Tom Almand came out next, his eyes closed, his lips in a strange smile. He was now handcuffed to the stretcher by his good arm, and there was a bandage on the arm that had been shot. I hoped he’d been shot good, and I wondered if Sheriff Rockwell had been truly trying to hit his arm. It had been an alarming moment, but then, that was what law enforcement people trained for, right?

Maybe the arm was best. Maybe the people he’d wounded the most, or the survivors he’d wounded most, could get something out of his trial and conviction. Surely he’d be tried and convicted, wouldn’t he? We could follow it in the national news. The media loves a serial killer trial, whether the killer being tried is gay or straight, black or white or brown. There’s no discrimination in that field.

I realized I was thinking crazy, and I also realized we had no place here. But the two SBI agents were running across the back lane like the barn was on fire with a baby inside, and they weren’t about to let us go. Stuart and Klavin weren’t out of breath, because they were fit agents, and they stood right in front of us. “You’re here again,” Agent Stuart said. He had on proper gloves and an L.L. Bean heavy outdoor-guy coat, and gleaming boots that went halfway up his calves. If he didn’t look like the little mountaineer! Klavin was a bit more downscale, with a battered waterproof coat that had seen several years of use and a knit cap that had earflaps.

“He killed himself,” I told them. They would want to know.

“Who?” I thought Stuart was going to shake me, he was so anxious to know everything.

“Chuck Almand. He killed himself with a gun.”

Klavin said, “Who was in the ambulance?”

“Tom Almand and Manfred Bernardo,” Tolliver said.

They looked at each other blankly. “The kid’s dad and the psychic’s grandson,” Tolliver said.

“She died last night,” Stuart said.

“Yes, she did. And her grandson almost died today,” I said.

“The last victim is alive,” I said, and they were in the barn so fast you couldn’t see them for the smoke.

“Why haven’t they brought him out?” Tolliver leaned and looked in, but then he gave up. He didn’t want to go in that barn again, and neither did I.

“Maybe they can’t get him unlocked,” I said. Tolliver nodded. That seemed reasonable.

“Wonder who he is,” Tolliver said after a long moment. The weather might be much better than it had been, but it was still cold standing out there, and we had nothing to do.