Bill Corde said, "Wynton here tracked him down. He called must've been a thousand real estate companies. Gilchrist used Sayles's name and rented it for two months." Corde wanted more onion rings; he hadn't eaten a meal in eighteen hours. But he counted up that he'd had twelve rings himself so far, with ketchup, and decided not to ask if they wanted another round.

Wynton Kresge said, "He doesn't have any family that we've been able to find. And no other residences. We think he's there and…" Kresge looked at Corde then added, "… we want to hit him."

Corde continued, "It's your county, Stan, so we need your okay."

"Never heard of a professor killing anybody before," said Assistant Sheriff Dudley Franks, who was lean and unsmiling and reminded Corde of T.T. Ebbans. "You'd think they'd be above that or something."

Willars said wryly, "So's Hammerback's providing all the firepower?"

Corde grinned. "Okay, we'd like some backup too."

"Uck."

Corde added, "Fact of life, Stan."

Willars said, "You boys want more rings?" Corde said sure quickly. Willars ordered. He was laughing as he looked out the window at Corde's squad car. "Look at that Dodge. It brand new?"

Corde said, "We got 'em this year."

"You got that damn university down in Harrison. No wonder you got new wheels." He turned to Franks. "What year are we driving?"

"Eighty-sevens."

Kresge said, "That's pretty old."

"That damn university," Willars said. "Remember those old Grand Furies? The Police Interceptors."

"That was quite a car," Corde said.

"Had a four-forty in them, I believe," Franks offered.

Willars said, "What I wish is we had one of those emergency services trucks. You should see the wrecks we get along 607."

Franks said, "Sedge Billings near to cut his little finger off with his chain saw trying to get somebody out of a Caprice that went upside down. There aren't but one Jaws of Life in the whole area. Sedge had to use his own Black and Decker."

The waitress brought the onion rings.

"No," Willars corrected, "that wasn't a Chevy, was a Taurus."

"You're right," Frank said.

Corde said, "I don't think Ellison'd have it in his heart or his budget to buy you boys one of those vans. The one they got in Harrison is secondhand. I know we don't have the money in New Lebanon." There was silence as they dug into their rings.

Willars said, "It's just a shame you couldn't loan it to us from time to time. Like a week we've got it, three weeks you've got it."

Corde said, "I don't know the citizens of Harrison'd be too happy to see that. They're the one's paying."

"True," Willars said pleasantly, "but I don't know the citizens of Harrison're real happy about what this Gilchrist fella's done." With cheer in his voice he added, "And the fact he's still at large."

Franks said, "And the fact that it's election time come November."

"I'd guess," Corde said slowly, "Hammerback'd be willing to work out a sharing arrangement. But only if you're talking a limited period of time. And I've gotta clear it with him."

Willars said, "I think of the families of some kid rolls his car off that bend on 607. You ever seen that happen?"

"It's pretty bad?" Kresge asked. "How come you don't put up guard rails?"

Willars looked mournful. "Fact is we're a poor county."

Corde said, "I think we could work something out."

Sheriff Willars said, "That's good enough for me. Let's pick us up a couple M-16s and go catch ourselves a dangerous professor."

Warning. No trespassing.

Bill Corde and Wynton Kresge stepped out of a stand of trees and found themselves looking at the summer house Leon Gilchrist had rented in his latest victim's name. A dilapidated two-story frame home on whose south side paint was peeling like colonial-red snake scales. The whole place was settling bad and only the portion near the chimney had good posture. The screen door on the porch was torn and every second window was cracked. A typical vacation house in the lake district of Lewisboro – not a two-week dream rental but a badly built clapboard that had been foreclosed on.

Up next to them walked Willars, Franks and a crew-cut local deputy, a young man bowlegged with muscles. Corde and Kresge had their service pistols drawn and the Lewisboro lawmen held battered dark gray military rifles, muzzle up.

Kresge looked at the machine guns and said, "Well, well."

"Peace," whispered Willars, "through superior firepower. Your show, Bill. Whatcha wanta do?"

"Ill go in with Wynton and somebody else. I'd like somebody on the front door and the back just in case."

Willars sent the stocky deputy out back and he took the front door. He said to Franks, "You be so kind as to accompany our cousins here?"

"Look," Corde whispered. A light was flashing in an upstairs window. "He's there…" The men crouched down.

Kresge said, "No, look. It's just the sunlight. A reflection."

"No, I don't think so," Franks said with a taut voice. "I think it's a light."

"Whatever it is," Corde said, "let's go in."

To his men Willars said, "Check your pieces. Load and lock. Semiauto fire." The sharp clicks and snaps of machined metal falling into place filled the clearing then there was silence again. They started forward. A large grackle fluttered past them and a jay screamed. Once out of the brush they ran, crouching, to the front porch and walked up the stairs, keeping low to the steps, smelling old wet wood and decaying paint.

They stood on either side of the door, backs to the house. Near Kresge's head was a sign: Beware of Dog. Kresge tested the door. It was locked.

Franks whispered, "What about the dog?"

"There was one, he'd be barking by now," Corde said.

Kresge said, "We knock, or not?"

Corde thought of the Polaroid of the girl possibly his daughter. He said, "No."

Kresge grunted his agreement like a veteran SWAT team cop and pulled open the screen door for Franks to hold.

"Pit bulls don't bark," Franks said. "I saw that on Current Affair or something." He flicked the trigger guard of his rifle with a nervous finger.

Kresge stepped back but Corde touched him by the arm and shook his head then stepped into his place. "I've got fifteen years' experience on you. Just stay close behind."

"But I got sixty pounds' weight on you, Detective," Kresge said and lowered his shoulder and charged into the door. It blew inward, the jamb shattering under his momentum. He slipped on the carpet and went down on his hip as Corde then Franks leapt into the living room after him.

A half dozen mangy pieces of sour overstuffed furniture and a hundred books stared silently back at them.

Franks kept his M-16 up, swiveling from door to door nervously with his head cocked, listening for malevolent growling.

The sunlight was fading fast and throughout the house the colors of rugs and paintings and wallpaper were vanishing. The men walked like soldiers through this monotone. Corde listened for Gilchrist and heard only old boards moaning beneath their feet, the tapping and surges of tiny household motors and valves.

Franks stayed downstairs while Corde and Kresge climbed up to where they had seen the light. They paused at the landing then continued to the second floor. Corde was suddenly aware of the smells: lemon furniture polish, musty cloth, after-shave or perfume.

They swung open the door to the master bedroom. It was empty. Corde smelled the dry after-shave stronger here and he wondered if it was Gilchrist's. It seemed similar to a cologne that he himself had worn, something Sarah had bought him for his birthday. This thought deeply upset him. The sun was low at the horizon, shining into his face. Maybe that was the light he'd seen, its reflection in the window. The sun dipped below the trees, and the light grew murkier. Corde reached toward the bedside lamp to pull the switch.