I Shall Not Want

She gestured toward the barn and, by implication, the bunkhouse that lay somewhere beyond it. 'I brought Amado out to get the rest of his things. I'm moving him into the rectory.'

Kevin considered that. 'Does the chief know?'

She resisted the first comment that came to mind. 'I think he's got a little more on his mind than my interim sexton's living arrangements, don't you?'

He hooked his thumbs over his gun belt in a perfect copy of Russ. 'Those Christies will be making bail tomorrow, you know.'

'That's why I'm out here today. How about you?'

His face lit up. 'I suggested we ought to find out what migrant workers might have been in the area last year, when the other two were killed, and the chief agreed with me.' His pleased expression wavered. 'Well, honestly? He didn't exactly agree. But he's letting me follow up on it.' He looked around, taking in the white-paint barn, the harrow and hay wagon and truck corralled between outbuildings, the cows grazing just far enough away to be scenic rather than smelly. 'This is my first stop.'

At Russ's sister's. Who allegedly didn't have any migrant employees.

'Are you hoping to track down who the two men from yesterday are?'

'Nope. We're trying to track down their murderer.' There was a certain relish in the way Kevin said 'murderer.'

'A migrant worker? You must be kidding. Those men do backbreaking labor six or seven days a week for wages most of us would turn our noses up at. Why on earth would one of them get involved in something like this?'

Despite the absence of anyone else in the barnyard, Kevin leaned in close. 'We're thinking… serial killer.'

'Oh, please. In Millers Kill? Pull the other one.'

He shrugged. 'There are three men dead, all of 'em killed in the same way, by a similar weapon, in the space of a year or so. All of 'em left within seven miles of each other. If that happened along the Green River instead of in Millers Kill, what would you think?'

Good Lord. Kevin Flynn is growing up into a real cop. A civilian Humvee drove past the barnyard, its woofer rattling their car windows. This has gotten way too deep. Janet has got to come clean with them.

As if he could read her mind, he said, 'Are the McGeochs around?'

'In the barn,' she said.

'Thanks.' He strode toward the barn while she told herself it wasn't her business and she wasn't going to get involved. This didn't have anything to do with her, or her people, or her church. Except… Sister Lucia had asked her to take care of these men. And so far the only thing she had done to uphold the sister's charge was to keep her mouth shut about their location.

'Wait for me,' she called. Kevin paused in the wide doorway and watched as she jogged across the dusty yard. Inside, it was cool and lofty. They alarmed a pair of barn swallows, who fluttered through the mote-hung air before arrowing out the door. The sound of wings echoed in the almost-empty haymows.

'Mr. McGeoch?' Kevin shouted. 'Mrs. McGeoch?'

'In here!' The faint answer came from the small doorway set opposite the tractor-wide entrance to the barn. Clare dogged Kevin as he ducked through and they emerged into a long, low cow byre. Clare stumbled, and the young officer caught her by her arm. She looked up and down the center aisle. Cement. Drain holes. The steel-basketed lights hung, one each, at the stall entrances. Her skin went clammy. She swallowed.

'Are you okay?' Kevin let her arm go.

'Yeah,' she said. 'This just… looks a lot like the MacEntyres' barn.' She breathed in. Manure and urine and hay, earthy and sharp and green. No copper-sweet smell of blood.

'Don't worry,' Kevin said, 'You're safe here.' He meant to be reassuring, but all Clare heard was the perfect assurance of someone who had never had anything horrific happen to him.

'Clare?' Janet emerged from one of the stalls, pitchfork in hand. 'Officer Flynn?' That last sounded genuinely surprised. She jammed her pitchfork into the manure cart squatting in the middle of the aisle. 'What's up?'

'Hi, Mrs. McGeoch. Sorry to interrupt, but when I went to your house, your daughter said you were over here, and I wanted to talk to you first, because the chief said you'd talked to some local farmers about migrant workers before you hired that service to, you know, help you get your own, so I was hoping you or Mr. McGeoch could fix me up with some contacts so I can find out a little more about who's hiring migrants and if they've had workers stay year-round.'

'What?'

Clare shook off the shadow of the angel of death. 'Officer Flynn needs a list of farmers in the area who employ migrant workers.'

Kevin looked a bit affronted. 'That's what I said.'

'Maybe,' Clare said, 'if Mike's around, he could help Officer Flynn?'

'He's cleaning the equipment. I can-'

'Because I want to talk to you-um, about Amado possibly returning to work here.' She was speaking so broadly, she might as well be winking and nudging.

'O-kay.' Janet walked toward the center of the byre. 'You see those doors there?'

Kevin nodded.

'That's the equipment room. Go ahead and tell Mike what you want. He's better with names and numbers than I am.'

'Thanks,' Kevin said. He started down the central aisle. Stopped. Turned. 'Big place you got here. How on earth do you two manage it by yourselves?'

'Oh, we've got help.' Janet's voice was as light as air. 'But it is Memorial Day, you know.'

'Don't I just.' He resumed walking toward the equipment room.

Clare gestured toward the narrow walkway leading to the larger barn. 'Can we talk out there?'

'He won't be able to hear us. With the steam cleaning equipment on, he'll hardly be able to hear Mike.'

'It's not that. This place is way too much like the MacEntyres' for my comfort. I keep expecting to see someone with a gun coming out of the abattoir at any moment.'

Janet looked, frowning. 'Sure.' She led the way, the top of her head almost brushing against the low ceiling of the passage. Clare took a deep breath once they were in the sun-shafted expanse of the hay barn. 'So,' Janet said. 'Let me ask you something. Do you think my brother would react in the same way? If he were in the byre?'

Clare thought about how, thirty-odd years after the need, Russ still couldn't walk through heat and green leaves without watching for the glint of a gun barrel. About the way his face would still and his words dry up when conversation wandered onto certain old cases. 'Yes,' she said. 'I'm pretty sure he would.'

Janet shoved her hands in her jeans and looked around the three-story cross-beamed space. 'Okay,' she said. 'That helps explain some stuff. Thanks.' She focused on Clare. 'What did you need to speak to me about?'

'You've got to come clean about the workers you have here.'

'What? Why?'

'I didn't tell you something-earlier.' Clare caught a strand of free-falling hair and shoved it into her twist. 'There were two more bodies discovered yesterday. Killed the same way as your John Doe. Buried in shallow graves a mile past the Muster Field. It'll probably be all over the local news tonight or tomorrow.' She looked into Janet's eyes. 'Kevin's asking for names of migrant workers because they're thinking this may be the work of a serial killer.'

'What, a guy who comes up here from Mexico and whacks people on his day off? That's ridiculous.'

'I'm not saying one of your men is responsible. I'm not saying the migrant-did-it theory