Could he have done this? Sure. In this business, you learn early on that anybody can do just about anything. The real question was, did he? I didn't think so. If he'd done it, I thought it would be more likely that he simply would have run away, and sure as hell wouldn't have been discovered sitting out on the road, honking his horn. After all, running requires the least, immediate effort. We probably wouldn't even have discovered the bodies until the Borglans came back. Which reminded me…

"Comm, you might want to try to get hold of the owner here, wherever they said they could be reached. Not too many details, okay, but I think we might need one of them up here."

"Ten-four."

"And, let me know if you reach them…"

"Ten-four," she said, being a bit short. Of course she'd let me know. Telling her something that basic was just a bit of an insult. I was sure I'd hear about that one later. I was wrong. I heard about it right away.

"Comm, One?" That was Lamar.

"One?"

"You want to let him know when you tie his shoes, too?"

"If it makes him feel better," said Sally. She sounded happy.

I could hear Lamar chuckle as he said, "Three, we're already on that."

I grinned, and got back to my notes. Back to Fred. Back to the Borglans' vacation. They were in Florida. Great. Should probably be a day or more before they could get a plane… Oh, well. We'd need their permission to search the place, just as a courtesy, and to possibly extend that search over their entire farm. Not only that, but they were the only people who could tell us a lot of things, including whether or not anything was missing. Whether or not Fred knew them. Who would have had access to the place. What was disturbed. All the stuff that I needed to know.

We'd just have to do what we needed to do without them. It occurred to me that I'd be a little irked if I had to come back from Florida into this deep freeze, for something like this. Hell, for any reason, really.

"Three, Comm" jarred me back to reality.

"Comm?"

"Have contacted the subject you requested. They will be ten-seventy-six ASAP."

"The property owner?"

"Ten-four."

Cool. Almost like magic. "They give an ETA, Comm?" I still thought it would be at least forty-eight hours.

"The male subject is already on his way, was coming up for some business things, for a couple of days."

"Well, ten-four, Comm. Excellent!" I just love it when things happen to go smoothly for a change.

"Should be arriving at the Cedar Rapids Airport in an hour or so, according to his wife."

"Ten-four!" Perfect timing. How about that.

"Three, the other subject is ten-six, but will be able to head up in about an hour or so, from the Manchester area."

I thought rapidly. Who was the other subject? Oh.

"Last name end in a nine?" As in 10-79, which would be the M.E.

"That's the one." She was quick, as usual.

"Ten-four." The one I really wanted was based near Cedar Rapids. Manchester threw me. "Comm, did they say which one it was?"

"Negative, Three."

I hung the mike back up. All right. I wasn't sure just how much of a rush we should be in for the M.E., with the bodies in a deep freeze. If they'd gone out to the shed on Sunday, and it was way up in the twenties, would they be frozen through by now? Would it make an appreciable difference? How in hell was the M.E. going to come even close to a time of death? They did have frost on them. Warm when they got out there? I thought for a second. If they'd been covered as soon as they were deposited, would the frost have formed? Or did it mean they were covered afterward? Damn. If they'd been pretty warm, I thought we might just get frost as they froze. And just what did that tell me? Nothing, yet.

We'd need to try for a core temperature, but what would that tell us? With the ambient temperature varying from what… room temperature to minus thirty-five degrees, with pauses at the mid-twenties, how would temperature determine time of death? Or, rather, how close could it get us? I didn't have much hope for that approach.

Stomach contents. There was a chance for you. Frozen food, so to speak. We'd have to find out when they'd last eaten.

What other evidence would there be in the house? I was really anxious to do the whole place. There had to be something in there. Then Fred's question about whether or not I'd charge him with manslaughter popped back into my head. Why had he asked that? Just dumb luck? I thought so, but I was far from sure.

I was beginning to be afraid his was going to be an interesting case.

I jotted down the questions, and was just going to pick up my mike when I saw Lamar coming down the lane in his four-wheel-drive pickup, completely marked in the white with blue-outlined gold striping of a normal patrol car. It had the newest set of top lights in the department, as well. "Lamar's Awesome Machine," as Mike called it. I waved, and he pulled up on the left side of my car, motioning me to join him. I did so, gratefully. My car was a standard-sized Chevy, and bearable; but Lamar's truck was larger, and almost luxurious inside. I'm six feet three, and about 260 or so. I like to be able to stretch out a bit in a vehicle.

I clamored in, and shut the door. Lamar gave me a long look. "I posted Nine at the end of the lane, so the DCI can find this place. You know it's Art who's comin'?"

I nodded. "Can't figure that one out."

"I called his supervisor from the office. They've got a major case down in Washington County, and everybody else is out with the flu." He looked at me for a second. "Art ain't gonna know I called his boss."

"Right."

He sighed, the way only a stressed sheriff can. "So, just what the hell you got here?"

I told him. When I was finished, he only had a couple of questions.

"How were they killed?"

"Dunno, Lamar. Didn't look that close. I didn't move anything, and I just raised the tarp enough to see that it was two males. Very, very dead." I grinned. "And no, I didn't recognize either one of 'em."

"I was gonna ask that," he said. "Okay. Okay." He was thinking. "You think Fred, over there, did it?" He gestured toward Mike's patrol car.

I took a second before I answered. While doing so, something in the truck caught my eye.

"Is that a thermos of coffee?"

Lamar squinted at me. "We'll have a cup after you answer the last question."

"Okay," I said. "Got any doughnuts? Get a better answer for doughnuts."

He reached down behind my seat, and produced a white paper sack with MAITLAND BAKERY in red letters. He sort of waved it in front of me.

"Well," I said, "I think he's pretty much the only suspect we got." I waited a beat. "But I'd be real surprised if he turns out to be the killer. Mike came up on him as he was sittin' out at the pickup point, honking his horn. That worth a doughnut?"

"Sure," said Lamar. "Yours is pretty much the only opinion we got." He grinned. "So far."

They were chocolate, with chocolate frosting sprinkled with those little multicolored things. I took one bite, and said, "You got another one of those, I'll try to think of another suspect for ya…"

Less than thirty minutes later, the assigned DCI agent drove up. Our ex-chief deputy, Art Meyerman. Art was kind of anal retentive; so much so, he'd been stuck with the nickname of "Anus." I wasn't sure if he'd ever found that out.

I gave him a very brief description of what Fred had told me, and a short walk across the front of the house, pointing out the highlights.

"And they're over in that shed?" asked Art.

"Yep."

"And the M.E. isn't here yet?"

True to form, I thought. He had to ask. There were just four of us standing in the middle of the desolate, frozen yard: Mike, Lamar, Art, and me. With a prisoner in the back of Mike's car. Nobody else, no other car, nada. I felt like looking behind me before answering. "Nope, but he should be here in half an hour or so."