"They're both out of town," Ron said with some regret. He was head of a four-man detective squad and the department's only hostage negotiator, both positions that put him closer to the upper brass than to the uniforms chasing taillights-the latter of whom he envied right now.

"You better show me around."

Paul Kinney stumbled over an exposed root as he turned, increasing his awkwardness. "Watch your step," he said needlessly. "It's just around the corner, past that fir tree."

They weren't using flashlights. The moon supplied enough light to see by, and they didn't want to stir up the man in the trailer in case he was looking out.

Kinney lowered his voice as he drew abreast of the tree. "There it is."

Klesczewski peered into the gloom. Looking slightly deflated, like a small grounded blimp needing air, the trailer sat alone in the middle of a narrow hardscrabble yard. To one side of it was a blank rectangle showing where a similar home had once stood. To the other was a second trailer, some twenty feet away, lights blazing from every window. In the distance, a row of trees and a hill blocked off the scene like a set piece on a stage. A swaybacked pickup and a rusty compact were parked next to the home they were interested in.

"Jerry's out behind?" Ron asked, pointing at the trailer.

"Right, and Henry's alongside the other one."

"Why're all the lights on in there? Are the neighbors still inside?"

Kinney answered more emphatically than the question deserved, making Ron think he might have addressed this problem later than he should have. "No, no. We got them out. And I talked to them, too. Got some good information. I guess we forgot about the lights."

"We can turn them off after the tac team gets here," Ron placated him, noticing that the primary trailer had only one lighted window, its curtains drawn. "How did this go down?"