"There's nothing left to put together," Purvis was yelling. "Don't you get it? I'm not fucking around here. I will kill this bitch because she's world-class evil, and then I'll kill myself to save you the trouble."

"Jeez, Matt. I'm hearing a lot of frustration."

"No shit, Sherlock. You'd be frustrated, too, all the crap I have on my plate."

"Maybe you'd like to get some of that out of your system."

There was a pause, then a tentative, "What're you saying? More talk? I'm sick of talking."

The liaison handed Ron another, higher-priority note. Ron silently read "Let's get moving"-clearly Washburn's words-crumpled it up, and dropped it on the floor. There were others like it already scattered about, making him ever more grateful for the protocol prohibiting all but a select few from entering the van. The incident command post was only fifteen yards away, near the trailer park's entrance.

"I'm talking about blowing off a little steam. You ever scream at the night sky? Just let her rip?"

"Everybody's done that."

"That's all I'm saying. Maybe it'll help a little-clear your head some."

Matt Purvis was incredulous. "What? Step outside and start yelling? That's crazy. You'll shoot me."

"Why would we do that, Matt? You haven't done anything to us."

"I'm in here with a gun, for Christ's sake."

"Every Vermonter I know has a gun," Ron countered.

"I'm threatening to shoot my wife."

"Matt," Ron persisted, "I hear you telling me you want us to kill you, but we're not going to do it. We're here to see you and Linda both end up safe. So you can step outside and scream your lungs out. We'll just watch."