H4

H4

"Shut up, Paul," Hansen told him when he drew near. "You'd only go to hell if you didn't do it. Is that the knife?"

Paul nodded. He had entirely forgotten about the murder weapon, but it was still grasped in his gloved hand.

"We can't afford to be caught anywhere near that thing. Throw it away right now. Anywhere, but throw it as far as you can."

Paul hurled the blade on the snowy wastelands lying off to the west somewhere in Wyoming. The blade flashed once in the morning sunlight and disappeared from view.

"Now help me lift her on this."

There was a short post and a little sign about chest high that marked the exact place where the three states came together. The sign was canted at a forty-five degree angle. They draped Kim's body across the sign, letting her head and arms bend backwards and her legs droop down. It looked positively New Testament.

After that, Hansen circled the area a few times to make sure Paul hadn't dropped anything. Good. Even the snow splattered with the girl's blood was clear.

"Walk with me to my truck."

Hansen dropped the tailgate. In the bed of the truck were two sets of coats, clothing and boots laid out beside a cardboard box. Hansen took off the boots he was wearing and threw them in the box, along with his blood-stained coat, shirt and trousers. In the cold of high plains January he quickly put on new outer garments, then sat on the tailgate to put on new boots.

"Throw your gloves in the box, Paul. Then do exactly what you just saw me do."

"How are you going to get rid of the box?"

"Trust me, I'll have it done in such a way that nothing, absolutely nothing will remain to tie this back to us, as long as you don't forget to dispose of the set that knife came from when you get back home. Cheer up, Paul, we just saved the Church, you and I. Shybear couldn't see it, but if that girl had children it would have meant the end of both the White Wing and the Red Wing. There wouldn't be anymore wings, just an unholy hodge-podge growing like a cancer until it ate everything."