“Just taking a break,” Crandal explained.

Sure, Decker thought. He said, “Look, if we’re going to be doing something joint, maybe we should talk about a division of labor?”

Crandal didn’t answer.

Decker said, “I’ll do the mop-up over here. I’ll also handle all the background checks on the victims. We’ve still got one unidentified body. How about you going down to Fall Springs to notify and interview the surviving family? It would sure take a load off of my shoulders.”

“Heaven forbid your shoulders should get too heavy,” Crandal answered.

“Look, this isn’t even my jurisdiction,” Decker said. “It certainly ain’t my idea of a good time. But I found the kid, I’d like to see this through, and it’s what I’m paid to do.” He calmed his nerves. “I’ll tell Forensics to forward us both copies of what they found. You send me your notes, I’ll send you mine.”

Crandal sighed, then nodded agreement.

“I’ll finish up on the outside,” Decker said. “You do a grid search on the living room, I’ll do the kitchen.”

Crandal gave him an unhappy look, but went inside the house. The sheriff didn’t seem too hepped up on working, but Decker went easy with the critical judgment. If it hadn’t been for Katie, Decker would have passed on this one—would have been easy since he was in Sex Crimes, not Homicide, and had a truckload of back cases already crowding his desk. But for some reason, he felt obligated to the little girl. Change a diaper, the kid owns you for life, he laughed to himself. Ah, the hell with it, the kid deserved closure on her parents, facts she could tell the inevitable shrink when she was older. And Decker had done a six-year stint with Homicide way back when. It wasn’t as though stiffs were foreign to him.

The sound of straining engines filled the static air. Cars—Byron in a wood-sided Ford pickup, Marge in the unmarked. Inside the Ford’s bed were three shopping bags, a 3' × 3' portable smoker leaking charcoal fumes, and over a dozen pine boxes. Decker instructed Marge to help Crandal out with the grid in the living room, and he’d help Byron unload the truck. The smoker was heavy and hot, Decker almost burned his arms. The bags were filled with protective garb and three steel bellows.

Decker said to Byron, “I noticed a bunch of machinery in the barn. What’s all the stuff in there?”

Byron held up his hand and ticked off his fingers. “Extractors, drums, dry-heat cabinets, strainers—” He stopped himself. “Machinery for processing honey.”

“Processing the honey here?”