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“She can really drive that thing,” Bobby said.

Donald nodded.

“Donny, I’m going to throw out a wild guess here. You haven’t been taking your meds, right?”

Donald shook his head.

“I figured as much,” Bobby said. “What I love about you is your consistency—you never learn. Come on, Candice is working on a big lunch, and my daughter the Blond Tornado wants to watch the Pistons with her Unkie Donny. Think you can manage that without trying to beat somebody up?”

“I can give it the old college try.”

They got on the sleds and headed back down the trail. Donald felt like a complete idiot, losing his temper like that in front of his daughter. What if the guy hadn’t been Bobby’s neighbor? What if he’d just been some jacka.s.s with a gun? Then Donald, and his daughter, could have been in real danger. Maybe he’d start taking those meds as soon as he got back to the house.

MOTEL -ROOM COFFEE

Dew sat in his motel room sipping a cup of motel-room coffee. He remembered when it was all fancy to have one of those little single-cup coffee machines in your room. Now they were everywhere, and they all skimped on the vitals—who the h.e.l.l made coffee with only one creamer and one sugar?

s.h.i.+tty as the coffee was, he needed that caffeine kick for this conversation. He held the coffee in one hand, his old bricklike secure satellite phone in the other.

“It was a bloodbath, Murray,” Dew said.

“You screwed the pooch this time, Top,” Murray said, using the shorthand for top sergeant, Dew’s rank back when they served together. Dew hated that phrase, and Murray knew it.

“You’ve put me up against it,” Murray said. “The new chief of staff is going to have my b.a.l.l.s on a platter for this. I told them Dawsey was under control.”

“Yeah, well, that was a pretty stupid thing to do, L. T.” Murray’s old wartime shorthand for lieutenant annoyed him just as much as Top annoyed Dew.

“It’s not all bad,” Dew said. “At least Margaret has that test for the hosts. That’s a big step.”

“True, that will help some,” Murray said. “I don’t know if it’ll be enough—Vanessa Colburn has it in for me.”

“Something else might help, too,” Dew said. “After I sent my report, the guys found the daughter, Sara McMillian, in a shallow grave in the backyard. Killed by a hammer blow to the head. So it’s not like Dawsey was butchering innocents here.”

“Nice,” Murray said. “How’s the baby and the oldest son?”

“Baby is fine. No infection. Oldest son, Tad, he’s physically okay. Psychologically . . . well, turns out the father made Tad dig the grave for the sister.”

“You’re s.h.i.+tting me.”

“I s.h.i.+t you not,” Dew said. “That’s what the boy said. And he’s probably telling the truth, because his hands are all blistered. It’s pretty hard to dig through frozen ground. Hence the shallow part of the shallow grave.”

“Jesus. Well, I guess I can say Dawsey actually saved Tad while I’m at it. Less psycho, more brave hero.”

“Murray, listen. I’m thinking maybe it’s time we put Dawsey away.”