The Devils Punchbowl

The girl stares back for several moments, neither breathing nor blinking. Then she starts to back away.

“Wait,” Caitlin says. “Please, wait. I know you gave Penn that note at the Ramada Inn. I know you tried to disguise yourself, but he recognized you. He thought you worked at a restaurant, but I found you anyway.”

“I used to work at a restaurant,” the girl says in a dazed voice. “Franky’s Pizza. I liked it there, but I kept putting on weight. I had to quit.”

Caitlin nods with empathy.

“But I don'’t know nothing about no note,” Darla says, twice as loudly as she’d spoken before.

Caitlin can’t help but smile at this obvious lie.

“But you knew exactly what I was referring to when I mentioned the Ramada and Penn Cage.”

Darla licks her lips, then looks around as though suspicious someone is watching her.

“I was at the Ramada,” she says. “So were a lot of people. And I did see the mayor there. But I don'’t know nothin’ ’bout no note. I haven'’t passed notes to men since grade school.”

Caitlin takes a step forward and speaks with sisterly intimacy. “I'm trying to help Linda Church. She’s in terrible danger, more even than she knows. I know you'’ve been trying to help her, you and your friends. But she needs more help than that.”

Fear glitters in Darla’s eyes. “I told you, I don'’t know nothin’ ’bout any a that. I gotta get back to work. I got customers.”

“I don'’t see any customers,” Caitlin says gently. “But I'’ll be glad to buy something if you’ll tell me just a little bit of the truth.”

“I did,” Darla insists.

“Have you seen Linda yourself? The reason I'm asking you is because of your eye makeup. I saw you didn't know how to put it

on, and I figured that if Linda was with you, she would have fixed it for you.”

Darla looks on the verge of tears. Her neck is splotchy, and her breath is going shallow. “I can’t talk anymore. Please, go away. Leave me alone.”

Caitlin reaches into her purse and hands Darla a card with her cell number on it. “I want the same thing you do, Darla. I want Linda to be safe. Please call me later. Think about all this. You’ll know it’s the right thing to do.”

Darla accepts the card with a shaking hand, then turns and hurries down the aisle toward a collection of Chinese lawn mowers.

Caitlin knows the girl is lying, but sometimes you have to stop pushing and let the source make her own decision. With a girl as skittish as Darla McRaney, it shouldn’t take long.

CHAPTER

40

Car doors close with a disturbing finality in cemeteries. Tim lies under the earth now, a few flowers on top of his coffin, dropped in by family and friends. He wasn'’t buried on Catholic Hill, but he does lie within sight of it. This wasn'’t a punishment, but a matter of limited space. Green Astroturf carpet conceals the mound of dirt that the backhoe will use to fill in the grave. The familiar green canopy of McDonough’s funeral home keeps the sun off the few people who remain: Dr. Jessup and his wife, some relations from California, Julia and the baby.

A second knot of people stands several yards away, mostly pallbearers, myself among them. These men I knew as boys flew so far to do their somber duty, and though most of us haven'’t seen each other much in the past twenty-five years, we’re as comfortable as brothers who live on separate coasts. Paul Labry stands with us, waiting, as I asked him to do at the cathedral.

After a couple of quiet jokes, well-concealed smiles, and well-meant but empty promises to stay in touch, the guys head for their rented cars. After the short line of vehicles disappears up the lane, I turn to Paul, but find myself facing Julia Jessup. She’s left Tim junior with his grandmother. Her eyes are bloodshot, the skin around them raw and swollen.

Labry takes a step back out of courtesy, but one hard glance from Julia sends him back another twenty feet.

“I know I look bad,” she says in a cracked voice. “I'm not getting much sleep. Tim used to help me with the baby. A lot more than most men do, I think. And Tim junior’s not sleeping well at all now.”

“I'm sorry, Julia.”

“Are you?” Her hollow eyes probe mine. “I came over here because I want you to know something. I didn't want Tim doing what he did. The thing that got him killed. But he did it anyway. I think you should know that he did it for his father, and for you.”

A wave of heat goes through my face. “Me?”

She nods with conviction. “Tim really had you up on a pedestal. A lot of people do, I think. He never forgot how close you were when you were young, and when you stopped being friends, he blamed himself. He thought he’d let you down somehow. You went on to be a big success, and he wound up dealing cards on a casino boat. I told him that was honest work and nothing to be ashamed of, but it didn't help. He was ashamed. And after he found out whatever was really going on with that boat, it just ate at him until he had to do something.”

“I'm truly sorry, Julia. Tim was a good man, and I wish he hadn'’t gotten involved with any of that. I wish I hadn'’t let him.”

“I just want to know if it did any good,” she says. “Because my son is going to have to live the rest of his life without a father. Was it worth it, Penn? Did Tim accomplish one goddamned thing by dying?”

While I try to find a suitable answer, Julia says, “What about

you

? Have you done what you promised you would do?”

As I try to recall exactly what I promised Tim that night, his widow turns and walks back to his grave without waiting for an answer.

“What was that about?” Labry asks, coming up behind me.

“Did you hear any of it?”

He shakes his head. “She made it pretty clear that was a private conversation.”

I take deep breath and blow out a long rush of air, trying to flush the guilt from my system. “Let’s go over there, away from the family.”

We walk a little way up the lane, then climb some steps to a hill shaded by cedar trees. Like most of the names in this cemetery, the one engraved on the stones in this plot is familiar to me. A cool but gentle breeze blows over the hill, and the sun shines bright enough to warm the bricks of the wall around the plot. Leaning back against the wall, I regard Paul Labry.

