“She wouldn’t,” Rhyme muttered. This time offering the denial to Ben. “There’s no way. Not even to scare them off.” He told himself that she’d never shoot at a fellow officer, even just to scare them. Yet he was also thinking about what desperate people did. The crazy risks they took. (Oh, Sachs, why do you have to be so impulsive and stubborn? Why do you have to be so much like me?)

Bell was in the office across the hall. Rhyme could hear him as he spoke endearments over the phone. He supposed that the sheriff’s wife and family weren’t used to late night absences; law enforcement in a town like Tanner’s Corner probably didn’t require as many hours as the Garrett Hanlon case had taken.

Ben Kerr sat beside one of the microscopes, his huge arms crossed over his chest. He was gazing at the map. Unlike the sheriff he hadn’t made any calls home and Rhyme wondered if he had a wife or girlfriend or if the shy man’s life was wholly consumed with science and the mysteries of the ocean.

The sheriff hung up. He walked back into the lab. “You have any more ideas, Lincoln?”

Rhyme nodded at the evidence chart.

FOUND AT THE SECONDARY CRIME SCENE-MILL

Brown Paint on Pants
Sundew Plant
Clay
Peat Moss
Fruit Juice
Paper Fibers
Stinkball Bait
Sugar
Camphene
Alcohol
Kerosene
Yeast

He reiterated what they knew about the house where Mary Beth was being kept. “There’s a Carolina bay on the way to or near the place. Half the marked passages in his insect books are about camouflage and the brown paint on his pants’s the color of tree bark so the place is probably in or next to a forest. The camphene lamps are from the 1800s so the place is old, probably Victorian era. But the rest of the trace isn’t much help. The yeast would be from the mill. The paper fibers could be from anywhere. The fruit juice and sugar? From food or drinks Garrett had with him. I just can’t—”

The phone rang.

Rhyme’s left ring finger twitched on the ECU and he answered the call.

“Hello?” he said into the speakerphone.

“Lincoln.”

He recognized the soft, exhausted voice of Mel Cooper.

“What do you have, Mel? I need some good news.”

“I hope it’s good. That key you found? We’ve been looking through sourcebooks and databases all night. Finally tracked it down.”

“What is it?”

“It’s to a trailer made by the McPherson Deluxe Mobile Home Company. The trailers were manufactured from 1946 through the early ’70s. Company’s out of business but according to the guide, the serial number on the key you’ve got fits a trailer that was made in ’69.”

“Any description?”

“No pictures in the guide.”

“Hell. Tell me, does one live in these things in a trailer park? Or drive ’em around like a Winnebago?”