O’Sarian whispered back, “You were just talking ’bout using a torch on the boy. Doesn’t seem to me that’s any worse than what I’m asking—about afterward.”

Which Culbeau had to agree with, though of course he didn’t tell O’Sarian he may have a point. Instead he said only, “Accidents happen.”

“They do,” Tomel agreed.

O’Sarian toyed with a beer-bottle cap, dug some crud out from under his nails with it. He’d turned moody.

“What?” Culbeau asked.

“This’s getting risky. Woulda been easier to take the boy in the woods. At the mill.”

“But he’s not in the woods at the mill anymore,” Tomel said.

O’Sarian shrugged. “Just wondering if it’s worth the money.”

“You wanta back out?” Culbeau scratched his beard, thinking it was so hot he ought to shave it but then you could see his triple chin more. “I’d rather split it two ways than three.”

“Naw, you know I don’t want to. Ever-thing’s fine.” O’Sarian’s eyes strayed to the TV again. A movie caught his attention and he shook his head, eyes wide, looking at one of the actresses.

“Hold on here,” Tomel said, eyes out the window. “Take a look.” He was nodding outside.

That redheaded policewoman from New York, the one so damn fast with the knife, was walking up the street, carrying a book.

Tomel said, “Nice-looking lady. I could use a little of that.”

But Culbeau remembered her cold eyes and the steady point of the knife under O’Sarian’s chin. He said, “Juice ain’t worth the squeeze.”

The redhead walked into the lockup.

O’Sarian was looking too. “Well, that fucks things up a bit.”

Culbeau said slowly, “No, it don’t. Harris, get that truck over there. And keep the motor running.”

“But what about her?” Tomel asked.

Culbeau said, “I got plenty of pepper spray.”

Inside the lockup Deputy Nathan Groomer leaned back in the rickety chair and nodded at Sachs.

Jesse Corn’s infatuation had grown tedious; Nathan’s formal smile was a relief to her. “Hello, miss.”

“It’s Nathan, right?”

“Right.”

“That’s some decoy there.” Sachs looked down at his desk.

“This old thing?” he asked humbly.

“What is it?”

“Female mallard. About a year old. The duck. Not the decoy.”

“You make that yourself?”

“Hobby of mine. Have a couple others at my desk in the main building. Check ’em out, you want. Thought you were leaving.”

“Will be soon. How’s he doing?”

“He who? Sheriff Bell?”

“No, I mean Garrett.”

“Oh, I dunno. Mason went back to see him, had a talk. Tried to get him to tell where the girl was. But he wouldn’t say anything.”

“Mason’s back there now?”

“No, he left.”

“How about Sheriff Bell and Lucy?”

“Nope, they’re all gone. Back at the County Building. Anything I can help you with?”