“Barely, I think. They’re not actually in Armstrong; they’re a few miles north of town. You don’t have to go very far north before you’re out of Iowa and into Minnesota. The guy who found them, who is fairly smart, says they’re in Iowa.”

“I’ve been in Armstrong,” Wood said. “The high school’s on the north side of town, right as you’d be coming in. You can’t miss it. Why don’t you come on down around ten o’clock, we’ll meet in the parking lot?”

“That’s good. The guy’ll make bail between nine and ten, and if he’s going to move the truck, he’ll have to pick up his tractor unit. We can watch his brother’s place until he shows and grab both of them. I’d sorta like to see this guy get some time.”

“Ten o’clock, then,” Wood said. “By the way, Jack Carey told me this morning that you’d been seen in Wheatfield and that shortly after you arrived a woman got murdered.”

“You shouldn’t draw any conclusions from that, about me being a curse, or anything, but yeah, that’s basically what happened,” Virgil said.

—

Virgil had pulled back onto Main Street when his phone buzzed again: Jenkins, another BCA investigator.

“Where are you?” Virgil asked. “Is Shrake with you?”

“He’s about a hundred yards back,” Jenkins said. “We thought two cars would be handy. We’re on I-90, going past Blue Earth. See you in a half hour or so.”

“Glad to have you. We’ve got some boring stuff to do today.”

“That’s great. I Iove boring stuff. So does Shrake. Any nice-looking women in Wheatfield?”

“Well, as you know, there’s the Virgin Mary,” Virgil said. “If she knows you’re coming . . . But, of course, she would.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Where do you want to hook up?” Jenkins asked.

“About fifteen miles past Wheatfield,” Virgil said. “You got your iPad?”

“Does the Tin Man have a sheet metal cock?”

“I assume that means yes,” Virgil said. “Let me give you the address. It’s out in the countryside.”

—

Bea Sawyer, the crime scene specialist, had hidden the key to Glen Andorra’s house, wrapped in a plastic baggie, beneath a brick by the mailbox. Virgil retrieved it, went into the house. The odor of death still lingered, but not with the choking virulence of Virgil’s first visit; the Vicks wouldn’t be necessary.

Sawyer’s partner had duplicated the hard drive on Andorra’s Dell laptop for further examination at BCA headquarters. The password had been “ppasswordd,” and Virgil turned the computer on, entered it, and searched for “range.”