He was leading a little girl by the hand. When they were outside, Easton told him to face the house while she cuffed him and patted him down. Wood took the little girl’s hand, and said, “C’mon, Billie, we’ll go see your mom.”

The girl started to cry, but Wood had Rivers uncuff Jill Van Den Berg, and told her, “Why don’t you take Billie back in the house. Don’t do anything weird. We’ll be in to talk to you in a while . . .”

The semitrailer was still stacked with Legos. The three men who’d been in the yard, with their trailers, told Wood that they’d been hired by Ralph Van Den Berg to unload the semi and haul the Legos to a self-storage unit in Emmetsburg. They said Van Den Berg told them the big trailer had to be returned to its owner. The Iowa cops got their names and addresses and, after recording their individual statements, sent them on their way.

A couple of sheriff’s cars showed up and hauled away the male Van Den Bergs. Jill Van Den Berg was told that she might be charged in connection with the theft but, for the time being, would be left with her daughter.

By 4 o’clock, it was all done, and Wood said to Virgil, “I owe you one.”

“At least one,” Virgil said.

“No goddamn excitement at all,” Jenkins said. “I expected more.”

“This is Iowa,” Shrake said. “Your expectations were grossly misplaced.”

“We got a big meth bust coming in a day or two,” Easton said. “The cookers have lots of guns, from what we hear.”

Jenkins regarded her for a moment, then said, “Now you’re teasing me.”

She said, “I don’t tease, pal. I deliver.”

That killed conversation for a few seconds, then Jenkins asked, “You ever think of moving to the Cities and the big time?”

That made her laugh.

—

As the Minnesota cops and Skinner were packing up, Virgil quietly asked Wood, “So what exactly is your relationship with cupcakes?”

“Shhhh . . . Don’t even ask that question, and for God’s sakes don’t use words like ‘cupcakes.’ Or ‘peaches.’ Or any small, round objects at all,” Wood muttered.

Virgil said, “Or any members of the melon family?”

“Oh, Jesus, no,” Wood said, glancing sideways at Easton, who was thirty feet away, talking with Skinner. “Tell you the truth, I’m almost afraid to work with her. She’s an excellent cop, but she’s too good-looking, and that ain’t good, if you know what I mean. I don’t joke with her. I don’t walk too close. I won’t even buy her a cup of fuckin’ coffee. Or even non–fuckin’ coffee.”

“Very strange,” Virgil said.