McADAMS KEPT CHECKING his phone to make sure they were taking the right roads. The car was passing through rural countryside—miles of oaks, pines, and maples—as they wended through the Ozarks. Not a lot of civilization through these hillsides. The reception kept going in and out. He finally gave up and unfolded the paper map they’d picked up at the St. Louis airport. “I think we’re on the right highway.” A beat. “Where the hell is Kelbo?”

“Just follow the marker line that the woman at the rental place drew.”

“The map doesn’t give me the exit road.”

“That’s why she told us there were only two exits: Piedmont Avenue and Main Street. I’ll take Main. You never can miss with a Main Street. If we get lost, I’ll call Loretta Stoltz.”

“If we ever get some reception. We should have gotten a car with navigation.”

“This is what they had available,” Decker said. “Besides, you kept saying you could do it on your phone.”

“I didn’t realize we’d be in the middle of the boonies.”

“Harvard, I may not have gone to an Ivy League school, but I can follow a marker line on a paper map.”

“Yeah, yeah.” McAdams folded the map. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt and a pair of black linen pants that, after a long car ride, were sorely in need of ironing. “How long are they keeping Brock Baer behind bars?”

“Bail hearing is tomorrow. We couldn’t have timed it better.” Decker drove steadily. He was comfortable in a blue cotton shirt with long sleeves rolled up at the elbows and dark blue slacks. “Now let’s see if he’ll talk.”

“He was arrested for burglary. Why would he talk to us about a murder case?”

“You’re right. If I were him, I’d just deny it and immediately ask for a lawyer.” Decker thought a moment. “What we have to do is approach this from a nonthreatening way.”

“Ask him for his opinion.”

“Exactly, Harvard,” Decker answered. “You say something like, ‘You were Pauline’s husband. What do you think happened?’”

“He’s been through the system,” McAdams said. “He may be too savvy for that approach.”

“Yep. But a lot of criminals are not only egotistical, they’re dumb. They don’t think things through. That’s why they’re criminals. Unless you get the rare breed like Donatti—who’s taken his psychopathology and channeled it into a very profitable business.” Decker checked his watch. They had flown into St. Louis last night and left the airport motel at seven a.m. It was close to nine in the morning. They still had time on the road to devise a strategy. “I’m open to any other ideas you may have. Here’s your chance to get creative.”

“I don’t feel creative.”

“A wing and a prayer are always good options,” Decker said.