Hollander stuck his pipe in his jacket, leaned the passenger seat as far back as it would go, and closed his eyes. Decker shifted into low gear as he descended into the canyon, slowed as he hit the winding canyon road. Tawny grain fields glinted specks of sunlight, livestock grazed in the distance. An idyllic slice of Americana, discounting the butchery that had taken place. Sudden rage. It happened all the time….

Abel’s voice telling him: Who was he to judge?

Good point, Old Honest Abe. Very good point.

Decker heard Hollander snore. He’d known Mike for six years, never seen the man riled. Hollander was a good cop, not hard-driven, but his pacing had given him longevity in a job reknowned for burnout.

He passed Hell’s Heaven, saw the rows of choppers, the bikers armored with leather and denim. The same snapshot as a week ago. No doubt the same three weeks ago.

If four people died in the forest and no one noticed…

Decker shook Hollander’s shoulder a mile before the Darcy farm. Hollander grunted, then woke. Decker slowed, turned right onto the gravel road that led to the house. The yellow crime-scene ribbon had been broken, but an end was still tied to the porch post. It lay lifeless on the ground like a used party streamer. Decker killed the motor, and he and Hollander exited the car. The air was warm and still, perfumed with hay and clover.

“Where’s the welcoming party?” Hollander said.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting.” Decker knocked on the door. Knocked again a minute later.

“We’re too late,” Hollander said.

Decker walked around back, Hollander followed. A fifties two-tone aqua-and-white Dodge was parked in the weed-choked lot. The windows were rolled down; stuffing leaked out of the tuck and roll. Decker tried the barn door—locked. He hooded his eyes with his hand and scanned the field. In the distance were the pine boxes—the beehives. A patch of blue gingham was moving between them. Decker walked about fifty feet forward, saw the outline of a stoop-shouldered woman wearing a veil and gloves. He continued forward.

Hollander said, “We should have brought some insect repellent.”

Decker didn’t answer.

Hollander struggled to keep up with Decker. “Think there’s any merit to ‘They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them’?”

“Not when there’re thousands of the suckers,” Decker said.

“Great.”

The woman didn’t raise her head as they approached. She was large-boned and big-bosomed. Her features were obscured by the veil, but Decker could see the ruddiness of her complexion. Her hair was straight and gray, cut to one length like the little Dutch boy. It fell to the nape of her neck and sparkled silver at the ends. Decker stopped when they were within speaking range.

“Mrs. Darcy?” he said.