Decker said, “That could explain the premeditation aspect of this crime. The murderer had to have used a silencer. Otherwise, he or she or they would have woken up the entire camp. She comes up here with a gun and a purpose…” Decker thought a moment. “She would have had to use a vehicle to get up here. So somewhere among these umpteen tire tracks would be an impression that matches her vehicle. So let’s get a casting on every single tire print here and let’s say a…half-mile radius, assuming she might have parked a ways down so as not to create too much noise. Wanda, you chalk off every single tire track you see and have the techs do the plaster work.”

She frowned. “That’s gonna take up a lot of time.”

“Yes, it will,” Decker said. “You have a problem with that?”

“Uh, no, sir, not at all.”

“Good. Tom and Bert will help you after they’re done. Tom, you take the older kids—which’ll take time because the questioning will be more involved. Bert, you take the information on the minor kids and also handle Tarpin because you’ve been in the service. He claims to be a Marine…mentioned something about Serbia and Rwanda. To me, Tarpin looks like a mercenary. I’ll call Oliver to do a background check on him. I’ve got to call on Jill and Carter Golding before they hear the news from somewhere else. Of course, if anyone wants to switch places…?”

Silence.

“Thought not.” Decker squinted into the hot sun, felt its fire spitting in his face. It was shaping up to be one hell of a day.

16

They had to have known something was really wrong, because if it had just been another minor run-in with the law, Decker wouldn’t have come in person. But there was no way for them to expect news as bad as this. And there was no palatable way for Decker to deliver it.

Standing like a robot, witnessing all the horror, shock, and pain known only to other grieving parents—the screams, the sobs, the sudden clutching of the breast. The father trying to comfort the mother, the mother refusing all of it. Then came the immediate denial.

You must be mistaken.

Are you sure?

You could have made a mistake.

How can you be certain?

You’re wrong!

But Decker was not wrong. This part never got easier. He only got older.

At first, they would hate him because he had told them the unspeakable. Then a week would pass…two weeks…a month. They would come to view him as the link, the one who would impart some logic into the madness, their conduit to the investigation, the one they could call, yell at, scream at, cry with. Eventually a relationship would grow—maybe a symbiotic one, maybe an antagonistic one—but some kind of relationship.