It was a lot to think about, and thinking was easier these days when he was smoked up.

Much easier.

Julia sipped her small tot of whiskey, making it: last, but the women cops slugged theirs like heroes. It wasn't enough to make them drunk, but it loosened their tongues.

'Fact is, I'm horrified,' Jackie Wettington said. She was looking down, playing with her empty juice glass, but when Piper offered her another splash, she shook her head.'It never would have happened if Duke was still alive. That's what I keep coming back to. Even if he had reason to believe Barbara had murdered his wife, he would've followed due process.That's just how he was. And allowing the father of a victim to go down to the Coop and confront the perp? Never! Linda was nodding agreement. 'It makes me scared for what might happen to the guy. Also…'

'If it could happen to Barbie, it could happen to anyone?'Julia asked.

Jackie nodded. Biting her lips. Playing with her glass. 'If something happened to him—I don't necessarily mean something balls-to-the-wall like a lynching, just an accident in his cell—I'm not sure I could ever put on this uniform again.'

Linda's basic concern was simpler and more direct. Her husband believed Barbie innocent. In the heat of her fury (and her revulsion at what they had found in the McCain pantry), she had rejected that idea—Barbie's dog tags had, after all, been in Angie McCain's gray and stiffening hand. But the more she thought about it, the more she worried. Partly because she respected Rusty s judgment of things and always had, but also because of what Barbie had shouted just before Randolph had Maced him. Tell your husband to examine the bodies. He must examine the bodies!

'And another thing,'Jackie said, still spinning her glass.'You don't Mace a prisoner just because he's yelling. We've had Saturday nights, especially after big games, when it sounded like the zoo at feeding time down there. You just let em yell. Eventually they get tired and go to sleep.'

Julia, meanwhile, was studying Linda. When Jackie had finished, Julia said, 'Tell me again what Barbie said.'

'He wanted Rusty to examine the bodies, especially Brenda Perkins's. He said they wouldn't be at the hospital. He knew that. They're at Bowie's, and that's not right.'

'Goddam funny, all right, if they was murdered,' Romeo said. 'Sorry for cussin, Rev.'

Piper waved this away.'If he killed them, I can't understand why his most pressing concern would be having the bodies examined. On the other hand, if he didn't, maybe he thought a postmortem would exonerate him.'

'Brenda was the most recent victim,' Julia said. 'Is that right?'

'Yes,' Jackie said. 'She was in rigor, but not completely. At least it didn't look to me like she was.'

'She wasn't,' Linda said. 'And since rigor starts to set in about three hours after death, give or take, Brenda probably died between four and eight a.m. I'd say closer to eight, but I'm no doctor.' She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. 'Rusty isn't either, of course, but he could have nailed down the TOD a lot closer if he'd been called in. No one did that. Including me. I was just so freaked out… there was so much going on…'

Jackie pushed her glass aside. 'Listen, Julia—you were with Barbara at the supermarket this morning, weren't you?'

'Yes.'

'At a little past nine. That's when the riot started.'

'Yes.'

'Was he there first, or were you? Because I don't know.'

Julia couldn't remember, but her impression was that she had been there first—that Barbie had arrived later, shortly after Rose Twitchell and Anson Wheeler.

'We cooled it out.' she said, 'but he was the one who showed us how. Probably saved even more people from being seriously hurt. I can't square that with what you found in that pantry. Do you have any idea what the order of the deaths were? Other than Brenda last?'

'Angie and Dodee first,' Jackie said. 'Decomp was less advanced with Coggins, so he canie later.'

'Who found them?'

'Junior Rennie. He was suspicious because he saw Angie's car in the garage. But that's not important. Barbaras the important thing here. Are you sure he arrived after Rose and Anse? Because that doesn't look good.'

'I am, because he wasn't in Roses van. Just the two of them got out. So if we assume he wasn't busy killing people, then where would he…?' But that was obvious. 'Piper, can I use your phone?'

'Of course.'

Julia briefly consulted the pamphlet- sized local phone book, then used Piper's cell to call the restaurant. Rose's greeting was curt:'We're closed until further notice. Bunch of assholes arrested my cook.'

'Rose? It's Julia Sbumway.'

'Oh. Julia.' Rose sounded only a shade less truculent. 'What do you want?'

'I'm trying to check out a possible alibi timeline for Barbie. Are you interested in helping?'

I'Ybu bet your ass. The idea that Barbie murdered those people is ridiculous. What do you want to know?'

'I want to know if he was at the restaurant when the riot started at Food City.'

'Of course.' Rose sounded perplexed. 'Where else would he be righti after breakfast? When Anson and I left, he was scrubbing the grills.'

7

The sun was going down, and as the shadows lengthened, Claire McClatchey grew more and more nervous. Finally she went into the kitchen to do what she had been putting off: use her husband's cell phone (which he had forgotten to take on Saturday morning; he was always forgetting it) to call hers. She was terrified it would ring four times and then she'd hear her own voice, all bright and chirrupy, recorded before the town she lived in became a prison with invisible bars. Hi, you've reached Claire's voice mail. Please leave a message at the beep. And what would she say? Joey, call back if you're not dead?

She reached for the buttons, then hesitated. Remember, if he doesn't answer the first time, it's because he's on his bike and can't get the phone out of his backpack before it goes to voice mail. He'll be ready when you call the second time, because he'll know it's you.

But if she got voice mail the second time? And the third? Why had she ever let him go in the first place? She must have been mad.

She closed her eyes and saw a picture of nightmare clarity: the telephone poles and storefronts of Main Street plastered with photos of Joe, Benny, and Norrie, looking like any kids you ever saw on a turnpike rest area bulletin board, where the captions always contained the words LAST SEEN ON.

She opened her eyes and dialed quickly, before she could lose her nerve. She was preparing her message—I'm calling back in ten seconds and this time you better answer, mister— and was stunned when her son answered, loud and clear, halfway through the first ring.

'Mom! Hey, Mom!' Alive and more than alive: bubbling over with excitement, from the sound.

Where are you? she tried to say, but at first she couldn't manage anything. Not a single word. Her legs felt rubbery and elastic; she leaned against the wall to keep from falling on the floor.

'Mom? You there?'