Deputy Lonny Carruthers looked across the front seat as his passenger settled in. He had turned on the flashing lights but opted to use the siren only when necessary; not in town, and just to pass traffic on the county roads. Otherwise, he reasoned, the constant clamor would make conversation impossible.

"So Mike's okay with you takin' off on him?" he asked with a grin.

Steve chuckled. "Well, like he said, it's not like I'm performing the operation. All I'd be doing was sitting in the waiting room, so I might as well make myself useful, he told me."

Carruthers studied the detective's profile. "You're not worried about him, are ya?"

Steve glanced a little guiltily at the Kearney cop, feeling a bit caught out. "Nah," he shook his head a little too vigorously, "I know he's in good hands. He'll be fine." But Carruthers smiled to himself when he saw the city cop steal a quick look at his watch.

"Ya spent the morning with him?"

"Yeah, we had breakfast together. He wasn't allowed much, but I did get to bring him some ice cream with fresh berries. It was really good," Steve said with a chuckle.

"Blackberries and blueberries?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"It's the right time a year for 'em, and it don' get any better than wild berries, lemme tell ya."

"That's for sure."

"Oh, yeah, I forgot to ask – so, ah, how was your night in the motel room with your captain? Olsen, is it?"

Steve laughed. "Ah, yeah, Olsen." He took a deep breath and chuckled again. "Well, um, how shall I put this? Ah, let's just say, he's no Mike."

"And that means…?"

"Well, ay-yi, ah," the young detective chuckled again, "well, let's just say Mike and I have shared sleeping spaces enough times over the years that we've kind of, I guess, gotten used to each other…"

"Like an old married couple," Carruthers finished flatly with an amused insouciance.

Steve shot him a look. "Well, I wouldn't go that far but, okay, for the sake of argument, and stretching the point a bit – a lot – maybe, but holy crap, Rudy's another kettle of fish altogether."

Chuckling, Carruthers asked, "In what way?"

"Well, Mike is a little anal about stuff – you know, keeping his suitcase neat and laying out his shaving kit and, my god, when he says he's getting up at a certain time, he gets up at precisely that time, if not before. And he snores, but he's easy to stop – you just hit him or yell at him and he'll turn on his side and that's that.

"But Rudy, on the other hand. His suitcase looks like it exploded, his toiletries are all over the sink, and he snores like a bear. And no matter how many times I yell at him, he doesn't respond. I didn't hit him – it just didn't feel right hitting my boss's boss, kinda, so I spent most of the night with the pillow over my head. It didn't help."

Carruthers was chuckling silently and now he let it out. "Well, if ya want to put your head back and catch some z's, go right ahead. We've got about another 45 minutes ahead of us, at least."

"No, it's okay, I'm not in much of a mood right now for sleeping. But maybe we could stop at a drug store or something on the way back and I could pick up some earplugs?"

"You got it," Carruthers laughed as he pushed the Caprice as fast as he dared down the uneven asphalt on the county road.

# # # # #

Sergeant Jim Pearson and another KSP officer stood beside their cruisers on the edge of the football field behind the high school. The whup-whup-whup of rotor blades slicing the air grew louder as the dark green Bell Iroquois helicopter came into view over the trees and settled lightly onto the grass at mid-field. The police officers lowered their heads, holding their hats in place, in the gusts of dirt and sand kicked up from the spinning blades.

As the roar of the engine died and the blades slowed down, the side door opened and a man in a dark suit, carrying a large leather case, appeared. Pearson and his colleague sprinted forward and, as the trooper reached for the case, Pearson helped the black-haired South Asian surgeon down from the Huey. They nodded at each other cordially as all three hurried across the grass towards the waiting cruisers.

Within seconds, they were on their way. The pilot stepped out of the cockpit, unzipped the top of his flightsuit, fished a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket and lit up.

# # # # #

The Caprice easily slid past a beige Oldsmobile and back into the lane, and Carruthers snapped off the siren.

Steve glanced over before saying, "So, ah, Lonny, anything you can tell me about the Rutters before we get there, so I know what to expect, sort of…?"

The Kearney deputy smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. "Sure, not a problem. So, I think the sheriff already told ya the basics, right? That the Rutters are one a the four what ya might call 'big' families around here – the families that are involved in the 'shine business?"

"Yeah."

"Good, well, they've all been runnin' 'shine forever, it seems, but lately some a the younger ones've started gettin' into drugs – dope an' coke – an' that's been puttin' a strain on the, ah… status quo, I guess ya could call it. For the most part, local law enforcement turns a blind eye to the 'shinin' 'cause basically it's the only way for most families to make a livin'. The mines are played out, or almost, an' it costs too many lives… either in accidents like cave-ins an' floods, or black lung. Whichever, it's gonna shorten your life." He looked across the seat. "I come from a family of coal miners; that's why I went into law enforcement," he chuckled dryly.

