"There are no good parts," Del said. "Everything okay?"

"Okay," Lucas said. "Let's go."

"At least you didn't open fire on anybody," the older woman said to Del.

"That's a good thing," Del said.

OUT IN THE car, Del asked, "You gonna tell me?"

"Yeah." Lucas put the car in gear, sighed, and said, "We've gotta talk to the sheriff, and the crime scene guys from Bemidji, start looking through their paper, see if there's anything. Gotta think about it. 'Cause it ain't these guys."

"So… what're they doing?" Del asked.

Lucas told him. When he was done, Del said, "I actually heard rumors about them. Down in the Cities. Never made the connection with these guys. I just thought it was some kind of feminist-wicca-earth-goddess-conspiracy urban-legend bullshit. Huh."

"Where'd you hear it?"

"My old lady."

"Yeah? You know where Lewis said I should go for more information?"

"Where?"

"My old lady."

They laughed about that for a very short time, and Lucas said, "Let's go talk to the feds."

17

ON THE WAY up the street, Lucas got back on his cell phone and called the sheriff's office. He got the sheriff on the line, explained what he needed.

"That's not a bad idea," the sheriff said. "I've got three guys on duty at the schools, but that's not critical-I could have everybody who's in town down here in forty-five minutes."

"That'd be great," Lucas said. "We need the help. We're really stuck."

THE FBISQUAD was led by Lanny Cole and Jim Green, the agents they'd met at Hale Sorrell's home. Cole was standing in the yard, talking to a man in an Air Force snorkel parka, the fur-rimmed snout sticking eight inches out from the man's face. Lucas and Del got out, and Cole came over with the parka and they shook hands.

"This is Aron Jaffe from Hollywood," Cole said, nodding at the parka. The parka nodded back. "He'll run the GPR search team."

"Can you hear me in there?" Lucas asked, talking at the snorkel.

"I can hear you fine," Jaffe said. "Only my legs are frostbitten."

"Is the frozen ground gonna screw you up?"

"Naw. Might help," he said. "We might see some seriously unconsolidated stuff."

They talked for another minute, then Cole said, "The second girl, Burke-her parents are driving up here from Lincoln. They want to look at the locket, although I don't think there's any doubt."

"Okay," Lucas said. "Are you all straight with the BCA crew?"

"Yeah, we're fine. You got anything going at all?"

Lucas shook his head. "Not much. You know about the fire last night."

"Went up and looked at the hole this morning."

"The girl who was hurt says the killer sounded like he was from here. His voice did, the way he spoke."

"The Fargo accent," said the guy from Hollywood.

"Yeah. We know that three of the kidnappers worked for the Calb auto-body place, and the whole Cash family down in Kansas City is supposedly heavy into car theft. So… there's a thing here."

"A nub," Del suggested.

"A nexus," said the guy from Hollywood.

"Whatever. I think it's about fifty-fifty that the killer's not more than two or three hundred yards away from us. Somebody from here, connected to Calb's."

"You wanna jack the guy up? I could come along, add a little federal heat."

"Probably. But I'm going down to the sheriff's office first. We need to talk to the deputies, to everybody that knows anybody up here. There's gotta be some kind of edge we can get our fingernails under."

Before they left, they walked Jaffe around the place, and pointed out spots along the creek, behind the house, where bodies could have been buried. "That's a sizable chunk of ground. Gonna take a while," Jaffe said.

THEY LEFT THE FBI men, stopped at Wolf's Cafe, found it empty except for Wolf, ordered pancakes, and asked her to name everybody she knew in every building in the town. "Please God, don't tell anybody I helped. That poor goddamned Martha West, getting roasted."

"Nobody'll hear it from us," Lucas said.

She started reciting names, and Lucas got a piece of paper from his notebook and drew an outline map of the town and slotted the names in cartoon houses. They took the map south, to the sheriff's office, and found twenty or so deputies milling around. The sheriff came out and said, "I got a courtroom upstairs. Already some people up there, I'll send the rest of them up now. Only got two or three who can't make it."

Thirty people, half of them in uniform, had gathered in the courtroom. Two or three people who looked like courthouse loafers had squeezed in, curious, and Lucas ordered everybody who wasn't a sworn deputy to leave. The loafers squeezed back out, and one of the deputies closed the doors.

"I don't want anybody to talk about what goes on here," he said. "If you gotta talk to your wives, tell them to keep their mouths shut. I know it's hard, but it's only for a couple of days. What I have is a list of everybody who lives in Broderick." He waved Del's yellow legal pad. "I think I have the name of everybody. And we need to have a real gossipy talk about who does what up there. Who's been busted, who's been warned, what kind of trouble they've gotten themselves in, if they have-we need anything you've got. I'm telling you fellas, after last night… we need to nail this sucker. And we don't have a hell of a lot to go on."

"No DNA at all?" one of the deputies asked. Lucas recognized him as one of the guys who'd been at the fire.

"We're not too hopeful," Lucas said. "Mrs. West was burned beyond recognition, and those of you who've been up at the house know what that looks like. It's a big pile of charcoal."

"Cash and Kelly worked for Gene Calb; have you talked to Gene?"

"Yeah, but he says he doesn't know nothin' about nothin'. So what I need to know from you is, What about Gene Calb? Does he really not know nothin' about nothin'?"

"He's always been a pretty good guy," one of the deputies said. "Can't see him killing anybody."

"Ever been in trouble?"

"Traffic tickets, I guess. Maybe a DWI when he was a kid." The deputy looked around, picked out a man in gray coveralls. "What do you think, Loren? You go up there."

The man named Loren cleared his throat and said, "I rent a paint booth from him for a couple days, every year or so-I refinish cars as a hobby. The thing is… there are some pretty tough hombres up there. Mike Bannister or Kiley Anderson or Dexter Barnes, everybody knows them. Gene handles them, though."

"So what about these guys, Bannister and Anderson and Barnes?" Lucas asked.

The deputy said, "They're mostly just hell-raisers, but they've been known to steal a car occasionally. There's one guy out there, Durrell Schmidt, will steal a calf every once in a while. That's what we think, anyway."

"Had some marijuana around there," another man said.

"Had some everywhere, it's mostly just ditch weed," a third deputy said.

They went around for a while, told Lucas a story or two, and laughed at them. Lucas finally asked, "So who up there could kill somebody? Who up there, if he really got his back to the wall, could do that?"

Loren said, reluctantly, "You could see three or four of those guys getting drunk and maybe something happens and they get crazy with a gun and shoot somebody, almost like an accident-but if it came down to sitting around and thinking about it, and then doing it… I gotta say Gene Calb. Maybe Dexter Barnes. I mean, if it came right down to having to do something really tough, and then doing it, one of those two guys. I don't think they did, but I don't know anybody else up there who… who… " He scratched his chest as he looked for a word. "Who is really organized enough to do this. Organized isn't the right word, maybe… "