Savage Run by C. J. Box Page B

National Forest.
    It was toward the end of the national news: U.S. Congressman Peter Sollito of Massachusetts had been found murdered in his Watergate apartment in Washington, D.C. The District of Columbia police and the FBI were investigating. Sollito's body had been discovered by his longtime housekeeper. The woman had come in to give the apartment a final cleaning as the congressman had called her the previous week to tell her that he would be going home to Massachusetts in a few days for summer recess. The police were investigating, but so far they had no suspects. The cause of death was not revealed.
    But it would be, the Old Man said to himself. The news that Sollito was strangled to death by a pair of panty hose in his own bed, and that he was intoxicated at the time of his death would soon be splashed all over the headlines. Trace evidence of lipstick, long, tinted hair, and fibers from a cheap, loud miniskirt would be found in the sheets; a woman's shoe with a long spike heel would be discovered under the bed. The police would have certainly noted the singles' tabloid on Sollito's kitchen counter with the pages opened to listings of prostitutes and escort services. The conclusion to be drawn from all of this was very simple: Sollito had been playing sex games with a woman and the game got out of hand. It would be embarrassing, of course, and humiliating. He was not known for this kind of thing.
    The important thing about all of this, as Charlie Tibbs had pointed
    out to the Old Man as they entered the elevator at the Watergate dressed in maintenance uniforms, was that Sollito would only be remembered for how he died, not for what he did in Congress.
    Rep. Peter Sollito, with his position on the Natural Resources Committee and his relationship with the media, was by far the foremost advocate of environmental legislation in the House. Sollito introduced bills halting timbering, mining, natural gas, and petroleum exploration on many federal lands. He killed a proposal to declare a moratorium on grazing fees. He was the most visible "green" Congressman, and the most vocal. Environmental groups loved him and showered him with awards. His constituents were proud of his tough stands on the environment and his high profile.
    In Charlie Tibbs's toolbox, in the elevator, had been an envelope with the fibers and hair, the shoe, the singles tabloid, and the pair of black panty hose. The Old Man carried a small daypack containing three bottles of cheap champagne, and he had the pistol. Sollito had opened the door after looking at them through a peephole and deciding they were legitimate. They were just two old guys, after all.
    "That took a while, didn't it?" Charlie said after the news was over. "Four days to find him. You'd think a congressman would be missed."
    "It seems like months ago," the Old Man said. They had crossed the country from Washington, D.C." to Washington State in the meanwhile. And now they were back in Montana.
    "Charlie, don't you ever sleep?" the Old Man asked.
    Charlie Tibbs clearly disliked personal questions and so he ignored this one as he had all of the other personal questions the Old Man had asked. The Old Man shifted his weight and looked through the back window into the bed of the pickup.
    "Where did the computer and all that other stuff of Powell's go?"
    "Dumped them in a canyon by Lookout Pass," Charlie said. Lookout Pass was on the Idaho-Montana border.
    "I didn't even know we stopped."
    "I know"
    Charlie seemed to resent the fact that the Old Man slept at night. Charlie seemed to resent anything that suggested human frailty of any kind. The Old Man recalled the look Charlie gave him back at Hayden Powell's house when the Old Man didn't want to see Powell's injuries.
    "There's some coffee in the Thermos." Charlie said.
    "Charlie, do you dream much?" the Old Man asked, finding the Thermos of hot coffee and pouring the remainder into their cups. He knew the question would annoy Tibbs, which was why