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Oklahoma guys? Who brought the juvenile in?”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” Ashlock said. “Had a little conflict, I hear. They said he’s a snake. Said the kid was cold as ice.”
    Elsie clutched his arm, dismayed. “Oh Lord, Ash, they didn’t question him, did they? Because if they did, we’re in a terrible mess. We have to make sure he’s read all of his rights, that it’s done like the courts require in Missouri. Have those Okies fucked it up?”
    Ashlock shook his head. “Just listen to you. They didn’t take a statement, I told them not to. They didn’t question the kid. Good God, honey, settle down.”
    Ashlock held the door for her, and Elsie took a deep breath. “I’m doing the government’s job. A woman is dead,” she muttered, like a mantra to equip herself for the undertaking. “Here goes nothing,” she whispered to herself.
    When the uniformed officer at the metal detector saw Ashlock, he waved them through, and they walked into the entryway. In the waiting area sat Chuck Harris, surrounded by crying children and anxious adults and teenagers.
    He jumped up when he saw them.
    â€œThank God you’re here. I was about to call Madeleine. I can’t get anyone’s attention. It’s like trying to raise the dead.”
    Ashlock walked up to a receptionist sitting behind a glass window which bore the sign, DO NOT KNOCK ON GLASS . He rapped on the glass and slapped his badge up against it, barking, “Barton PD.”
    A stony faced receptionist slid the window open just a crack. “You here about the Monroe boy, aren’t you?”
    Oh Lord Lord Lord, he’s only a boy; she called him a boy , Elsie thought.
    â€œWe’ve come to take his statement.”
    Chuck tugged at Elsie’s elbow. “Did you do the research?”
    â€œYeah, I read up on the Missouri cases last night. How about you?”
    â€œI’m the assistant,” he said with a wink. “Research is the job of the low man.”
    Ashlock was still talking to the receptionist. “Before we see Monroe, we’d appreciate talking to the chief juvenile officer first. I’d like him to give me some background.”
    The woman shook her head, taking a swig from a large Styrofoam Sonic cup. “Well, you’re out of luck. Hank isn’t here; he’s at the summer teachers’ meeting at Lake of the Ozarks. He’s doing a seminar there, speaking about the mandated reporter law.”
    Ashlock’s brow creased. “His assistant, then.”
    â€œHe’s at the meeting, too. It’s pretty quiet around here today.”
    A shriek from one of the children waiting on the bench nearby made Elsie’s ears ring. She shoved her face into the glass, next to Ashlock.
    â€œWho’s in charge today if Hank and the chief deputy are gone?” Elsie asked.
    â€œLisa Peters. Hank told me she’ll handle it.”
    â€œWho’s Lisa Peters?” Elsie muttered as the receptionist picked up the phone. She knew most of the county personnel by name or by sight, but Peters didn’t ring a bell.
    â€œShe’s a juvenile officer, brand-­new. She’ll take care of you. I’m going to let her know you’re here.”
    The receptionist waved them in as she pushed the buzzer to the electric entryway into the juvenile office. As they walked through the doorway, Elsie whispered to Ashlock, “What do you think’s going on? Should we wait and do this another time?”
    Ashlock frowned, but didn’t answer. She turned to Chuck and said, “The juvenile ­people are out of pocket, and this is their area. We’re new to this, Chuck. It would be smart to hold off. Don’t you think?”
    â€œHell no,” Chuck responded.
    With a shrug, Ashlock led Elsie and Chuck Harris back into the main hallway of the juvenile facility. A young woman appeared in the doorway. She looked like a