A pale eyebrow shot up nearly to his hairline. “This is the last place I’d expect the FBI to come visit. I heard from Benny—one of the paramedics who met the medevac helicopter at the crash site—he told me the guy was in pretty bad shape. What’s going on, Agent Savich?”

“I’ll be happy to tell you when my agent who was flying the man to Washington wakes up. He’s suffering a concussion and lacerations on his leg.”

“What happened?”

“Agent Crowne crash-landed, managed to walk away, more or less. That’s all I know at present, Sheriff, I’m sorry. We haven’t gotten the status on the other man yet.”

“You wouldn’t be holding back on a local cop, now would you?”

“I might, but the fact is, I don’t know how or why the plane came down.”

“Very well. I’ll tell you, Agent Crowne must have had an angel sitting on his shoulder since Cudlow Valley’s the only flat stretch of land for miles around. Even our two-lane road is all twists, impossible to land on it. If he’d crashed in the mountains, it would have been the end of him and his friend.

“Incidentally, I’m a detective from Boston PD, so you can hang up thinking I’m a backwoods hick who doesn’t know his butt from his pinkie finger.”

Savich had planned to politely shuffle aside this sheriff named Dougie who tended septic tanks wearing his .38 over bib overalls. Time to reevaluate. He said, “I’ll bet worrying about septic tanks wasn’t in your job description in the BPD. How long have you been down here in Kentucky?”

“About ten years, sheriff of Parlow for nine. My wife was born here, missed it, so we moved here. You’re real smooth, Agent Savich. You don’t want to tell me a blessed thing, I get that. You thought you’d get away with a nice courtesy call, blow me off, and go about your fed business. But I am the sheriff, I’m not stupid, and, praise be, I’m not the stereo-typical tobacco-spitting jughead who runs a still in his backyard.” Then he looked down at himself and laughed. “Regardless of the picture I’m currently presenting, you might discover I’ve got a good brain, and it’s at your service since we had a plane come down in suspicious circumstances in my jurisdiction. You don’t want to come clean with me—well then, maybe I’ll just have to do some checking on this myself. Who’s the guy in Franklin County Hospital?”

Savich saw clearly now that this man not only had a good brain, he also wouldn’t stop, he’d do exactly what he said, he’d check into this himself. Well, all right, he also knew the terrain, both people and geography. Savich gave Dougie Hollyfield a long look. He said, “I like the .38 over the overalls, nice touch.”

Dougie Hollyfield grinned. “My wife was laughing too hard to tell me what she thought. Now, you going to level with me? Let me do my pitiful best to help you?”

“Yes,” Savich said, “I think I am. The man in Franklin County Hospital is Dr. Timothy MacLean, originally from Lexington, Kentucky. His family owns the MacLean racing stables; perhaps you’ve heard of them.”

Sheriff Hollyfield nodded.

“His family knows Agent Crowne and his family, and so they asked for his help, told him Dr. MacLean believed someone was trying to murder him in Washington, where he’s a psychiatrist to some big-name patients. MacLean’s wife got him to come back to Lexington, to his family. There was another attempt on his life, so Agent Crowne flew to Lexington to fetch him back to Washington for protection, and to get to the bottom of this.”

A pale brow shot up, fingers hooked the wide belt over the bib overalls. “You gave me a lot more than I thought you would. Let me remark that the FBI doesn’t do things like fly planes to fetch a noncriminal citizen back to Washington, Agent Savich.”

Savich said, “Since Agent Crowne knows the family, it was personal.”

Sheriff Hollyfield said, “Why don’t you add that the main reason the feds are in this is because some very big, high-profile names are involved? What did this Dr. MacLean do to really piss off one of his high-roller patients?”

“Now that I can’t tell you.”

“All right, I’ll buy that for the moment. So we keep things even here, Agent Savich, let me tell you Dot—she’s Parlow’s other paramedic—told me about the downed search-and-rescue plane. She figured the pilot was from a law enforcement agency since they’re the ones who usually use those planes. She said the pilot was good, bringing the plane down in the valley. She should know—Dot’s a pilot herself, as well as a paramedic. She wondered why Agent Crowne was flying it since she hadn’t heard about any accidents.”

“I believe it was the only plane available.”

“So after they medevaced Dr. MacLean out, Dot examined the plane.”

Savich waited. He knew there wasn’t much left after it had exploded on the ground. He also knew he wasn’t going to like what the sheriff was about to tell him.

“Dot didn’t have the time or the expertise to do a thorough check, but from the look of what was left of the fuselage, it looked to her like the luggage compartment was blown outward by some sort of explosion, maybe a bomb. Seems like it didn’t work too well, since the plane wasn’t blown out of the sky. So, I’d appreciate it, Agent Savich, if you don’t try to pawn off the crash on some sort of a malfunction.” Sheriff Hollyfield was rocking back and forth on his toes. He was wearing galoshes, Savich saw, though very clean, thankfully, as if they’d been hosed down.

“Yes,” Savich said, “that’s what Agent Crowne thinks. We’ve got an expert coming to verify. If you wouldn’t mind keeping a deputy at the crash site to protect it until our people arrive.”

Sheriff Hollyfield nodded. “All right, then. You’ll keep me in the loop, Agent Savich?”

Savich nodded. You never knew when you were going to find good law enforcement, he thought as he shook the sheriff’s hand, thankfully as clean as his galoshes.

Savich looked over the scattered wreckage while Sheriff Hollyfield hooked up the tow to Rachael’s Charger. “Hard to imagine surviving that,” Sheriff Hollyfield said, straightening to look out over Cudlow Valley, his hand over his eyes to shade against the strong morning sun.

“Believe me, we are very grateful.”

Before the sheriff dropped him and Rachael’s duffel off at Monk’s Café, Savich said, “Could I come to your office a bit later, Sheriff, and use your landline to call the Franklin County Hospital? See how Dr. MacLean is doing?”