"Now the Rutters seem to have gotten into drugs a little more than the other three, which has kinda turned the others against 'em even more. If there was animosity before, it got worse once dope an' coke started to make an appearance in the hollers. Some kind of undrawn line was crossed, an' the fuedin' escalated."

"Eli told us about the arson last year where a grandmother and two babies died? But he never said who did it? Do you know?"

Carruthers shook his head. "Nope. The victims were members a the King family. None of the other families took credit for it an' the Kings didn't allow arson investigators inta the holler so, well, our hands were tied."

"The King family," Steve mused. "We haven't heard from them in all this."

"And we won't. The Kings are the… Flying Dutchman, I guess you could say, around here. Talked about, rarely seen an' the subject of legend an' speculation. An' I can pretty well guarantee that none of us'll see hide nor hair of 'em. I've never interacted with a single King family member my entire career."

Steve snorted slightly, shaking his head. "So how does it feel to be policing in a place where you don't have access to certain areas and… people… and – I don't know, where Mike and I come from, we have the right to go anywhere we want and talk to anyone we want, especially with a warrant, but here…?"

Carruthers smiled, nodding. "Well, it's always been that way here, so I guess it boils down to what you're used to, right? That's why it's so hard for an outsider to come in here with a desire to change things. It's not gonna work."

"Is that what happened to that sheriff who was killed back in the early '60's?"

"Yep, sure was. They brought him in from Philadelphia, can you believe that? He had no clue. They haven't done anything that bone-headed since."

There was a pause in the conversation as Carruthers pulled out to pass another car.

"That's what makes Sheriff Noble so special. He's an outsider – well, he's a Kentuckian but from the other end a the state – but he knew enough to just sit back an' listen an' absorb all of it before he tried to do any actual policing. An' so far he's doin' a great job. All the townsfolk love 'em an' Alfie an' I've got ourselves a pretty great boss." Carruthers paused and looked over at his colleague. "Hey, ah, from what I can tell, you seem to have yourself a pretty great boss too, am I right?"

Steve looked at him. "You mean Mike?" Carruthers nodded and Steve laughed. "Yeah, you're right there. I lucked out, that's for sure." Almost unconsciously, he glanced at his watch once again; the operation was scheduled to start in twenty minutes. "Ah, so, the Rutters," he said quickly, changing the subject, "what can you tell me about them?"

Carruthers hesitated, shooting the San Francisco cop another look before replying, "Well, just like the Caudills, the Rutters have a patriarch. All four families do but only the Caudills and Kings have the great-grandfather still running things. Both of 'em are in their 90's but still rule with an iron fist.

"Now the Rutter patriarch is Jefferson Davis Rutter – he's the eldest son of the oldest generation." He saw Steve's head snap towards him and he cut off the comment he knew was coming with a chuckle. "Yeah, I know, Donny Lee's father is Robert E. Lee, one of J.D.'s four sons, and Donny Lee has… had uncles named Richard Stoddart Ewell, Nathan Bedford Forrest, Simon Bolivar Buckner, Leonidas Polk and Edmund Kirby Smith Rutter. I don't know how… informed you are about the Civil War, but all of those names are of either prominent Confederate or Kentucky generals. The Rutters are nothing if not patriotic," he said with a laugh.

"Wow," Steve muttered, impressed. "How do you remember all that?

Carruthers laughed heartily. "Believe me, ya grow up around here, ya just know this stuff. It's in the blood." They shared the moment, Steve shaking his head in amazement.

"So, chances are today yer gonna meet some, if not all, a the brothers. They'll've gathered for the funeral, no doubt, so be prepared to be severely outnumbered. But ol' J.D., he rules with a pretty firm hand. They won't do anything that he doesn't approve of an' as it's him that agreed to this meeting, you'll be okay.

"Now, J.D. is a widower, but Robert E.'s wife, Donny Lee's mother, is still alive. Her name is Ruth-Ellen. Don't know anything about her. Donny Lee had three brothers and four sisters, all of who are married an' have kids. Donny Lee was the youngest, by a long shot. They'll all be there, of course, as well as all the cousins and their families, so expect to be a little intimidated. But again, everyone kowtows to J.D. so, you stay on his good side, you're golden."

Steve swallowed hard and nodded. His palms had begun to sweat and he rubbed them together. He tried to blame the heat but the air conditioning was on and he could actually see goosebumps on his forearms below the rolled up sleeves.

# # # # #

Dr. Patel was leaning forward, staring at the x-rays on the lightbox. He inhaled deeply and turned to Dr. O'Neil, frowning. "Well, this is worse than I had hoped."

The Harlan doctor's eyebrows rose. "So what does that mean?" he asked anxiously.

Patel smiled reassuringly. "Relax, Paul, it just means it's going to take me longer than I had anticipated. But it's not hopeless. What's the motto the Corps of Engineers used in World War Two? 'The difficult we do immediately; the impossible takes a little longer.' Well, that's what we have here."

When O'Neil relaxed, Patel slapped him on the arm. "Let's get to work, shall we? We have a San Francisco police detective we have to get back home."