"Hasn't been open in a while," he said.

"Basement," said Climpt. They headed for the basement stairs, found Lacey digging through a freestanding wardrobe in the living room while Harper slumped in a chair.

"Anything?" Lucas asked.

"Nope."

"We'll be down the basement," Lucas said.

Harper watched them go, but said nothing. "I wish that fucker'd give me a reason to slam him up alongside the head," Climpt said.

The basement smelled of cobwebs, dust, engine oil, and coal. The walls' granite fieldstone was mortared with crumbling, sandy concrete. Two bare bulbs, dangling from ancient fraying wire, provided all the light. There were two small rooms, filled with the clutter of a rural half-century: racks of dusty Ball jars, broken crocks, an antique lawnmower, a lever-action.22 covered with rust. A dozen leg-hold jump traps hung from a nail, and hanging next to them, two dozen tiny feet tied together with twine.

"Gophers," Climpt said, touching them. They swayed like a grisly wind chime. "County used to pay a bounty on them, way back, nickel a pair on front feet."

A railroad-tie workbench was wedged into a corner with a rusting vise fitted at one end. A huge old coal furnace hunkered in the middle of the main room like a dead oak, stone cold. A diminutive propane burner stood in what had once been a coal room, galvanized ducts leading to the rooms above. The coal room was the cleanest place in the basement, apparently cleaned when the furnace was installed. At a glance, there was no place to hide anything.

Lucas wandered over to the coal furnace, pulled open the furnace door, looked at a pile of old ashes, closed it. "This could take a while," he said.

They took fifteen minutes, Climpt repeating, "Someplace where he could get it quick…" They found nothing, and started up the steps, unsatisfied. The basement had too many nooks and crannies. "If one of those fieldstones pulled out…" Lucas started.

"We'd never find it: there must be two thousand of them," Climpt said.

And Lucas said, "Wait a minute," went back down the stairs and looked toward the propane burner.

"If that's the coal room, shouldn't there be a coal chute?" he asked.

"Yeah, there should," Climpt said.

They found the chute door set in the wall behind the propane burner, four feet above the floor and virtually invisible in the bad light. Lucas reached back, unlatched the door and felt inside. His hand fell on a stack of paper.

"Something," he said. "Paper." He pulled it out. Three glossy sex magazines and two sex comics. He handed them to Climpt, reached back inside for another quick check, came up with a small corner of notebook paper, blank, that might have been used as a bookmark. Lucas stuck the paper in his pocket.

"Porn," said Climpt, standing under one of the hanging light bulbs. They shook out the magazines, found nothing inside.

"Check 'em," Lucas said. "We're looking for a picture of a kid on a bed."

They flipped through the magazines, but all of the pictures were obviously commercial and involved women. The Mueller kid had described the photo he'd seen as rough, printed on newsprint.

"Nothing much," Climpt said. "I mean, a lot of pussy… Goddamn Shelly'd have a heart attack."

Lucas went back to the coal chute for a final check, reached far inside, felt just a corner of a piece of plastic. He had to stretch to fish it out.

A Polaroid.

Climpt came to look over his shoulder.

A young boy, slender, nude, standing in front of a crouched woman, pushing into her mouth. His hands were wrapped around her skull. All that was visible of the woman was her dark hair, the lower part of her face from her nose down, and part of her neck. She was obviously older, probably in her forties.

The boy's left hand was visible and a finger was gone.

"Don't know the woman, just from that," Climpt said. "But that's Jim doin' her."

"Hey, Lucas," Lacey called from upstairs.

"Yeah?"

"It's like… ah, Christ!" Lacey blurted.

Lucas looked at Climpt, who shrugged, and they headed up the stairs. Lacey was standing in the door to the living room, his face dead white. Harper sat in a chair, a half-amused look on his face. They were looking at the television. The video was cheap, clear enough: two men were lying on a bed, fondling each other.

"You sell this shit?" Climpt growled at Harper.

"I told Henry-it all belonged to Jim. I don't look at homo shit."

"Found it in the wardrobe," Lacey said. "There weren't any labels."

Lucas handed Lacey the Polaroid.

"Sonofagun," Lacey whispered.

"Yeah," Lucas said. "You want to look at this, Harper?" No more Russ or Mr. Harper. He held it out in front of Harper, who reached for it, but Lucas pulled it back. "Just look-don't touch."

Harper peered at the picture and drawled, "Looks like Jim, gettin' him some head. Damn, I wish I knew her-she looks like she knows what she's doing."

He still had the slightly amused look on his face. He was about to say something else when Climpt stepped past Lucas, grabbed Harper by the shirt, and hauled him out of the chair. "You motherfucker."

Harper covered his gut with his elbows, kept his hands up in front of his face. He didn't want to get hurt, but he wasn't scared, Lucas thought.

"Hey, hey," said Lacey, trying to intervene. "Let him…"

Climpt shoved Harper at Lucas, who caught him, still off-balance, said, "Fuck, I don't want him," and spun him into the wall. Climpt caught him on the rebound, dragged him backwards by the collar and as Lacey shouted, "Hey," banged the back of Harper's head against the opposite wall, then pulled him forward, letting go as Lucas put his hand in Harper's face and snapped him backwards into the chair.

"Knock it off," Lacey said.

"Set your own kid up for this shit, didn't you?" Climpt said, his face an inch from Harper's. Harper spit at him, a spray of spittle. Climpt caught him by the shirt collar and the skin under his neck and hoisted him a foot out of the chair. "Sold his ass to faggots and anybody else who wanted some young stuff. You know what they're gonna do to you in the joint? You know what they do to child fuckers? You're gonna wear out your kneecaps kneeling on the floors, blowing those guys."

Lacey, face red, had Climpt by the shoulder, pulling at him. Lucas put his arm between Harper and Climpt, said, "Gene, let him go. Gene…"

Climpt looked blindly at Lucas, then dropped Harper back in the chair, turned away, wiped his face with his forearm.

"Motherfucker," Harper said, pulling down his shirt.

Lucas turned to Lacey. "Could you get Shelly on the radio? Don't mention the Polaroid directly, but tell him we got something. And we need to see him."

Lacey stepped back, reluctantly. "You guys won't…"

"No, no," Lucas said. "And listen, ask him about the Mueller kid, if there's been any progress."

"What about the Mueller kid?" Harper asked.

"He's missing," Lucas said, turning back to him.

Lacey was walking out through the kitchen. When the back door banged shut, Lucas stepped up to Harper. "I believe you spit on deputy Climpt, and I feel kinda shortchanged, you know. You didn't spit on me."

"Fuck you," Harper said. He looked from Lucas to Climpt and back. "I got my rights."

Lucas took him by the shirt as Climpt had, jerked him out of the chair, ran him straight back at the wall, slammed him against it. Harper covered, still not ready to resist. Climpt caught his right arm, twisted it. Both Lucas and Climpt were bigger than Harper, and pinned him on the wall.

"Remember what you said about your vise?" Lucas asked, face half-turned to Climpt. Climpt grunted. "Watch this-this is nasty."

He caught the flesh between Harper's nostrils by his thumb and middle fingers and squeezed, his fingernails digging into the soft flesh. Harper's mouth dropped as though he were going to scream, but Climpt's hand came up and squeezed his throat.