothing. Vic grumbled when she had to retrieve her kit from her truck, but she was angry at herself for not thinking to bring it in the first place. Having to investigate any murder was unpleasant, but a young person's murder was the worst.

As he expected, there was no sign of the weapon. Most likely a rock with the victim's blood on it, it would now be far from the scene. It would take more than just the three of them to locate it, if they could. It could be covered now with leaves, or it could have lodged in a hidden place in a log or tree roots.

When they finished with the girl, Mathias and Walt wrapped her in a blanket and carried her down to the Walt's Bronco. This was a lousy way to transport a body, Mathias thought, we need a coroner's van that serves both the county and the reservation. It's not respectful to move a body this way, especially a young girl who deserves better.

"I'll fill out the paperwork and send you a copy, Mathias. If there's any way we can expedite this, we'll do it. Tell your FBI friend if we can use her help, we will." And we could use it, Walt thought, we have more murders than there should be for a small town, even if this is Wyoming.

Mathias watched them drive off. By all rights the girl should have been his responsibility, but that was the way it worked out sometimes.

He was in a foul mood as he drove back to the reservation. It bothered him that he could not place the girl, and wondered if she was even Cheyenne. There was a lot of traffic back and forth from Wyoming and South Dakota, and there were Arapaho, Sioux, and Crow who could be found on the rez. Now, with the opening of the casino and hotel, tourists of all ethnicities could be found there. If the girl was not a resident, she could definitely be a visitor. They would have to get prints and a DNA sample, and hope that she might be in the system—or that someone had seen here.

He groaned inwardly when he saw the pile of paperwork sitting on his desk. He was proud of the fact that he was sheriff, and knew that he was a good one, but the amount of paperwork had increased along with his promotion. He intended to get his paperwork done, but what he really wanted was to see if Alia was settled into the hotel, and had gotten some much needed food and rest.

He organized the various sheets of paper, and began to get to work. He stopped only to get a burger and coke, as much to get away from his desk for a few minutes, as to get food. When he returned, he sat down and began to eat, pleased that the stack of paper seemed much smaller than it did when he left. He hated paperwork, but always felt a sense of satisfaction when he'd completed it.

It was close to eight when he finished. He organized the piles, set a large portion of it in his "To be Filed" basket. He grabbed his coat, and said "good night" to the girl at the front desk and made his way out the door.

He'd made up his mind what he was going to do when he slid into his car. He didn't know if what he planned was wise, but her violet blue eyes were haunting him, and he told himself that he just wanted to see how she was doing, and that she was okay. If he were to be truly honest with himself, he'd admit that he'd been planning this all afternoon. He could say that he didn't know why he was doing it, but he knew better.

Being the sheriff had its perks. Instead of having to wait for the front clerk to call her, all he'd had to do was ask, to get her room number. He didn't have the patience to wait for the elevator, so he ran up the stairs instead.

He hesitated for just a moment before he knocked, then rapped his knuckles against the door, the same way he might when knocking at a suspect's door. There was a brief moment of hesitation and then the door swung open and she appeared in the doorway.

There were tears in her eyes, which surprised him. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" He walked into her room, and took her in his arms. "Hey," he said, and kissed her forehead, "Can I help?"

Her answer was to put her arms around him, holding him tightly. He stood there, with his arms her waist, and when she tilted her head back to look at him, he kissed her. He didn't know if it was the right thing to do, but decided not to think about it when they began tearing at each other's clothes.

He picked her up and lay her on the bed, and was about to turn off the light when she told him, "Leave it on." There was almost a desperate quality to their lovemaking, but she was as fierce and aggressive as he. Something almost animal seemed to have been released in them, and if he was rough, she did not push him away, but seemed to welcome it.

At last they collapsed, exhausted, and held each other, saying nothing for a long time. He was the one who broke the silence. He tightened his arm around her waist and asked her, "So when are you going to tell me why you've come to the rez?" He tried to sound serious, tried to sound like he would if he were angry.

He didn't succeed. Goes to show what a pretty girl will do to you, Mathias, especially after you've fucked her and enjoyed more than you thought you would

She turned in his arms so she could look at him. "Well, I wondered if you were going to get around to asking me that." She stroked his cheek with a long, slender finger, "How many people do you know who live on the reservation.

"Quite a few, maybe not everyone, but quite a few, why?"

"Do you know the Rainwaters? Mary Rainwater to be specific, Rachel her daughter used to live with her until…"

"Until she was kidnapped. Yes, I remember that. I didn't want to turn the case over to the Feds but I didn't have a choice. If I remember rightly, they did a half ass job of investigating, then just quit. Nothing to go on, they said, case has gone cold, no sense investigating it any further until we can find more evidence." He pulled her closer to him, as if to block out the memory.

"Well, Annie Rainwater, my 'auntie', is her aunt and Rachel's her grand-niece. After my parents were killed…"

"Sweetheart," he said, "I didn't know, what happened?"

"They were hit by a drunk driver, and killed instantly. He was going about sixty miles an hour on a city street. The witnesses who saw it said he seemed to come out of nowhere and aimed directly for my parents' car. He died instantly, so there was no one to question, and the car was stolen, but the owners never pressed charges. I'm not convinced this was accidental, it's just too suspicious. I haven't been able to find out anything yet, but I will."

"Anyway, after they died, Annie called me up to give me her condolences, along with her advice, she's known for that. 'Call me when you're ready to resume your life', she told me, she had something for me to do, if I was up to it. She knew I'd taken a leave from the FBI, but I hadn't made up my mind about resigning. The police department kept saying that it was an accident, and that there was nothing to investigate. I tried, but after a while I got tired of running into roadblocks, so I gave it up for a while."

"It was time to quit the FBI, with the death of my parents I had a bad case of burnout. I thought it was going to be hard, but it wasn't, it turned out to be really easy."

"So what did Annie Rainwater want?" he tried to get her back on point.

"Annie told me about Rachel, and the lousy job the fibbies did investigating it. I felt sorry for Mary, I'm not a parent, but it must be hard to lose a child. Losing my parents really tore me apart, it was like, 'who was I' now that I was no longer their daughter. My dad's culture is really big on family, we had all sorts of invitations to come to Lebanon and stay as long as we wanted. Relatives I didn't even know I had came knocking at the door, or calling, just in case we needed anything. I appreciate family now in a way I never used to."

"I called Rachel, and we had a good crying session over the phone. She asked if I'd mind coming to the rez so could go over the paperwork she managed to get, and see if there was something I could work with. I told her it would be hard, they never found Rachel's body, there were never any suspects, it was like she just vanished. I told her I didn't know what I could do, but I'd try. If she could come up with the names of some of Rachel's friends, someone we could interview that maybe the FBI wasn't willing to bother with. I didn't make any promises, but I told I'd see what I could do."

"You're crazy, you know, there's probably no way to solve this case." He kissed her neck, then her cheek, "When do you go see her?"

"Tomorrow, She said I could come any time, she'd be home all day. She gave me directions, but I've never been on the rez before—I hope I don't get lost."

"I'll come with you." He ignored the look she was giving him, "I'd rather you don't try to find your way alone, not until you know this place. Having me with you will help ease the way."

"Mathias, I'd planned on going alone, you don't need to do this." She was starting to pull away from him, but he drew her back.

"And don't forget, I'm a cop, maybe I can help. Are all Lebanese women this stubborn?"

"Yes, and don't forget I'm not helpless, okay? Maybe having you with me would be a good thing, and help smooth the way. I've heard that some Indians don't like whites very much. Are you one of those?"

"little idiot." He smiled at her and pushed her down on the bed, "Am I acting like I don't like white girls?"