Just after sunrise the next day, Cork picked up Marsha Dross at the Tamarack County Sheriff’s Department. She was waiting in the parking lot, a travel coffee mug in her hand, two Kevlar vests at her feet.

“Do you have a firearm?” she asked before getting into the Expedition.

“Got my Winchester in my lockbox in back.”

“That’ll do.” Dross opened the rear door and threw in the vests, then joined Cork up front. “Thanks for driving. My cruiser won’t be usable for a while.”

“I’m glad you called. I like an early start to a hunt. So, what have you got?”

“Thirty-four RV resorts or camps in the county. I figure we hit them one by one. Lewis’s fifth wheel has to be in one of them.”

“Do we know what we’re looking for?”

“I’ve got a plate number for the camper from DMV. It’s a Jayco, manufactured two years ago. That’s all they could give me.”

“Jayco. Shitload of those up here,” Cork said. “In my experience, most folks park their fifth wheel with the rear facing the back of their assigned spot. To see a plate, we’d have to get out and check every damn camper.”

“Got a better idea?”

“Yeah. Why don’t we start by talking to Lewis’s neighbor, the guy up the road who was pruning his apple trees?”

“Luke Gavins.”

“He might be able to give us a better description.”

“Suits me,” Dross said. “Let’s go.”

They headed west out of Aurora with the rising sun at their backs, drove through the landscape of the Laurentian Shield, among the oldest exposed rock on earth. Aeons ago, this had all been volcanic peaks higher than any modern mountain range. Over millions of years, they had been eroded to rugged hills covered in boreal forest and cut by fast-running streams and rivers and bejeweled with lakes of crystal-clear water. Cork never tired of the beauty of this place he called home.

“I look at all this loveliness,” Dross said, “and I wonder how so many terrible things can take place here.”

“Same everywhere, I imagine,” Cork said. “Because people are the same everywhere. So, what did your cohorts from BCA have to say about yesterday?”

Dross and Agent Danette Shirley had met with the agents the night before and laid out for them the events leading up to the shooting of Adrian Lewis.

“They said they’d send some agents our way today to help in the investigation of Lewis’s death, but they’re still not convinced that he had anything to do with Olivia Hamilton. Apparently, when they caught up with the biker, he was carrying a wide range of drugs, including roofies. He continues to be their primary suspect.”

“Okay by me. I’d rather we weren’t all stumbling over one another,” Cork said.

“Agent Shirley, Monte Bonhomme, and Daniel are planning to head down to Sizemore School today to talk to Candyce Osterkamp about Irene Paavola and maybe Billy Bones.”

“Billy Bones?”

“They’re pretty well convinced he was the one responsible for grooming Fawn Blacksmith for trafficking. If they can track him down, maybe they can link him to Lewis and Paavola and to Fawn Blacksmith’s murder.”

“Trafficking is how you think they’re all related.”

“It goes along with the pipeline construction,” Dross said. “Lots of men, lots of money, and particularly with this holdup at Spirit Crossing, lots of idle time.”

“Christ, how many girls like Fawn Blacksmith have these men preyed on?”

“I can’t answer that. But I’m going to do my damnedest to make sure these guys don’t prey on any others.”

It was nearing 8:00 A.M. when Cork turned off Orchard Lane and followed the drive between apple trees up to the home of Luke Gavins. It was a well-kept farmhouse, white with green trim, and a detached garage. Fifty yards away stood a big red barn. The house was surrounded by a white picket fence edged with a colorful array of flowers. As they exited Cork’s Expedition, Gavins stepped from the front door and strolled down a flagstone path to greet them, a coffee mug in his hand.

“Morning,” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you folks again. Have you found Adrian?”

“Yes,” Dross said. She could tell that Gavins was waiting for more. “He was killed yesterday.”

“Oh, Jesus. How?”

“Someone shot him.”

“Who?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out now. We’re hoping you might be able to help us.”

“How could I possibly help in something like that?”

“You told us Lewis has a fifth-wheel trailer. Could you describe it?”

“Was a Jayco Eagle, like mine.”

“You have a trailer?”

“I do. Keep it parked behind the barn over there. Care to see it?”

“Sure.”

He led them to where the trailer was parked. Cork judged it to be about forty feet long, maybe a dozen feet high, and about nine feet wide.

“They all look pretty much the same,” Gavins said. “White, or I believe you might be able to get them in tan. They all got those swooshes along the sides, kind of like eagle wings. Got the Jayco name, of course, across the front, along with the image of an eagle. Some folks do special detailing, I suppose, but I haven’t really seen that much.”

“Did Lewis do any detailing?”

“Not that I recall. Of course, I haven’t seen his trailer in quite some time.”

“Looks like it can accommodate a lot of people.”

“It’ll sleep four pretty comfortably.”

“Any idea where he might have parked it?”

“With all the lakes we got up here, there’s a ton of RV resorts and the like.”

Dross shook her head hopelessly. “Tell me about it.”

“ ‘Course, he could’ve parked it at his old man’s fishing cabin.”