Rudge was calling Jenner from the roadside, his jacket held tented over his head.

Jenner scrambled up the slope and climbed back over the fence. The detective was waiting, his cell phone in his hand.

“I found blood spatter down the side of the trench there. I lost it when it started to rain, but…”

Rudge interrupted him with a wave.

“They ID’d the crash victim. It’s Adam Weiss.”

Jenner stopped. “The kid who called in the bodies?”

Rudge nodded.

“Jesus.”

Rudge nodded again. “You got that right.” They started toward the car together.

“Christ.” Jenner stared at him. “So it is connected…”

“Looks that way.” Rudge shook his head. “The sheriff’s shitting a brick—we don’t like it too much ’round here when the white folks start dying.”

“How’d they ID him?”

“The kid didn’t call for his dad’s birthday yesterday, so they called him up but he didn’t answer. Then today they saw the news…NYPD e-mailed us his driver’s license photo. Halvorsen took a look at the autopsy photos—he and Bartley took the kid’s statement the other day; Bartley isn’t so sure but Halvorsen says no two ways, it’s Weiss. Mom and Dad are coming down to look at him and make it official.”

They climbed into the car, silent in the drumming rain; both had seen too many parents identify too many children.

Rudge popped the glove compartment, handed Jenner a fistful of McDonald’s napkins, then took a fistful to mop his own face.

“So what now?”

Rudge shrugged. “Now you’ll get to see Florida’s finest in action…”

“What are you going to do?”

“Po-lice work, Dr. Jenner. Sheriff wants me to go to the kid’s home, see what I can see.”