Cole glanced at his watch. “It’ll have to do. Wait here.”

“With pleasure.”

He stepped out of the car with the gym bag. When he got closer, he saw that the dead carcass was, in fact, an armadillo. The animal’s textured shell was cracked open. Entrails spilled onto the wet pavement in a soupy glob. It looked like a fairly fresh kill. Cole buried his face in his jacket to stifle the stench. He took out a garbage bag from the gym bag and strategically picked up the animal in a manner that didn’t require him to touch it with his bare hands. When it was properly contained, he tied the garbage bag, shoved it into the gym bag, and went back to the car.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“What?”

“That thing is not going in this car.”

“Fine. Pop the trunk.”

“No way. I have to use that trunk every day. The smell will never come out.”

“We don’t have time for this!”

Savannah shrugged, leaned back in her seat, and turned up Nora Jones on the radio. “I’ve got all night.”

Cole cursed. He pulled the garbage bag back out and tied its plastic handles to the luggage rack on the car roof, leaving the animal dangling against the side rear window. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic. Where to, soldier?”

“The river.”

They drove on. Cole checked his watch often and wished Savannah would play something tolerable on the radio. When he couldn’t take it any more, he took the liberty of switching off the music.

“I love that song.”

“It’s shit.”

“Well, forgive me, I’m afraid I don’t have any Megadeth.”

“I’m more of a Guns N’ Roses fan myself. Here’s our turn. Go right.”

She cut the wheel sharply. A quarter mile on, she said, “So you figure Booker’s been booked yet?”

“Hope not.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I told you, I don’t want any of them booked. Not until I’m finished with them.”

“Cole, please tell me what you’ve got in mind.”

“You’ll see.”

Their eyes met in the rearview mirror. She said, “Look, I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Go ahead.”

She paused. “Never mind. It can wait.”

They pressed on. Cole looked over his shoulder to make sure the bag was still secure. It was swinging around in the wind and thumping against the window, but so far it was holding.

“I couldn’t sleep this afternoon, so I did a little more Internet research on the Badgers,” she said. “Did you know Booker is three years older than us?”

“For real?”

“At first I assumed he had flunked a few grades, but it turns out his father didn’t put him in kindergarten until he was eight.”

“You’re kidding. Why?”

“My guess? He wanted Booker to be physically superior to the rest of his peers.”

“Makes sense.”