"Maybe tells them he's married or something," Lucas said.

"Still, you'd think…"

"Yeah. Somebody would know."

They thought about that for a minute, then Marcy said, "So anyway, that's three people we've ID'd from the graveyard, five to go."

WITH NOTHING SPECIFIC to work on, Lucas had to decide whether to drive down the graveyard-where he wouldn't have much to do-or review paper. The idea of reviewing paper bored him, and after a visit to Homicide to talk to Black, he noticed a shaft of sunlight out on the street.

"Sun's out," he said to Black as he left.

"Today only," Black said. "More rain or snow coming for the weekend."

The sunlight made the decision for him. He was out of downtown ahead of the rush, running through the sun-dappled countryside. The countryside still had the cold colors of winter, but when he cracked the windows, he could smell spring on the way. Still a little snow in the north shadows, along the shaded sides of the fence lines and the glacial hills, but the water was moving in the drainage ditches, and farmers had their tractors out of the machine sheds and the sun felt yellower and warmer than in the weeks just past.

On the grave-site hill, everything changed. The hill faced away from the afternoon sun, and under the oak trees, there was a river of mud, and men grubbing for bones. The hill, he thought, looked like an old browned photograph of a World War I trench site during a cease-fire, except for the brilliant blue slashes of a dozen plastic tarps.

McGrady had gotten some rest. He was sitting on a camp chair, reading a copy of Maxim, when Lucas climbed up to the command tent. "I always liked pictures of sexy women," he said, almost absently. "Like the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. But somehow, after all the liberation bullshit, we finally got around to the point where women have stopped being objects and have become products. Have you ever looked at this rag?"

"No." But he was amused.

McGrady flipped it over his shoulder onto the ground. "I'm just getting old, I guess. Couple of the younger guys were looking at it, thought it's great."

"Still eight bodies," Lucas said. He didn't care about Maxim, had never heard of it.

"Yeah, still eight. I think that's all it's going to be unless we find a whole new graveyard somewhere. We think one of them might be a girl from Lino Lakes, but we can't track down any dental records. I don't know what the hang-up is."

"Marcy said something about the parents moving a couple of times, and they're still trying to track them down. From what I saw of the records, I'm not sure how good a fit she is."

"Blond, busty, and missing."

"But some of her friends think she was about to run away to California; and she wasn't interested in art."

"If we find the parents, we could do some DNA and skip the dentals," McGrady said. He yawned, and then said, "Another day out here, I think. If we don't find anything new."

"You still got TV…"

"Yup. But they're getting bored, I think. No new bodies." They both looked down the hill at the television vans. The crews were sitting along the edge of the road on blue tarps; two of the cameramen were playing chess and one of the reporters was sprawled out on his back, talking on a cell phone.

Lucas looked up the hill and saw Marshall sitting at the top, looking down. "But you still got Marshall."

"The guy spooks the hell out of me," McGrady said. "Good guy, but a little intense."

They talked for a few more minutes, then Lucas walked up the hill to where Marshall was sitting on a garbage bag. "How's it going?"

Marshall was smoking a Marlboro. He grinned and blew smoke and nodded. "Getting a handle on it," he said. "I got a little overworked there for a while. How's it going on your end?"

He sounded so mellow that Lucas couldn't help smiling back. "We're making some progress. We reviewed the cases we know about, and decided that our guy is stealing everything he can from the women he kills-everything small and worthwhile, anyway. Jewelry, cash, maybe small cameras. We've got photos of stuff that was taken from Aronson-and maybe another woman-and we're gonna run them around to every fence in town."

Marshall bobbed his head and then said, "I'm starting to worry about what happens when we identify him."

"That could be a while, yet," Lucas said.

"I know the kind of work you guys do-that you do-and I think that sooner or later, you're gonna figure him out. Am I right?"

Lucas shrugged. "I believe we will. We always have a few who slip past us, but once we get any kind of a handle on this guy, I think we'll be able to pin him with those drawings. Once we get a name, we can start connecting some dots, and we've got a lot of dots to start with."

"But what you'll get will be circumstantial: maybe really solid, but maybe not. He could beat it."

"That's always a risk."

Marshall blew more smoke, and his jaw worked. After a minute he said, "That would be… tragic."

"At this point, I don't think it'll happen," Lucas said.

"So tell me what you've got. I've been down here all the time. I keep meaning to come up to see you, but I can't get myself away from…" He looked down the hill, and his jaw worked again. "… all the holes."

Lucas ran the case past him, everything that they had learned. Marshall's eyebrows went up when he heard about the photo of Laura Winton at St. Pat's, and about the death of Neumann.

"You think they're all connected?"

"The Neumann thing… that's just not right. We know he was at St. Pat's, we know the art teacher died after the drawings were put on TV, we know that Aronson was missing jewelry, and so was Neumann. That's what we think. The St. Paul cops haven't gone public with it, but I think Neumann was killed as a kind of… cleanup. She figured something out."

"A cleanup," Marshall said. He pitched his cigarette down the hill. "The fucker ought to be skinned alive."

Lucas's cell phone rang a moment later, and he fumbled it out of his pocket. "Yeah?"

"This is Del. Where are you?"

"Talking with Marshall, down at the graveyard. What's going on?"

"We gotta break," Del said. "Get your ass back up here."

"What happened?"

Del explained quickly, and Lucas said, "I'm on my way," hung up, and to Marshall: "Gotta run."

"Something?"

Lucas was already headed down the hill, and he called back, "Maybe."

Marshall said, "I'm coming," and they both scrambled down the wet hill and hopped the ditch, Lucas hurrying to his car, Marshall jogging heavily to his, swinging then through U-turns and accelerating away to the north.

13

LUCAS WAS PORSCHE-TRAINED, and showed it, even in the hippo-like Tahoe; he could see Marshall laboring to keep up as the Dunn County deputy tracked him across Dakota County toward the Cities. Once he was on the highway, he put the truck on cruise control to remind himself to slow down. Marshall got on his taillights and stayed there. Lucas led him into a parking garage downtown, called Del while the other cop parked, and after Marshall had climbed into the Tahoe, continued out. Del was waiting on the corner at City Hall.

"Tell Terry what you told me," Lucas said, as Del climbed in the back.

"I was running a picture of Neumann's and Aronson's jewelry around town," Del told Marshall. "There's a guy Lucas and I both know, Bob Brown's his name, he deals in estate jewelry. Tries to keep it as legit as he can. I showed him the pictures, and as he soon as he saw the Aronson ring and the pearl necklace, he recognized them. They came in six months ago. He'd sold the necklace, but the ring was still there, and it's got the 'Love Forever.' I gave him a receipt; it's back at the office."

Lucas said to Marshall, "The ring had 'Love Forever' engraved inside."