"That's right."

"You have what he was wearing when he was arrested?"

"It'd be over at the lockup."

"Could you have them sent over here?"

"The clothes? Right away."

"Have them put in a paper bag," he ordered. "Don't unfold them."

The sheriff called the lockup, told a deputy to bring them over. From the one-sided conversation Rhyme deduced that the deputy was more than happy to participate in helping to find the woman who'd hog-tied and shamed him.

Rhyme stared at the map of the Eastern shore. They could narrow the search to old houses – because of the camphene lamp – and to ones set back from the beach itself – because of the maple and oak leaf trace. But the sheer size of the place was daunting. Hundreds of miles.

Bell 's phone rang. He answered and spoke for a minute then hung up. Walked to the map. "They've got the roadblocks set up. Garrett and Amelia might move inland here to get around them" – he tapped Location M-10 – "but from where Mason and Frank are they've got a good view of this field and they'd be seen."

Rhyme asked, "What about that railroad line south of town?"

"Not used for passenger travel. It's a freight line and there's no set schedule for the trains. But they could hike along it. That's why I set up the block at Belmont. My bet is they'll go that way. I'm also thinking Garrett might hide out for a while in the Manitou Falls Wildlife Preserve – with his interest in bugs and nature and stuff. He probably spends a lot of time there." Bell tapped spot T-10.

Farr asked, "What about that airport?"

Bell looked at Rhyme. "Can she hot-wire an airplane?"

"No, she doesn't fly."

Rhyme noticed a reference on the map. He asked, "What's that military base?"

"Used it to store weapons in the sixties and seventies. It's been closed for years. But there're tunnels and bunkers all over the place. We'd need two-dozen men to search the place and he could still probably find a nook to hide in."

"Is it patrolled?"

"Not anymore."

"What's that square area? At spot E-5 and E-6?"

"That? Probably that old amusement park," Bell said, looking at Farr and Ben.

"Right," said Ben. "My brother and I used to go there when I was a kid. It was called, what? Indian Ridge or something."

Bell nodded. "It was a re-creation of an Indian village. Went outa business a few years ago – nobody went. Williamsburg and Six Flags were a lot more popular. Good place to hide but it's in the opposite direction of the Outer Banks. Garrett wouldn't go there."

Bell touched spot H-14. "Lucy's here. And Garrett and Amelia'd have to stick to Harper Road in those parts. They go off the road and it's swampland filled with clay. Take 'em days to get through it – if they survived, which they probably wouldn't. So… I guess we just wait and see what happens."

Rhyme nodded absently, his eyes moving like his friend – the skittish fly, now departed – from one topographical landmark in Paquenoke County to another.

Garrett Hanlon led Amelia down a wide asphalt road. They were walking slower than before, exhausted from the exertion and the heat.

There was a familiarity about the area and she realized this was Canal Road – the one that they'd taken from the County Building that morning to search the crime scenes at Blackwater Landing. Ahead she could see the dark rippling of the Paquenoke River. Across the canal were those large, beautiful houses she'd commented on earlier to Lucy.

She looked around. "I don't get it. This is the main road into town. Why aren't there any roadblocks?"

"They think we're going a different way. They've set up the roadblocks south and east of here."

"How do you know that?"

Garrett answered, "They think I'm fucked-up. They think I'm stupid. When you're different that's what people think. But I'm not."

"But we are going to Mary Beth?"

"Sure. Just not the way they think."

Once again Garrett's confidence and caginess troubled her but her attention slipped back to the road and they continued on in silence. In twenty minutes they were within a half-mile of the intersection where Canal Road ended at Route 112 – the place where Billy Stail had been killed.

"Listen!" he whispered, gripping her arm with his cuffed hands.

She cocked her head but heard nothing.

"Into the bushes." They slipped off the road into a stand of scratchy holly trees.

"What?" she asked.

"Shhhh."

A moment later a large flatbed truck came into view behind them.

"That's from the factory," he whispered. "Up ahead there."

The sign on the truck was for Davett Industries. She recognized the name of the man who'd helped them with the evidence. When it was past they returned to the road.

"How did you hear that?"

"Oh, you gotta be cautious all the time. Like moths."

"Moths? What do you mean?"

"Moths're pretty cool. They, like, sense ultrasound waves. They have these radar detector things. When a bat shoots out a beam of sound to find them, moths fold their wings and drop to the ground and hide. Magnetic and electronic fields too – insects can feel them. Like, things we aren't even aware of. You know you can lead some insects around with radio waves? Or make 'em go away too, depending on the frequency." He fell silent, head turned away, frozen in position. Then he looked back at her. He said, "You have to listen all the time. Otherwise they can sneak up on you."

"Who?" she asked uncertainly.

"You know, everybody." Then he nodded up the road, toward Blackwater Landing and the Paquenoke. "Ten minutes and we'll be safe. They'll never find us."

She was wondering what, realistically, would happen to Garrett when they found Mary Beth and returned to Tanner's Corner. There would still be some charges against him. But if Mary Beth corroborated the story of the real murderer – the man in the tan overalls – then the D.A. might accept that Garrett had kidnapped her for her own good. Defense of others was recognized by all criminal courts as a justification. And he'd probably drop the charges.

And who was the man in the overalls? Why was he prowling the forests of Blackwater Landing? Had he been the one who'd killed those other residents over the past few years and was trying to blame Garrett for the deaths? Had he scared young Todd Wilkes into killing himself? Was there a drug ring that Billy Stail had been involved in? She knew that drug problems in small towns were as serious as in the city.

Then something else occurred to her: that Garrett could identify Billy Stail's real murderer – the man in the overalls, who by now might've heard about the escape and be out looking for Garrett and for her too. To silence them. Maybe they should -

Suddenly Garrett froze, an alarmed look on his face. He spun around.

"What?" she whispered.

"Car, moving fast."

"Where?"

"Shhh."

A flash of light from behind them caught their eyes.

You have to listen all the time. Otherwise they can sneak up on you.

"No!" Garrett cried in dismay and pulled her into a stand of sedge.

Two Paquenoke County squad cars were racing along Canal Road. She couldn't see who was driving the first one but the deputy in the passenger seat – the black deputy who'd set up the chalkboard for Rhyme – was squinting as he scanned the woods. He held a shotgun. Lucy Kerr was driving the second car. Jesse Corn sat beside her.

Garrett and Sachs lay flat, hidden by broom grass.

Moths fold their wings and drop to the ground…

The cars sped past and skidded to a stop where Canal Road met Route 112. They parked perpendicular to the road, blocking both lanes, and the deputies got out, weapons ready.

"Roadblock," she muttered. "Hell."