“Jerome Neisman, a.k.a. Jerry,” McAdams said. “Pauline’s first husband. He’s dead.”

Decker looked up. “Scratch him off the list and go to number three.”

“Cal Bruckner. They divorced four years ago.”

“Why can’t I find this dude?” Decker said. “I keep getting a soccer player and guys who I think are too young.”

“How young is too young?”

“In their mid-thirties.”

“Not really. Pauline was forty-three.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll check them out.” Decker’s phone rang. It was Jake Quay of Baniff PD. “Hi, thanks for calling me back.”

“What’s up? Did you find Elsie Schulung?”

“Not yet, but we did find her friend, Pauline Corbett. Unfortunately, she’s dead.”

Silence. Then Quay said, “Where’d you find her?”

“Buried close to the spot where Elsie Schulung left her car. Corbett’s body is in our jurisdiction, but we know that Pauline’s blood was at Elsie’s house and that’s your jurisdiction. We need to work together on this.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Wow. When did this happen?”

“We found the body about two, maybe three weeks ago.”

“And you’re first calling now?”

Decker forced back irritation. He was doing the man a courtesy. He didn’t need his permission to investigate his case. “I was on vacation, and it took us a while to dig her up and confirm her identity with DNA.”

“Yeah. Okay. Sure.” Quay paused. “What’s your next step?”

Decker said, “Pauline kept a studio apartment before she moved in with Elsie Schulung.”

“We checked. Nothing’s there.”

“I know that. But I’d like to canvass Pauline’s old neighborhood now that we have a body. I’ll come and bring some officers; you come and bring some officers—a joint effort.”

“I have no problem with that, Pete. I never had a problem with working together. But I have to run all operations by my captain.”

“By all means, Jake, follow your protocol,” Decker said. “I’ve got a few things to wrap up here and then I’ll come to Baniff. By then you should get your clearance.”

After he hung up, Decker turned to Tyler. “You’re coming?”

“I was planning on it.” Pause. “Okay, this is interesting. I think I might have found Cal Bruckner. He’s fifty-eight. He’s a long-distance trucker.”

“Where is home base?”

“Massachusetts.” A pause. “Right over the New York line, just east of Albany.”

“Give him a call.”

“I’ve got to get his number first.” McAdams typed into a backward directory. “It’s a 413 area code. Probably a cell phone.” He called and after two rings got voice mail. He left a message. “How many names did you pull up for husband number two?”

“I found eight Blake Baers. I think we can safely eliminate the soccer player.”

“Give me the numbers and I’ll start making calls. If that doesn’t work, I’ll start checking social media.”