“You won’t see them on TV until they’re admitted into evidence somewhere, and then you can argue with the judge,” Virgil said.

“If you let those out…”

“What’re you gonna do?” Jenkins asked. “Fire us some more?”

“Keep laughin’ motherfucker.”

“You call me a motherfucker one more fuckin’ time and I’m gonna break your head like a fuckin’ cantaloupe,” Jenkins said.

Randy: “Hey, hey… Mr. Warren, you better take off.”

“We’ll be back in touch,” Virgil told Warren. “We’re taking evidence from a witness to the murders shown here, who says that you committed them. If the evidence is found to be credible, we will turn the photos over to the responsible federal authorities, and they can decide what to do,” Virgil said. “In the meantime, stay away from Carl Knox.”

Warren erupted again. “Knox is the one! Knox is the one! Knox did all this shit! He was right there! Right there! He’s the guy who did all this shit-he’s the one who’s killing everybody, he’s the goddamn Mafia, you moron. Why do you think I’ve got security guys all over the place? It’s Knox, you dummy!”

Virgil said, “We want some DNA from you. A blood sample. We have some DNA from the killer. You want to give us some?”

“Fuck you.”

“We’re also considering charges of willful obstruction of justice and possibly accessory after the fact to murder-I have notes from our first interview, when you said that you didn’t know the other men who went to Vietnam, and we have photos that say you knew them very well. Your obstruction may have resulted in the death of Ray Bunton.”

Warren ’s attitude stepped down. “My obstruction… I’ll give some DNA. I’ll give some blood. Not to you, asshole, because you’re gonna get fired. But I’ll give some DNA to whoever fills your job.”

“I’m taking you at your word,” Virgil said. “We’ll have a guy come around tomorrow.”

“Fuck you.” Warren pulled his shirt cuffs down, adjusted his tie, turned to his security man, and said, “We’re outa here.”

WHEN THEY WERE GONE, Randy said, “This ain’t going down in the annals of fine police work. For any of us.”

They all half laughed, and Virgil said, “He sounded for real. When did he get in touch with your guys?”

THEY FIGURED OUT that he’d called Minneapolis a half hour after Andreno had called Warren. “So they talked it over,” Virgil said.

“For a while,” Randy said. “We had to run like hell to set this up. Jesus-we had like twelve minutes.”

“But by calling you in, he’s putting the pictures in the hands of the cops,” Virgil said, confused.

“Maybe he figured the pictures were gonna get out there. Maybe he figured he could finesse the pictures,” Shrake said. “Pictures from Carl Knox are gonna be a little shaky. If Knox would even testify. And without him testifying, the pictures don’t mean jack-shit.”

“How about this?” Andreno said. “Maybe he thought he could find out where Knox is by squeezing me.”

“Maybe,” Virgil said, fists on his hips. “Ah, man, it’s all screwed up. I gotta have some time. I gotta think.”

VIRGIL CALLED Davenport and told him what happened. Davenport said, “You’re fired.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Do get the DNA. We’ll run it through every bank in the country,” Davenport said. “Chances are small, but if he’s really nuts…”

“I don’t care about that. Wait a minute-I do care about that. What bothers me is, I bought everything that Knox said about Warren,” Virgil said. “ Warren ’s an asshole. But you know what? I bought everything Warren said about Knox, too. I don’t think you could fake it.”

“But we’ve established that Warren ’s a killer,” Davenport said. “That’s one fact to keep in mind.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Virgil said. “You got anything else for me?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Davenport said. “Some advice.”

“Like what?”

“Go fishing. I know a guy who lives out on the St. Croix, about a mile south of the I-94 bridge. He’s got a twenty-foot Lund and he hardly ever uses it. I can borrow the boat for you.”

Virgil thought it over for a second, then said, “Not a bad idea. I’ve got all these snaky ideas in my head. If I could get out on a river for a while, maybe I could shake something loose.”

“I’ll call him.”

“What about Warren?” Virgil asked.

“Rose Marie knows him,” Davenport said. “There’s a cocktail party this evening at the Town and Country Club, for the Republican arrangements committee. Warren ’ll be there, because he does the security, Rose Marie’s gonna be there, the governor’s giving a welcome talk. We’ll get Warren in a corner and hammer down the rough edges.”

“He’s pissed,” Virgil said.

“Well-you get that way when the necrophilia cat gets out of the bag,” Davenport said. “If this goes public, he’d be in trouble. Can you see the headlines on CNN: ‘Necrophiliac Runs Republican Security’?”

“How would that be a change?” Virgil asked.

“Funny. I’m laughing myself sick,” Davenport said.

Virgil: “Tell me this: why did he bring in the cops on the photos?”

“Maybe he thought he was being set up-that Knox was out there with a gun.”

“But Knox… never mind. I was gonna say, Knox isn’t the killer,” Virgil said. “But Warren maybe believes that he is. I can’t seem to focus on that: and if Warren really believes that Knox is the killer-then Warren isn’t.”

“You need some time on the water,” Davenport said. “Work it out.”

DAVENPORT ’S FRIEND called Virgil and said that he was standing on the sixth tee at Clifton Hollow golf course and that he wasn’t planning to be home soon. “If you walk around to the back of the house, the porch door will be open, and if you look up on the beam, you’ll see a nail with one of those pink plastic floats on it. That’s the boat key. Fold up the boat cover and leave it on the dock under the bungee cord. Lucas said you’d have your own fishing gear.”

“Yeah. I’m heading down south of the Kinnickinnic, see if I can pick up some smallies,” Virgil said.

“Throw a musky lure when you’re down there. There’s muskies in there; I’ve been trolling the whole river the last couple years. I’ve taken two forty-inches-plus just south of the Narrows, on the Wisconsin side around behind the hook, and I saw one that went maybe forty-eight.”

“Thanks. I’ll leave a twenty for the gas, if that’s enough,” Virgil said.

“That’s good-just stick it back up there with the key.”

DAVENPORT ’S FRIEND lived in a rambling cedar-shake and stone house down a long single-lane road on a bluff above the St. Croix River. Virgil left the 4Runner in the driveway, walked around back, found the key, and carried three rods and his emergency tackle box down eighty steps to the beach and a dock. The boat had a dried-on foam line that suggested it hadn’t been out for a while. He stripped off the canvas cover, snapped it under the bungee cord on the dock, dropped the motor, and fired it up.

No problem. One minute later, he was a half mile down the river. Glanced at his watch: just three o’clock. He’d been up since five, but still, the day seemed like it was rolling on forever.

The high Wisconsin bluffs on the St. Croix are such a dark green that in bright afternoon sunlight, they seem almost black. Virgil puttered through the Narrows, then hooked around behind the sandbars in back. With the sun hot on his shoulder blades, he set up a drift, faced into the east bank of the river, started dropping a lure a hand span from the bank, yanking it back in a quick retrieve.

And he thought:

Give me an anomaly that I can hang my hat on. There’s got to be one back there somewhere. Something that can’t be easily explained…

He thought about Sinclair, and the two Vietnamese, Tai and Phem-but the fact was, Virgil had gone looking for clues at a place that dealt largely with veterans who’d had problems in Vietnam, where he’d encountered a man who’d spent his life dealing with Vietnam and the Vietnamese. What did he expect, Latvians?