Where most of the Catholics in Natchez are Irish or Italian, Paul is of French descent. By marriage, he’s related to the Acadians forced by the Spanish to live near what would become the infamous Morville Plantation. Labry has dark eyes and skin and he’s still handsome despite losing some hair and putting on weight. He looks more like an aging poet than the manager of an office-supply business, but I never cease to be amazed by how poorly some people fit the stereotype of their occupation.

“Paul, I want to tell you something that I haven'’t told anyone else.”

“I thought you wanted to ask me something.”

“That too. I’'ve decided to step down as mayor.”

“What?”

He looks me from head to toe. “You’re not sick, are you?”

Tim asked me the same thing the night we met here. “No, it’s not that. My reasons are personal, mostly to do with Annie and Caitlin.”

Paul’s watching me like a man who still can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you guys getting back together? You and Caitlin?”

“If she’ll have me.”

“Are you kidding? You know she loves you.”

“Not enough to live here with me.”

He purses his lips while he mulls this over. “Is that it, then? You want to stay in Natchez, but you feel you can’t?”

“No. It’s time for me to go. The reason I'm talking to you is that I want you to stand for mayor in the special election after I'm gone.”

Labry draws back, his face pale. “Are you serious?”

“It should have been you two years ago. I should never have run.”

“Oh, that’s bullshit.”

“No, it’s not. You’re the man for the job, Paul. I think you

should announce on the same day I resign, and I'’ll throw you my full support.”

Labry turns away, looking thoughtfully toward the tent over Tim’s grave. “I used to think I might try it,” he says. “But I'm forty-four now, and I'm starting to think I don'’t understand the world anymore. My father’s business is going down, Penn. Wal-Mart and the rest have about killed it. I’'ve tried to save it, but the hole just keeps getting deeper.” His cheeks redden in embarrassment. “All the old retail places are going down. Hell, we don'’t have more than a handful of Jewish families left in town, and they were the backbone of the retail economy when we were growing up.”

I hoped I wouldn'’t have to play the next card, but Paul’s not giving me any choice. “I'm sorry to hear that. Because if you don'’t run, you know who’s going to get the job.”

Paul blanches again. “Shad Johnson?”

“Yep.”

“Christ.”

“Who knows? Maybe that wouldn'’t be such a bad thing.”

“Bullshit.” Paul lowers his voice. “I was talking to Father Nightingale, from out at Mandamus Baptist? He speaks for a lot of the black community. He doesn’'t even like Shad being district attorney. Said you can’t trust him as far as you’d throw him. I'm not sure the blacks would even turn out for him.”

“They will if you’re not in the race. But if you’re in it, they’ll vote for you. They know where your heart is.”

Labry looks away for a while, then turns back to me. “Penn, if you can’t accomplish the things we dreamed about, what chance do I have?”

“That'’s the wrong way to look at it. I aimed too high. I wanted to solve the education problem because that’s where salvation lies, but I couldn'’t do it. I used to blame the whites for that, but there’s blame on both sides.”

He nods dejectedly. “You know what I think the real obstacle is?”

“Does it even matter? The existing public facilities couldn'’t absorb the kids from the private schools even if their parents decided to send them.”

“Oh, hell, that’s just a matter of money. If we really brought all those kids into one system, what you’d have is a bunch of white kids

who couldn'’t make the athletic teams and a bunch of black kids who couldn'’t make their grades. You talk about something nobody wants?

That'’s

it.”

There’s truth in what Labry says, but he knows the reasons run deeper. “Paul, if I was going to live up to my principles, I would have moved Annie to the public school on the day I was elected. But I didn't. I was unwilling to risk my child’s education, and maybe her safety, unless there were a dozen other white kids in there with her. It’s time for someone with more conviction and a different list of priorities to give it a shot. And that’s you.”

Labry’s blushing now. “You know, I think when we lost the Toyota plant, we lost the mandate you had after the election. We’ll eventually get there on education. But people’s first concern is high-paying jobs.”

“You’ll never get the latter without the former. But there are lots of other things to be done. Annexation of county land. Pushing through the eco-preserve on the creek. Keeping the selectmen from covering the bluff with RV parks. Schmoozing people like Hans Necker. You’re twice as good as I am at that stuff. Be honest, Paul. Don’t you want the job?”

Labry looks down and twists the toe of his shoe into the grass. “From what I’'ve seen these past years, being mayor’s about dealing with a bunch of people who all think they'’re something special.”

“Well, aren'’t they? If anyone still believes that, I figured it was you.”

“Sure they are. But no more special than anybody else. We get in trouble when we start thinking we’re better than our neighbor. Or that somebody else is better than the rest of us. But that’s what people always do.”

“Is that how you see me? As a guy who thinks he’s better than other people?”

Paul laughs softly. “That'’s the funny thing. You

are

better, in a lot of ways. Oh, I'm sure you'’ve got your secrets; everybody does. But knowing you like I do, knowing all you'’ve accomplished in your past, and then seeing you fail in your own eyes…”

“I'm not a politician, Paul. That'’s why I never ran for DA in Houston. I was a lawyer at heart. Now I'm a novelist, and I think that spoiled me. When you write a book, you have total control of

the universe and everyone in it. When you’re mayor of a town, you’re lucky if you can control yourself, much less anyone else.”

