Carey adjusted his grip on her, still rocking, moving in and out of Archie’s sights. “My name’s Roy,” he said. He was hunched over Susan, his chin on her shoulder, their heads pressed close, like a couple posing for a photograph.

Archie’s feet ached from the cold water. Carey and Susan had been there longer. Their feet had probably moved through pain to numbness. It could make Carey clumsy.

“Okay, Roy. My name’s Archie.”

Carey’s attention shifted to a spot behind Archie. “Come here, Sam,” he said.

Archie couldn’t let Carey get the boy. If Archie had ever had an ounce of parental authority, he needed it now. “Stay there, Patrick,” he said.

Archie listened. He could barely make out the sound of the generator powering the tanks. Aquariums gurgled. The water was a few inches deeper now. The whole room flickered with aqua light. It reflected off the water, the metal fixtures, the empty tanks. Archie steadied his weapon and lined the sight right at the center of Carey’s chin. Recoil would push the shot upward, and if Archie had to fire, he wanted to be sure to kill the bastard.

Carey’s lip curled.

“I like the name Elroy,” Susan said. She was talking to Carey, but her gaze was leveled right at Archie. “It’s a good name. Why did your parents choose it?”

What was she talking about?

Carey’s lips peeled back in a strange smile. “My mom named me after my granddad,” he said.

“That column tacked up above your sink,” Susan said. “I wrote that.”

“I know who you are,” Carey said.

“What column?” Archie said.

“About Ralph,” Susan said.

Carey yanked her head back by the hair and examined her face. “You look different than your picture.”

“I dyed my hair.”

Archie’s stomach knotted. “What was your grandfather’s name?” he asked, anticipating the answer.

“Elroy McBee,” Carey said.

“Vanport,” Archie said softly.

Carey’s face clouded. “My grandmother carried my mother and a suitcase for five miles. She lost everything. Her husband. Her house. Strangers took them in. No one remembers.” He looked past Archie at the boy. “Get your ass over here, Sam.”

Archie heard the boy get up off the chair, the soft splash of his rubber rain boots slipping into the water.

“Your name is Patrick Lifton,” Archie called to the kid. “Your dad works at a lumber mill. Your mom works from home building Web sites. You’ve got a black Lab named Fly. They’ve never stopped looking for you, Patrick. They want you to come home.”

“Bring it to me, you little fucker,” Carey snarled. “Or I will hurt you.”

Archie needed to distract Carey, give him something else to focus on other than the boy. “The skeleton from the slough hasn’t been identified,” Archie said. “You don’t know it’s your grandfather.”