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Albright, to the milking stations where Stroud usually worked.
    “His schedule was seven a.m. to noon on the line, then lunch, then one p.m. to five rotating between cleanup, feeding, and working in the pasteurization facility.” Albright stopped at one of the milking stations.
    “Did he have a locker? A desk?” Nick asked.
    “A locker, yes. But there was no need for a desk.”
    “What about his co-workers? Anyone have trouble with him?” Dwight added.
    “Well, let’s find out.” Albright approached a man running one of the stations. “Marco, you got a minute? These feds want to talk to you.”
    The man spun around, appearing nervous. He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Sure, I guess. What’s this about?”
    “Lyle Stroud,” Albright said. “Guess he’s in some kind of trouble. These gentlemen want to ask you about him.”
    “What do you want to know?” Marco looked at Nick.
    “Did you notice anything suspicious about Stroud? Did he behave differently, particularly in the few days or weeks prior to him leaving?”
    Marco’s lips turned into a frown and his brow creased, as though he was thinking hard on the question. “Well, he’d tease the animals sometimes. But you know, not like a lot.” He tossed a guilty look to his boss. “I suppose he kept to himself most of the time.”
    “You talking about Stroud?” Another man approached from farther down the line.
    “You know him?” Dwight asked.
    “He was a strange one, I’ll tell you what.”
    “And you are?” Nick added.
    “Chuck Lawrence.” He extended his hand to Nick. “Pleasure. Stroud used to say some crazy shit—excuse me, stuff— about his time in prison. Oh, he made no secret of what he’d done in there. He didn’t talk much about what he’d done to get himself locked up, but I know what he did. All of us do.” Chuck looked at Albright and back to Nick. “Anyway, he wasn’t right—up here.” He tapped the side of his head with his index finger.
    “Did he ever do or say anything to make you think he might—revert back to his old ways?”
    “Well, that depends on what old ways you’re referring to. I think he had a few, uh, relationships in prison. He was careful not to say too much, though, ‘cause that sort of behavior don’t fly around here. But so far as I could tell, he didn’t seem rehabilitated at all. I never said nothing to nobody, though. He never did nothing to any of us here, ‘sept like Marco said, he’d get the cows riled up once in a while. Nothing worth losing his job over, I suppose.”
    “Did he say anything to either of you the day before he took off?” Nick paused for a moment to recall the exact date. “That would’ve been around the week of the April 20 th .”
    The men exchanged glances, then Marco began, “Well, come to think of it, when I came in one morning around that time, I saw him stuffing his locker with, I guess, clothes, maybe? Like he was taking some kind of trip. I asked him what he had going on, but he never did answer and I just let it go.”
    “I see.” Nick turned to Albright. “Can we have a look inside that locker?”
    The agents followed the men to the changing area. Metal lockers lined the walls, stacked two high. There were a few benches in between and showers on the opposite end.
    “That’s his locker over there.” Albright pointed to the locker in question.
    “We’ll need to get inside there.” Nick turned to Albright. “You have a key?”
    “It’s a combination lock. Only the employee has access and we just haven’t been bothered to try to get into it, I guess.”
    “Well, I’ll need some bolt cutters, then.”
    Albright turned to Marco and nodded, seemingly instructing him to retrieve the requested item. Moments later, he returned.
    “Thank you.” Nick grabbed the tool, placed it on the five-dollar combination lock, and squeezed. The lock snapped with ease and he pulled off the remnants. The locker swung open. Nick looked inside and