Labry steps onto a low concrete wall and sweeps his hand to take in the whole of the cemetery. “Look out there. Jewish Hill, Catholic Hill, Protestants between. Colored Ground. Babyland, where the unwed mothers’ babies went if they died. We try so hard to stay separate from each other that we even do it in death. It’s tribal, man, and it’s not just the South.” Paul turns and points toward the rear of the cemetery. “But the truth is over there behind Catholic Hill, in those thick woods. Paupers’ Field. There’s three thousand bodies back there, just dropped in holes in the ground. In the dark under those trees, there’s no separation. The roots are growing down through all of them, just alike.”

“I'm not sure I see where you’re going. But it doesn’'t sound like you’re too interested in being mayor.”

“We’re all equal before God,” Labry says. “That'’s what I'm saying. But nobody walking this planet seems to get that. Everybody sins, Penn.

Everybody.

That'’s the great leveler. Not death.

Sin.

”

“I was hoping for a more definitive answer.”

Labry gazes into the forest for a while. Then without warning he springs off the wall and looks up at me with a grin. “Hell, yes, I'’ll do it. I'’ll be the damnedest mayor this town ever had!”

I look back in amazement for a few moments, then we both burst out laughing.

CHAPTER

41

Caitlin hunches low behind the wheel of her car and takes a sip from a can of diet Dr Pepper. She’s parked between two trucks in the lot of the Bargain Barn on Highway 15. She knows Darla was lying. The girl was so flustered that she’s bound to panic and leave the store at her first opportunity. Forty minutes have passed since Caitlin left the store, but her cell phone has not rung. Despite Caitlin’s promises of confidentiality, Darla was too rattled for that. But Caitlin has dealt with enough sources to recognize the signs of panic. This is a lot like fishing, or what she remembers her father trying to teach her of it during the summers she stayed with him. Only out here there’s nowhere to pee.

Using her cell phone, she’s trying to Google some more recent information on local Pentecostals when Darla McRaney hurries through the door of the Bargain Barn, looks right and left, then runs to an ancient Pacer hatchback parked in the corner of the lot. Once she’s inside, Caitlin starts her own car but stays low behind the wheel until the Pacer reaches the highway turn.

Darla crosses the westbound lanes, then turns east toward Vidalia and Natchez. Caitlin follows, but since there aren'’t many traffic lights on this road, she leaves ten or twelve car lengths between them.

Less than a mile down the highway, the Pacer turns into a used-

car dealership. It’s a small operation with older-model cars and pickup trucks parked on a vacant lot with the grass worn down to mud in many places. Garish signs scream EASY TERMS! and NO MONEY DOWN! while the banner over the gate reads NO CREDIT, NO PROBLEM!

Caitlin pulls onto the shoulder fifty yards from the entrance, then gets out and walks into the parking lot of the adjacent business, a small engine-repair shop. Its parking lot is crowded, making a covert approach to the car lot easy.

Ten yards from the border between the lots, she sees Darla gesturing vehemently at a silver-haired, red-faced man. They’re standing between a van and a large SUV, apparently to shield their conversation from anyone in the trailer that serves as the dealership’s office, but Caitlin has a good view of them both. She creeps along the side of a trailer until she hears Darla call the man Pastor Simpson.

That'’s got to be right,

Caitlin thinks, because now she remembers Simpson from the story she did on charismatic religions.

Having heard enough to be sure of what she’s seeing, Caitlin steps out of cover and walks right up to the pair. “Pastor Simpson?” she says. “I’d like to speak to you for a minute.”

Simpson looks up sharply, as though prepared to respond angrily, but then he mistakes Caitlin for a customer.

“Ma’am, I'm busy just now, but if you’ll wait a minute, I'’ll be right with you.”

“I'm not here about a car.”

“That'’s

her,”

Darla says anxiously. “The newspaper lady.”

“Aw, hell,” Simpson says. “What do you want with me?”

“I'm here about Linda Church.”

“I don'’t know who you’re talking about. I never heard a nobody by that name.”

Caitlin sighs wearily. “I find that hard to believe, since the first person Darla ran to after I questioned her about Linda was you.”

“Well, you flustered this poor girl. I'm her pastor. She’s afraid you’re going to put her in the newspaper or somethin’.”

Caitlin holds up both hands in a placating gesture. “I'm not here to put anybody in the newspaper.”

“That'’s a bald-faced lie,” says Simpson with conviction. “That'’s

what you live for, to see your name in the paper. I remember the story you did on our church, don'’t think I don'’t. You twisted the truth ever which way to make us look like fools. I got nothin’ to say to you.”

Caitlin steps closer and speaks with all the sincerity she can muster. “Sir, my only concern is the safety of Linda Church. She’s a material witness to a major crime, and I believe her life is in danger.”

“Well, what’s that got to do with us?”

“I believe you helped Linda. I think you got Darla to carry a note from Linda to Penn Cage.”

“What makes you think that?”

“The mayor and I are very close friends.”

Simpson snorts. “Livin’ in sin is what you mean, ain’t it?”

“Mr. Simpson, I believe you acted as a Good Samaritan to Linda, just as your faith teaches, but I'm not sure you understand how dangerous the people who are looking for her are. If you really want to help Linda, you’ll tell me how to find her. I'’ll make sure she receives around-the-clock protection.”

