"Yeah, Chief, what's going on?"

"I've been reading your files, looking at the pictures in the back. Those pictures of your niece in the woods, where did those come from?"

"Just a minute, let me get my feet on the floor… Uh, the pictures. We think, uh… I think that they might have been taken by the killer. When she came up missing, and the story got in the papers, the owner of a local drugstore called and said she'd left some film to be developed. We picked it up and got those pictures-her housemates said she'd gone on a hike with the guy, had been talking about a hike out in the woods. What's going on?"

"You don't know where this is?" Lucas asked.

"No, no, it's just woods."

"I'll tell you what, Terry, I may be going crazy, but I think these pictures were taken at the same spot that Aronson's body was found. There's something about them. The way the hill sits, the trees. I may be fucked up…"

A long moment of silence, then: "Oh, brother. I never went down to the site. I went to New Richmond, but not to the others."

"Think about this," Lucas said. "If you're a killer, and if you find one good spot, why go looking for another one?"

"A graveyard," Marshall said.

"That's what I'm thinking," Lucas said.

"You gonna look?" Marshall asked.

"I'll get something started as soon as I get in tomorrow."

"I'm coming up," Marshall said.

"No point in coming up tomorrow. I'll have to talk to the sheriff down in Goodhue and get some technical guys together. I don't see us getting down there until the day after tomorrow, at the earliest."

"I'll be there. Jesus. Jesus. Why didn't I look at that site? I looked at everything else…"

"It's your file, man. Never would have come up without your file."

9

WEATHER LEFT EARLY the next morning, as she always did, driving out through a cold rain. Lucas thought early-morning operations were crazy-why get everybody up at five-thirty?-and was told that it had to do with nursing shifts. When she was gone, he cleaned up, got in the Tahoe, and drove south out of town to the hill where Aronson had been found.

He learned nothing. He walked the hillside in his rain suit, stood for a long time looking at the hole where Aronson had been found, but could find nothing else about the hillside distinctive enough to be sure.

"Feels right, though," he said to himself. He looked around. A graveyard? He felt a chill, and kept moving.

DOWNTOWN, THE OFFICE was full of cops who didn't want to go out in the rain. Lucas had changed his rain suit for an umbrella, and was shaking it out when Anthony Carr, Ware's computer programmer, came by and took a look at the drawings. Marcy tried to embarrass him, but Carr wasn't embarrassed.

"I see so much of this shit that I can't remember what goes with who," he said. "All of it looks familiar."

"We have an art expert who says the drawings are probably made from projected images," Marcy said. "So the bodies would be exactly like the drawings. We'd like you to check around, see if you can match any of them."

Carr shrugged. "All right, I'll look. I can't promise. One time I tried to figure out how many of these pictures are out there, but I gave up after a while-but there gotta be hundreds of thousands of them."

WHEN HE WAS gone, Lucas turned to Marcy and said, "Kidd ever call back?"

"Like it's any of your business," Marcy said.

"Please tell us," said Black, her former partner. Black had given up any effort at work, and was punching a lemon-colored Gameboy console with his thumbs. "If you don't, we'll start rumors that it was Carr who caught your eye."

"Asshole," Marcy said. To Lucas: "He did. We agreed that it might not be a bad idea to have dinner sometime."

"So it's a little indefinite," Lucas said.

"If you want to call getting picked up at seven o'clock tonight indefinite," she said.

"Be nice if the rain stopped. You know, big date and all," Lucas said.

"We can always find a place to get warm," she said.

He never won.

LUCAS TALKED TO the Goodhue County sheriff. He promised he'd get permission to enter the property around the Aronson grave site.

"It's probably nothing," Lucas said. "But if it is something… it's gonna be ugly."

"Glad you called."

When he'd set up a rendezvous by the Goodhue grave site, Lucas called around until he found an engineering consultant who used ground-penetrating radar to look for pipelines, missing utilities, old cemeteries, and ancient campgrounds. The guy's name was Larry Lake, and he ran a three-man company called Archeo-Survey, Inc.

"Last time I worked for you guys, it took two months to get paid," Lake said. "I had to threaten to have your patrol cars attached."

"That's 'cause you didn't find anything and nobody wanted to be blamed for the bill when you didn't find anything. It was a pretty big bill."

"I'm a certified civil engineer, not a burger flipper," Lake said. "If I bring fifteen thousand or twenty thousand bucks' worth of equipment out in the rain, I need to get paid."

"I promise you," Lucas said. "You'll get the money in a week. If it pans out, of course, you'll be famous. Probably get on one of those forensic TV shows."

"You think?"

"It could happen."

THAT EVENING, WEATHER showed up with a big black leather Coach travel bag for her sixth consecutive sleepover. Lucas dropped The Wall Street Journal on the floor next to his chair and said, "I've figured it out. You hate me and you're trying to fuck me to death."

"In your dreams," she said. "The fact is, I'm gonna get pregnant. You volunteered. The second fact is, I'm right around my fertile period and I'm trying to blanket it."

"Blanket it."

"Yes. So if you don't mind, bring yourself back to the bedroom. It'll all be over in a few minutes."

THE RAIN CONTINUED overnight, spitting against the windows, but by morning had changed from a steady pelting storm to a steady miserable drizzle. Weather left early, as usual, and Lucas got another hour of sleep before he climbed out of bed, cleaned up, and rolled out of the driveway in his Tahoe.

Del was waiting in his driveway, under the eaves of the garage, already dressed in a rain suit. His wife stood beside him, wearing a heavy sweater. "You guys be careful," she said. "The roads are slippery. Get some decent lunch somewhere. Eat something with vegetables, like a salad or something."

In the truck, Del said, "Jesus Christ-vegetables."

The drive to south Dakota County took forty-five minutes, a slow trip against rush traffic, "Money, Guns, and Lawyers" bumping out of the CD player, the wipers beating time. The roadside ditches were showing long strips of water, and Del told a story about a Caterpillar D-6 that once sank out of sight, was never recovered, and was presumably on its way to China after encountering a bog in weather just like this.

When they arrived, they found a green Subaru Forester parked on the shoulder of the road, with a magnetic door-sign that said Archeo-Survey, Inc. Just beyond were three sheriff's cars and a battered Jeep Cherokee. One of the cars had its light bar flashing out a slow-down warning. A half-dozen men in slickers turned to look at them as they pulled off the road.

"Cop convention," Del grunted.

Lucas parked, got out of the truck, walked around to the back, lifted the hatch, found his rain suit, and pulled it on. Del waited until he'd pulled the hood tight around his face, then they walked down the road to introduce themselves to the others.

"Don Hammond, chief deputy down here," said the largest of the cops. "These guys are Rick and Dave. You know Terry Marshall." Marshall nodded at Lucas; little flecks of rain speckled his steel-rimmed glasses, and he looked tough as a chunk of hickory. Hammond continued: "The sheriff'll stop out later. You sure picked a good morning for it."