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“No, the baby is clean,” Perry said. He casually tossed the baby toward one of the soldiers. Dew twitched reactively as the child softly arced through the air. The soldier dropped his P90 and awkwardly caught the kid, who started crying immediately.

Crying loud.

The baby hadn’t cried when he was sitting with the psycho who had just butchered his family, but as soon as he was safe, he fired up the air-raid siren. There’s just no figuring kids.

“Both of you, get that baby out of here,” Dew said to the soldiers. “Get him in a van and keep him there. I’ll send a guy to check him out. Doc Braun, real short, you’ll know him when you see him.”

The men left, leaving Dew alone with Perry.

Dew started to s.h.i.+ver from his wet suit and s.h.i.+rt. The weather in Wisconsin was much like the weather in Michigan—both f.u.c.king sucked, and both made his b.u.m hip ache.

“Any others?” Dew asked.

Perry pointed to a place inside the kitchen. Dew carefully walked to the living room’s edge, leaned in a little and looked around the corner.

Another corpse, a man, lying on the floor in front of the refrigerator. A big dark spot covered the crotch and legs of his jeans. He was the source of the s.h.i.+t smell.

Three more hosts, dead. Murray Longworth was going to c.r.a.p a canary when he found out. Three murders. Just like that. And Dawsey sat at the table, sipping a Bud.

It would be so easy to just put a bullet in the psycho’s head.

Perry pulled a second beer from the six-pack and tilted it toward Dew. Want one? the gesture said.

“Drink up while you can,” Dew said. “If Baumgartner and Milner are dead, I don’t care how important Murray thinks you are.”

“Were those the dumb-s.h.i.+ts following me in the little white car?”

Dew nodded.

Perry shrugged, drained his beer, then opened the one he’d offered Dew.

“Control, this is Phillips,” Dew said. The microphone in his earpiece picked up the words and transmitted them to a control van some five or six blocks away.

“Copy, Phillips,” the tinny voice said.

“Status on Baum and Milner? Anyone find them yet?”

“Let me check,” the voice said.

Dew waited.

Dawsey took a long swig. “I bet you want to shoot me. I bet you want to kill me.” He tossed the gold Budweiser cap up and down in his free hand.

“Maybe I just want to help you,” Dew said quietly.

Perry grinned and nodded. “That’s pretty good.”