Simpson stares at Caitlin for a long time, as though about to come clean. Then he says, “It’s hard to stay protected when you’re on the front page of a newspaper. I tell you what, missy. If Linda Church had asked me for help—and I'm not saying she did—I woulda got her straight outta town where no slimy sons-of-bitches could hurt her. Okay? Now, that’s all you’re gonna get from me without the sheriff.”

Caitlin turns to Darla, but before she can speak, Simpson interposes himself between them. “You leave this girl here alone too, or I'’ll have some law on you. We don'’t take kindly to harassment on this side of the river, especially by the likes of you. Now, get off my lot.”

Caitlin tries to step around Simpson to address Darla directly, but he steps in front of her and shoves her backward.

“That'’s assault,” Caitlin says quietly.

“You don'’t get your ass off my property,” Simpson snarls, his eyes blazing, “I'’ll show you some battery too. Git!”

Caitlin holds her ground for a face-saving moment, then turns and walks back to her car.

CHAPTER

42

Walt Garrity blinks in surprise as he’s ushered into Jonathan Sands’s office. He expected the antebellum decor to be uniform throughout the boat, but this room could be the office of a European investment banker. The play that brought him here is simple: He’s told the pit boss that he needs to speak to the manager about a special group event, one the standard event planner won'’t be able to okay without the manager’s approval, and since that’s the case, he’d rather talk directly to the man with the power to answer his questions.

Sands looks bigger than he did walking the casino floor. He has an imposing density that Walt has seen in natural fighters, and he has a fighter’s eyes as well, always probing for vulnerability. Yet when he rises from his desk, the watchfulness recedes, and he offers his hand with a smile. Walt takes it, gauging the power in it. It’s the hand of a laborer or an infantry soldier.

“Hello, Mr. Gilchrist,” Sands says in a cultured English accent. “It’s good to have a real gambler aboard.”

“Aw, you must see my type all the time.”

“You’d be surprised. The average player on a Mississippi boat loses about fifty dollars. Our average is higher, because we have a higher percentage of table games, and we draw the affluent clientele that does exist. But still. It’s good to have a real player aboard.”

“Winning, losing, hell, it’s all the same after a while. It’s the risk

that keeps you going. Just like the oil business. I hate a duster, but, goddamn, it just makes it all the sweeter when you hit that pay sand on the next one. You know?”

“A man after my own heart,” Sands says. “A man who can live out Kipling’s famous advice about victory and defeat—to treat those two impostors as the same.”

Walt laughs. “You Brits sure have a way with words. I'’ll bet the ladies just fall over and beg for it when they hear that accent, don'’t they?”

Sands smiles and takes his seat. “What business are you in?”

“Oil.”

“Not too much of it left around here, is there?”

“More than you’d think. And with the price through the roof, the numbers on old wells look a lot better than they used to. Course, you’re right. In the fifties and sixties, they found some fifty-million-barrel fields over here. Most of them are still producing. But I'm rambling. Times have changed, that’s for sure.”

“You mentioned a group event in the future.”

“Right. But it’s not your standard-type junket.”

Sands smiles expansively. “I always have time for a man with an interesting proposition.”

“I'm the same way myself. You never know what’ll come your way if you keep your ears open.”

“What sort of event do you have in mind?”

Walt hesitates as he once did when asking a pharmacist for a condom, but inside he’s feeling a too-long-absent thrill. He loves nothing more than facing his mark and winging it, which is what he’s always done best. If you look a criminal in the eye and come right at him—tempt him toward a crime as though it’s your idea—he frequently forgets to doubt you. Of course that can get into entrapment issues, these days. But in the heyday of the Rangers, there’d been a lot of latitude when it came to that kind of thing, and not much concern about procedure. Case notes tended to be spare, running a line or two every couple of days. “Drove from Austin to Dallas. Located suspect in barn. Killed him at dawn. Returned to Austin” was one Walt remembered fondly. Times have changed of course, but this meeting has some of the flavor of the old days.

“Mr. Sands,” he says, “when you get to my age, like me and my

friends, there’s not much you haven'’t seen. It tends to take a lot to get the old ticker racing.”

A sympathetic smile from Sands. “All pleasures grow stale, don'’t they?”

“Indeed. But in about a month, I'm bringing over a bunch of boys for a visit. We’'ve been looking for a place to blow off some steam without the wives, and we got to talking about Natchez. We used to come over here for a golf tournament they had every year, the local oilmen. Man, after that thing was over, we’d go back to the hotel, and they’d have the girls waiting. There were lines out the doors of some rooms, and local guys charging admission just to watch.”

“That'’s the kind of action you’re looking for?”

“Some of that would be appreciated. With enough to go around, of course.”

“Oh, that’s never a problem here.”

“Not just girls, though. I'm talking about the gambling too.”

“Well, you'’ve seen the boat.”

“And a fine one she is too, as far as she goes.”

Sands cocks one eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“Legal gambling’s all right, in its place. But it’s kind of…restrictive, if you get my meaning. It’s like sex in a medical clinic with all the lights on. Takes the zing out of it. Half the fun’s the sneaking around, the mystery of it. That'’s what gets the blood pumping—the forbidden. You with me?”

“Oh, yes.”

“When I was a boy, before I went into the army, I used to work in a gambling joint down in Galveston. Illegal, of course, like all the best places. Man, there was

nothing

they didn't have. I'm talking sport, now. Bare-knuckles boxing, strictly for interested parties. Cockfighting. Shooting contests.

That'’s

the kind of action I'm talking about.”

