“Sure, we can roll with that,” McAdams said. “You do the winging and I’ll do the praying.”

SERGEANT STOLTZ WAS over six feet with wide shoulders and long arms. She was leading Brock Baer into an interview room, a shuffling man in an orange jumpsuit. He was cuffed in front and was being kept in the station house jail until Kelbo finished processing the paperwork to transfer him to Springfield. His charges were multiple counts of breaking and entering and burglary. Baer was of average height and build, but even with his grizzled face, Decker could tell that a good-looking man lurked somewhere inside. His stubble was brown, as was his hair. His face looked to be around mid-forties, although his posture suggested an older age. He appeared not to have slept much, having red-rimmed, milky eyes framed by sagging eyelids and pronounced bags.

The small interview room was bare basics: a table crammed against a wall with seating for three. The felon sat jammed between the table and the wall with Decker sitting next to him and McAdams on the opposite side. McAdams had a notepad and his iPad. On the tabletop were three bottles of water and a station house tape recorder. McAdams was also recording the interview on his iPad.

Stoltz said, “You hungry, Baer? I’ve got some potato chips and corn chips.”

“Both.”

“No problem,” Stoltz told him. “These two men have a few questions for you.”

Baer rubbed his eyes with his right hand and his left hand came along for the ride. He stared at Decker, then at McAdams. He said, “You two from Springfield?”

Stoltz answered: “No, they’re not from Springfield, but that’s where you’re headed. I’ll be back with your chips. Try to be cooperative. It’ll get you further than being a mule.”

Baer remained silent, but there was hatred in his eyes.

To Decker and McAdams, Stoltz said, “Be right back.”

“We’ll still be here,” Decker said. After she left, he said, “How are you feeling, Baer?”

“Me?” He took a bottle of water and opened the cap. He drank greedily. “This is good. The tap water here smells like shit. I think they get it from the toilet.”

“There’s been some flooding in the area. Gets into the pipes.”

“A reason don’t make it taste any better.” He finished up the bottle. “I’ll take yours if you’re not drinking it.”

“Help yourself.” Decker pushed the bottle over to him.

Stoltz came back in and plunked around a half dozen bags of chips on the table. “Don’t make a mess, Brock. I do the cleanup myself.” To Decker and McAdams, she said, “Just give a holler when you’re done.”

“No problem,” Decker said.