Baldwin said, “There also appears to be a missing rifle. There are two shotguns on one side of the safe, one with a two-power scope, probably a slug gun for deer hunting, the other a twelve-gauge pheasant gun. There’s a .30–06 on the other side, and then an empty slot that looks used, but the barrel would be too slender to be a shotgun. Did I mention that there’s a box of .223 FMJ shells in that range bag?”

“Ah, shit,” Virgil said. “The .223 we’re looking for belonged to Andorra. The guy came here, killed Andorra, and took the rifle.” Everything that Virgil had imagined about the shooter sighting the gun on the range and killing Andorra because Andorra had seen him doing it went out the window.

“Andorra must’ve known him pretty well, then,” Sawyer said. “But how did the range bag end up down in the basement while the gun came back up with the killer?”

Virgil considered the question, shook his head, and said, “I can think of eight different ways that could happen—and there’s no way to know which one to pick.”

“Give me one,” Sawyer said.

Virgil shrugged. “They came in with their guns, Andorra leaves the bag on the kitchen counter, they go into the dining room to chat, the guy goes back out to the kitchen like he’s getting a drink of water, gets the .45, comes back, and shoots Andorra. Then he’s smart enough to try to confuse us—he takes the bag downstairs so it looks like Andorra had to go down to get it and bring the gun back up.”

“Nobody’s that smart,” Baldwin said.

“Well, who the fuck knows,” Virgil snapped. “Besides, we’ll never figure it out, so why worry about it?”

“’Cause I like mysteries,” Baldwin said. He added, “I’m going back down there.”

“Tell him what you said about the rubbers,” Bea said.

Baldwin said, “Oh, yeah. They suggest that he’s seeing a woman of child-bearing age, and since forty-two of them are missing, he’s seeing her with some frequency. You wouldn’t buy a box of a hundred if you were using one a month.”

“Could also be seeing an older woman with an STD, but I’m siding with Don on this one,” Bea said.

“No sign of a name for her? Cards, notes . . . ?”

“Not that we’ve found so far,” Sawyer said.

Baldwin turned to go back down to the basement, and Virgil shouted after him, “Hey, Don!”

Baldwin shouted, “What?”

“Were any of those targets used?”

“No. No used targets.”

Sawyer asked, “Is that important?”

“Well, the range is a homemade one. There are a couple of trash barrels down there that I suspect Andorra emptied. Right now, they’re almost full, like they haven’t been emptied in a while,” Virgil said. “People throw used targets into them. I wonder if there’d be any .45 targets in there?”