Sands mulls this over, watching Walt with unblinking eyes. “I see. You ever put money on dogs?”

“Dog racing?”

“Dog

fighting,”

says Sands, his eyes as insinuating as those of a pimp offering a young boy to a tourist.

“Oh, I get you. Twenty, twenty-five years ago we had a good bit of that in my neck of the woods, but the governor got a bug up his ass and the state troopers started cracking down. The Rangers too.

I saw old Red fight in Taos. She was bred out of Arkansas Blackie. Hell of a leg dog. Went for the foreleg every time, but she could really break ’em down. A real champion. That was years ago, though. I’'ve heard they do a lot of hogs-and-dogs-type stuff out at the hunting camps, and I’'ve seen a little of that. But straight fighting? Pit fighting? Not in a while.”

“Well, we have a variety of activities available to players accustomed to more intense games. I'’ll give it a think and see what I come up with. As for ladies, do you have any preference?”

“I gotta tell you, I like those oriental girls. You seem to have a surplus too.”

Sands’s eyes flicker with light.

“When I first got to town, I was thinking about a colored girl, but these young ladies you got remind me of some I spent time with in Korea.”

“Recently?”

“Hell, no. I'm talking 1952–53.”

For the first time, Sands looks truly interested. “You fought there?”

“All along that godforsaken thirty-eighth parallel, with those hookers’ granddaddies launching human-wave attacks every night. Only one out of two of those bastards even had a rifle in his hands when they started, but soon as one man would fall, the unarmed fella would pick up his gun and keep a’comin’.”

“A very effective tactic,” Sands says, “if you can find personnel fanatical enough to carry it out.”

Walt laughs. “That'’s your basic Chink soldier right there. Fanatical. I'’ll bet you couldn'’t find a hundred Americans on the East Coast who would do that.”

“Quite right. If one American dies in Iraq, it’s national news.”

“You look like a man who’s spent some time in uniform.”

Sands shrugs. “When I was young and stupid, I confess. But the real fighting isn’t always done in uniform.”

“I imagine you’re right, there. Anyway, it goes without saying that anybody who can help us out with extracurricular activities would be handsomely compensated.”

Sands dismisses this with a flick of his hand. “I have no worries on that score, Mr. Gilchrist.”

“J.B., please.”

“You know, of course, that the type of action we’re discussing is illegal, both in Mississippi and Louisiana.”

“Ain’t just about everything worth doing illegal? That'’s the way this country works. Pure hypocrisy, from Plymouth Rock on down.”

Sands sniffs and leans forward, subtly signaling that the meeting is over. “Which hotel are you staying at?”

“The Eola.”

“If you’ll call ahead on your next trip, we’ll comp you a suite at our hotel.”

“I appreciate it, but I’'ve got a soft spot for those grand old dames. The downtowns may be dying, but the great hotels soldier on, in the good towns anyway. Course, I don'’t mind putting the boys up in your hotel. We’ll make that part of the deal if it makes things easier.”

“It does simplify issues like transport.”

“It’s a deal, then.”

Walt gets up, not wanting to press, but Sands comes around his desk and says, “Are you interested in any special action during this visit? A test-drive, say?”

“A girl, you mean? Or the blood sport?”

“You seem quite able to manage the ladies on your own. I was thinking of sport.”

“Well, I wouldn'’t be against it. I got three, four more days here. I was planning on getting to know one of those little China girls better. But I'm open to anything. You get something good going, I'm in.”

Sands shakes Walt’s hand and leads him to the door with a smile. “I'm sure we can accommodate you.”

Walt has shaken a lot of hands in his life, and he knows the feel of great strength under restraint. The manager of the

Magnolia Queen

could tear a deck of cards in half.

CHAPTER

43

Kelly and Major McDavitt flew Annie and my mother back from Houston this afternoon, arriving at my house just after seven. My mother insisted on cooking for us. We tried to make Kelly eat, but he privately told me that he wanted to go down to the

Magnolia Queen

and make sure that Sands appeared to be keeping his part of the deal. “I like to know where my enemies are” was how he put it. Kelly expressed visible relief when Dad informed him that Sands’s guard dog had tested negative for rabies, and laughed that he might have to celebrate.

Living in the Texas safe house for a few days had been surprisingly comfortable, my mother claimed. The simple fact of separation had proved to be the ordeal. Though Mom sensed that the crisis that had necessitated their fleeing was not fully resolved, we assured Annie that the bad guys were all taken care of. When she asked why James Ervin and his brother were standing guard on the front porch and in the backyard, I told her that we just needed to play it safe for a couple of days.

“In case the bad guys’ friends are mad, right?” she said.

“Sort of,” I admitted.

My parents left a half hour ago, with James Ervin driving. His brother Elvin stayed behind to await Kelly’s return. Annie took a quick bath, then climbed into bed and called for me to tuck her in.

It’s obvious that being home has given her a great sense of relief, no matter how hard she pretends that living on the run was no big deal.

“The second house was scarier,” she says, looking up at me from the covers as I sit on the edge of the bed.

“Why?”

“The first one was a condo, really. Like a vacation. But then Mr. Kelly called, and Mr. Jim said we had to move. The place he took us to then wasn'’t near as nice. I think it belonged to a lady he knew. The house was okay, but I could tell that Mr. Jim and his friends were worried. At the first house I never saw their guns, but at the second one, they had them out all the time.”

“I'm sorry you had to go through that, baby. But it’s over now.”

“How was Mr. Tim’s funeral? Was it sad?”

