Lucas squeezed, squeezed, then said, "Who's the woman in the picture? Who is it?"

Harper, his body bucking, shook his head. "Better let go of his throat for a minute, Gene," Lucas said, and he let go of Harper's nose. Harper groaned, thrashed, sucked air, and Lucas asked, "Who is that, asshole? Who's the woman?"

"Don't know…"

"Let me try," Climpt said, and he caught Harper's nose as Lucas had, his thick yellow fingernails squeezing…

The sound that came from Harper's throat might have been a scream if it had been pitched lower. As it was, it was a kind of blackboard scratching squeak, and he shuddered.

"Who is it?" Lucas asked.

"Don't…"

Climpt looked at Lucas, who shook his head, and they both released him at the same moment. Tears were running down Harper's face and he caught his head in his hands and dropped to his knees. Lucas squatted beside him.

"You know some stuff," Lucas said. "You know the woman or you know somebody who knows the woman."

Harper got one foot beneath him, then heaved himself up. His eyes were red, and tears still poured down his face. "Motherfuckers."

Climpt cuffed him on the side of the head. "You ain't listening. You know who this is, this woman. If you don't spit out the name…"

"You're gonna what? Beat me around?" Harper asked, defiant. "I been beat around before, so go ahead. I'll get my fuckin' lawyer."

"Yeah, you put a fuckin' lawyer out there and I'll pin this fuckin' picture on the bulletin board at the goddamn Super Valu with the note that you sold Jim's ass," Climpt said. "They'll find your fuckin' skin hanging from a tree out here, and you won't be in it."

"Go fuck yourself," Harper snarled. There was blood on his upper lip, trickling down from his nose.

Climpt pulled back his hand but Lucas blocked it. "Let it go," he said.

Outside, as they were loading into the trucks, Lacey said, "Where's Harper?"

"Probably fixin' some dinner," Climpt said. Then, "He's okay, Henry, don't get your ass in an uproar."

Lacey shook his head doubtfully, then said, "Can I see that Polaroid again, just for a minute?"

Lucas handed it to him and Lacey turned on his truck's dome light and peered at the photo.

"Check this, right here," Lacey said. He touched the edge of the photograph with a fingernail. Lucas took it.

"It looks like a sleeve."

"Sure does," said Lacey, holding the photo four inches from his face. "Now, this here is a Spectra Polaroid. Spectras come with a remote control, a radio thing, so it might of been that there were only the two of them. But if that's a sleeve, and if there's somebody else behind the camera…"

"The camera angle's downward," Lucas said. "That'd be high for a tripod."

"So there must be a bunch of them," Lacey said.

"Yeah, probably," Lucas said, nodding. "We already know he was with a heavy white guy and here's a woman."

"Damn-if it's a bunch of people, it's gonna tear this county up," Climpt said.

"I'd say the county's already torn up," Lucas said.

Climpt shook his head: "This'd be worse'n the murders, a bunch of people screwing children. Believe me, around here, this'd be worse."

They headed back to town, Climpt riding with Lucas.

"Kind of liked your style back there," Climpt said.

"Thanks. I've worked on it," Lucas said.

The radio burped: Carr. Need to see you guys at the courthouse.

"Did you find the kid?" Lucas asked.

Nothing yet, Carr said.

Off the air, Lucas told Climpt, "I fucked up. The school principal was worried about cops talking to kids without the parents' permission. I took the kid out to his house so I could explain to his father. Goddammit."

"You didn't fuck up," Climpt said. He fumbled a cigarette out of a crumpled pack and lit it with a paper match. "That's not the kind of thing you can know. You're dealing with a crazy man. And you've got a reputation. People around here think you're Sherlock Holmes."

"I'm not. But I have dealt with psychos before. I should have known better than to show an interest in one witness," Lucas said. "I… Oh, shit."

"What?"

"Do you know where the doctor's house is? Weather Karkinnen?" Lucas asked, his voice urgent.

"Sure. Down on Lincoln Lake."

Weather lived in a rambling, white-clapboard house with a steep, snow-covered roof. A fieldstone chimney, webbed with naked vines, climbed one end, a double garage anchored the other. A stand of red pines protected it from the north wind. Two huge white pines, one with a rope dangling from a lower branch, stood in back, along the edge of the frozen lake. The neighboring homes were as large or larger than Weather's, most of them with aging boathouses at the edge of the lake.

As Lucas and Climpt pulled into the driveway, a pod of snowmobiles whipped by on the lake, heading for a bar sign at the far end.

Weather's house was dark.

"Just be a minute or two," Lucas said, but a chilly anxiety plucked at his chest, growing heavier as he climbed out of the truck and hurried up to the house. He rang the doorbell, and when he didn't get a response, pounded on the front door and rattled the knob. The door was locked. He stepped back off the porch and started down the sidewalk, intending to try the garage doors, when a light came on inside.

He felt like a boulder had been lifted off his back. He turned and hurried back to the door, rang the doorbell again. And suddenly he was nervous again, afraid that she might think he was here to hustle her.

A moment later Weather opened the inner door, peered through the glass of the storm door, then pushed the storm door open. She was wearing a heavy throat-to-ankle terrycloth robe. She pulled the robe together at the neck as she leaned out and looked past him at the truck, still running in the driveway, and said, "Okay, what happened?"

Another boulder came off his back. She didn't think…

"There's a kid missing-after I talked to him at school today," Lucas blurted. "He might have wandered away from his house, but nobody really thinks so. He may have been taken by whoever did the LaCourts. Since we've spent some time together, you and I… You see…"

"Who's out in the truck?" Weather asked.

"Gene Climpt."

She waved at the truck, then said to Lucas, "Come on in for a moment and tell me about it."

Lucas kicked snow off his boots and stepped inside. The house smelled subtly of baking and herbs. A modern watercolor of a vase of flowers hung on an eggshell-white wall that faced the entry. Lucas knew almost nothing about modern art, but he liked it.

"Who's the kid?" Weather asked.

"John Mueller," Lucas said. "Do you know him?"

"Oh, God. His mom works at the bakery?"

"I guess…"

"Aw, jeez, I've seen him up there doing his homework. Aw, God…" She had her arms crossed over her chest, and was gripping the material on the sleeves of her robe, her knuckles white.

"If the killer took the kid, then he's out of control. Nuts," Lucas said. He felt large and awkward in the parka and boots and hat and gloves, looking down at her in her bathrobe. "It'd be best if you got out of here. At least until we can set up some security."

Weather shook her head: "Not tonight. I've got surgery in"-she looked at her watch-"seven hours. I've got to be up in five."

"Can you cancel?" Lucas asked.

"No." She shook her head. "My patient's already in the hospital, fasting and medicated. It wouldn't be right."

"I've got to go downtown," Lucas said. "I could come back and bag out on your couch."

"In other words, wake me up again," she said, but she smiled.

"Look, this is getting nasty." He was so serious that she tapped his chest, to hold him where he was standing, and said, "Wait a minute." She walked into the dark part of the house and a light came on. There was a moment of rattling, then she came back with a garage-door opener.