“It was. All funerals are sad, but when the dead person is young, it’s harder.”

Confusion clouds Annie’s eyes. “Mr. Tim wasn'’t young.”

I smile. “I guess I'm not either, then. He was the same age I am.”

“Well, you’re not

old,

” she says, obviously a little embarrassed. “But you’re not young either. I guess what I mean is, Mr. Tim seemed a lot older than you.”

“That'’s because he didn't take care of himself when he was young. He had some bad luck, and he”—I hesitate—“he turned to drugs to try to deal with it.”

“You don'’t have to tell me not to do drugs. I already know.”

“I know you do. But life looks different to people as they grow older. Fate always throws something you don'’t expect in your path, and sometimes it’s really tough.”

“Like Mom getting sick.”

The rush of emotion that hits me is almost dizzying. “Yes. Like that.” I look away for a moment and gather myself. “We’re okay, though. Right?”

Annie nods with reasonable certainty.

“I want to ask you a question, squirt. A big one, okay?”

“Okay.”

“What would you think if I wasn'’t the mayor anymore?”

Her eyes widen, but I can’t tell what she’s feeling. “What do you mean? Are you going to get voted out or something?”

“No, no. But for a while now I’'ve been thinking that I haven'’t been able to accomplish the things I wanted to. The things I wanted to change for you and the kids your age. I think only time is going to fix those things, and you and I only have a certain amount of time together. Time to get you the education you deserve, to—”

“What?”

“To

live,

I guess. It’s hard to explain, really.”

Annie works her mouth like someone trying to solve a difficult problem. “I liked it better when you just wrote books. You were home a lot more.”

“I sure was.”

“But to have things back like they were before, you’d have to quit, right?”

“Yes.”

“You always tell me never to quit, no matter what.”

“I know. I’'ve been struggling with that. But this job is about serving the people of the city. And if I'm not giving my full self to that job, then I'm betraying those people.”

Annie looks at the ceiling, considering.

“It’s been done before,” I tell her. “The last mayor resigned, remember? That'’s how I was elected, during a special election. That'’s what would happen this time.”

“But Mr. Doug had cancer. Who would be mayor if you stopped?”

I give her a smile. “I know someone who’s wanted to be mayor for a long time.”

“Not Mr. Johnson!”

Laughing at her sound political instincts, I say, “No, no. Shad’s always wanted it, but I was thinking of Paul Labry.”

Annie’s eyes brighten. “Yeah! Mr. Labry would be a great mayor. He’s so nice, and he likes being out talking to people on the streets. You don'’t like that part of the job so much. That'’s not good.”

“You see a lot, don'’t you?” I rub her head affectionately. “Annie, I think what I'm really feeling is this. Natchez was the right place for me to grow up, but I don'’t think it is for you. The town was different when I was a boy. I ran for mayor because I thought I could bring back some of the good ways life used to be, and at the same

time fix the things that were wrong back then. But that job’s too big for one person. I want us to be somewhere there are more kids like you—as smart as you—and also more who are different from you. I want you to be exposed to everything that’s out there. You deserve all that.”

She knots the blanket in her right hand and speaks in a voice that is subtly changed. “When you say ‘us,’ do you just mean you and me?”

This is the unspoken heart of our conversation.

“Well…you know my decision to run for mayor was probably the main reason that Caitlin and I broke up.”

“Uh-huh.”

That'’s why I'm asking this now, dummy,

her eyes seem to say. “But I don'’t think she really wanted to leave us.”

“I don'’t either.”

“She kept her house here.”

“Yes. And I think that house was sort of a symbol. A reminder that she was still out there, hoping I would come to her. But this town is too small for Caitlin. If we were all going to be together, I think it would have to be somewhere else. And I'm not sure that’s what you want, since you’d have to leave behind the friends you'’ve made here.”

Annie’s face can be difficult to read, but in this moment her mother’s eyes shine out at me with certainty. “I don'’t care where we live, Daddy. As long as we’re together.”

“By ‘we,’ do you mean you and me?”

Annie shakes her head. “I mean the three of us. I want Caitlin to be my mom. I think that’s how it’s supposed to be.”

When the tears swell in the corners of my eyes, I turn and look toward the door.

Annie rises up and puts her arms around my neck. “It’s okay, Dad. I think even Mom would want that. She’d want us to be happy. She’d want you to have someone to take care of you.”

“And you,” I choke out.

“You’ve taken good care of me. But I think you’re right. I think it’s time to let Mr. Paul take care of the town, and us take care of each other.”

I lean down and hug her as tight as I dare. When I rise back up, she says, “I think Caitlin needs us too.”

This brings a wave of warmth into my chest. “I think you’re right. Now, you need to get some sleep.”

“I will. I'm glad to be in my own bed again.”

I smile, kiss her once more, then turn out the light and leave the room.

As I reach the bottom of the stairs, I see Kelly walking through the front door. He’s moving more slowly than usual, and his eyes look bleary. Then I see the Styrofoam cup in his hand. The smell of alcohol hits me with his first words.

“Hey, Penn, how’s everybody doing?”

“It’s all good. We’re glad to be back together. How about you? You okay?”

“I'm good.”

I reach out and squeeze his shoulder. “You look pretty out of it.”

“Well…I haven'’t done much sleeping since I got here. I don'’t need much, but I need some.”

“Well tonight you can finally get some.”

He gives an exaggerated nod. “Yep. I finally took me a drink too. I didn't want to buy one on the

Queen.

That fucking Quinn would love to get me that way. I'’ll bet he was watching me on the CCTVs the whole time.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Stopped at a little bar on the way back here, down on the corner of Canal Street. It’s called the Corner Bar, fittingly enough.” Kelly almost giggles, which makes me laugh.

“Dude, you need some serious sleep.”

“Yeah. I'm going to sit on the couch in the den for a while. Zone out and watch a movie. Will that bother Annie?”

“Nah. I do it all the time.”

“Hey,” Kelly says, as though just remembering something important. “I just saw Caitlin pull into her driveway.”

Something stirs in my chest. “Really?”

“Yeah. She didn't look too happy. I think you ought to go talk to her.”

“I don'’t think she wants that right now.”

“Bullshit. When you think they don'’t want to talk to you…that’s

exactly

when they want you to talk to them. Take it from me.”

The truth is, I very much want to talk to Caitlin. Before doubt can

stop me, I dial her cell and am surprised when she doesn’'t let it go to voice mail.

“Penn?” she says.

“Yes.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“No. I was wondering if I could come over and talk to you.”

“I'm pretty wiped out, actually. Is it important?”

Kelly motions for me to push it. “I think it is. It won'’t take long.”

There’s a long silence. Then she says, “All right, I'’ll be on the porch.”

“Thanks. I'm on my way.”

“Way to go!” Kelly says, slapping my back. “I told you.”

As I smile back at him, I see that he must have had quite a few drinks at the Corner Bar. His eyes are bloodshot slits. But if anybody’s earned a few drinks, Kelly has.

“I'’ll see you, bro,” I say.

“I hope not. You need to stay over there tonight.”

“Is Carl there?”

“Yeah. But I'’ll text him to put some Kleenex in his ears. Go on, man. She’s waiting for you.”

I wave him off and hurry out.

CHAPTER

44

Caitlin waits on her porch with her arms folded, her hair down around her neck. She’s wearing a blue cashmere sweater and jeans, and from her expression I get the feeling she’s not planning on being out here long. I walk up the steps and stop a few feet short of her.

“Long day?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Yes and no. Lots to think about. No big epiphanies. What about you?”

“I did a lot of thinking during Tim’s funeral. About Annie, about the town. But about us, mostly.”

Caitlin doesn’'t prompt me to continue, but there’s no point backing away from it now. “I realized today that I lost you the first time because I was too idealistic, which you told me at the time. I wanted to do something that you thought was impossible, and I didn't really listen to your objections. I thought you didn't see the situation as deeply as I did, so I went on and did it anyway. And you left.”

She’s watching me with interest now. She doesn’'t often get abject admissions of fault from me.

“I really thought you were never coming back,” I go on. “But you did. And I think you were open to us when you came back. And the irony is, now I'm losing you again, only this time it’s because you want me to do something

I

think is impossible, at least for the time being. Now it’s your idealism that’s separating us.”

Her mouth opens in amazement. “So it’s

my

fault? That'’s what you’re saying?”

“No. I'm saying that you were right the first time. I was wrong to think I could save this town by myself. It was hubris. And though my parents raised me never to quit anything, I think that for a lot of reasons, the time has come for me to step down and focus on what the people I care about really need.”

She looks steadily back at me, but I can’t read her expression. Whatever she feels, it’s clearly not what I’d hoped for.

“I spoke to Paul Labry today about running for mayor after I resign.”

“Resign?” She draws back as though she can’t quite believe this. “And what do you plan to do after that?”

“Move somewhere that you can be happy working in your job, and where Annie can go to a top-flight school.”

Caitlin blinks several times, then looks curiously at me. “And you?”

“I can write anywhere.”

She turns toward the street and leans on her porch rail. “I don'’t know what to say.”

“I thought you’d be happy to hear that. More than happy, actually.”

A sad smile touches her mouth. “I would have thought so too. I’'ve waited a long time to hear it. A very long time. But now that I have, what it sounds like is…you’re running away.”

“Running away? From what? The job?”

“I don'’t know.” She turns to me with anger in her eyes. “From Tim’s death, from Sands, this whole dirty mess. And, yes, the job too. What about the noble work that meant so much to you two years ago? I don'’t get it. It’s like for the first time in your life, you’re trying to take the easy road. And I don'’t—that’s not the man I fell in love with.”

I'm so stunned I can hardly get my thoughts together. “You want me to

stay

here? Finish out my term? Is that it? You want Annie to stay in St. Stephen’s?”

“That'’s not what I want, no. But I don'’t want you to slink away from this place either. Or from what’s caused this problem between us.”

A surge of resentment rises in me, but I press it down. “Look, it’s

not like I'm Achilles sulking in his tent, okay? I’'ve made some decisions about the case too. I'm a lawyer, Caitlin. And I'm going to attack the Sands problem like a lawyer. After Po is in custody and Sands is in the system, I'm going to use every resource in my power to have him indicted on state murder charges. And if I can’t prove them, I'’ll get him on the others. Kidnapping, dogfighting, money laundering, whatever it takes to put him behind bars.”

She nods distantly, as though this is the minimum I should do. “What if they don'’t get Po?”

“Then Sands won'’t be of any use to the government anymore. He’ll lose his protection from Hull. Hull will probably nail Sands himself.”

“No, he won'’t. Don’t you see?

That'’s

my fear. You’re so naďve sometimes. It will just go on and on, this teasing game, where Hull thinks he’s running Sands, but it’s really the other way around.”

“So what do you want to do? Take it all public?”

Her jaw tightens abruptly. “Maybe. I'm thinking about it. If the Po sting doesn’'t work, it’s certainly an option. And please don'’t remind me of our deal. As far as I'm concerned, you'’ve stepped away from this case, and I'm free to make my own decisions.”

This statement starts an alarm ringing in my head. “What have you been doing today?”

“Trying very hard not to think about all this.”

I know she doesn’'t want me to pry, but I can’t help myself. “What are your plans tomorrow?”

“I’'ve been talking to those people I was in touch with on the Katrina stories. The Danziger Bridge incident, mainly, but also trying to sort out what really happened in the convention center down there. And the Superdome.”

The bridge incident means her “friend’s” documentary.

“Yes, I’'ve spoken to Jan today, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s shooting some footage tomorrow with some Danziger witnesses. I'm thinking of going down to help out. He doesn’'t have much crew down there.”

This prospect bothers me far more than I would have expected it to. I mean, I practically just asked this woman to marry me, and she’s telling me she’s going to New Orleans to shoot a film with another guy. “When were you thinking of leaving?”

“Tomorrow.”

I should conceal my feelings better, but I realize I'm shaking my head angrily. “I don'’t know what to say. This isn’t the reaction I expected. The opposite, in fact. I guess…I’d better think about what you'’ve said. What you’re doing.”

She nods and gives me the sad smile again. “I want to think about what you said, as well. Resigning would be a very big step for you. I didn't mean to belittle it. Like I said, I’'ve waited a long time to hear you say what you did.”

“Too long, maybe?”

“I don'’t know. I'm not sure why this Sands thing has affected me so deeply.”

Without thinking, I reach out and take her hand. “Will you have lunch with me tomorrow? At the Castle, like we used to? Maybe we’ll have some perspective on this by then.”

She looks at me a long time, leaving her hand in mine. “If I'm still in town, I will.” Her fingers slide out of my grasp. “If I don'’t show up, that means I had to take more time with it. Do you understand?”

I nod slowly. “I wish I didn't.”

She hugs herself against the chill. “I’d better go in.”

“Thanks for letting Carl stay with you.”

“I know there’s danger. I'm not going to compromise my safety just to make some kind of point.”

I'm glad she’s thinking clearly on this issue, at least. Last night she seemed perfectly willing to do just that.

“I'm sorry I didn't come see Annie,” she says. “I just don'’t want to confuse her right now.”

“No, you’re right. If this is how you feel, it’s better that way.”

“I know she’s glad to be home.”

“She is. Good night.”

Caitlin waves, then slips inside her door.

I find Kelly splayed out on the couch in my den, the Styrofoam cup in his lap, his eyes nearly closed. The television’s playing an old Sydney Pollack film,

Three Days of the Condor,

very low.

“Hey?” I say. “You okay?”

Kelly’s head slides forward in what might be a nod. I'm about to

turn and go upstairs when he says, “That didn't take long. I guess it didn't go so good, huh?”

“Understatement of the millennium.”

“Don’t worry about it. She’s just young. Still got a few illusions left. Give her time.”

I know he’s right, but I hate to think I'm waiting for Caitlin to become as jaded as Kelly and I about human nature and the legal process. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe we should just go public with the whole stinking mess.”

“No way. Then Po skates for sure. I just wish we’d wasted Sands before we knew the bigger picture. Then we could say. ‘Uh-oh,’ and go about our business.” Kelly laughs softly, but for once his dark sense of humor strikes a dissonant note.

I walk deeper into the den and look down at him. “You say that so easily. Like killing Sands would be no big deal. But last night you wouldn'’t even kill that dying dog.”

Kelly’s red eyes open momentarily, but he doesn’'t look up. “I told you…we had to leave that place like we found it.”

“There was more to it than that. Were you testing me or something?”

His chest rises as he takes a long breath. Then he sighs heavily, the sound almost like a snore. “You got it done, man. Just let it go.”

“I want to know.”

He scowls, then sips from his cup, swallows audibly. “When I went into Delta training, I was ready. Ninety-seven percent of the volunteers wash out, and they come from elite units to begin with. Then there’s the mental shit they put you through. I got through that just fine. But later on, after I was in, they put me in a rotation called dog lab.”

One eye opens and seeks me out, trying to see if I’'ve heard of this. I shrug.

“The idea,” he says, “is to prepare you to handle the kinds of wounds you might encounter in the field. I mean, we didn't have medics along on our ops. We were our own medics.”

“So what was dog lab?”

“Well…it’s pretty simple. The army takes some stray dogs and shoots them—or ‘inflicts missile wound trauma’—usually with the kinds of rounds you’re likely to be hit by in the field. AK-47s, shit

like that. Then they give you the wounded dogs. You have your medical kit. You’re supposed to stabilize the dog, then nurse it back to health. Every guy gets his own dog. They’re in shock when you get them, of course, like that dog last night. Bleeding out fast, panicked eyes, howling in pain. You start an IV, do everything you’d do for a human being. And that’s when you realize that textbook training doesn’'t mean shit. In the field, it’s different. So all you do for a week, ten days, is try to save your dog. You live with it, and with the other guys and their dogs. The guys bond with the animals in weird ways. They name them, and they get territorial about their dog’s space, or other people touching their dog. Some die, of course. But most of them make it—the ones that survive the initial shootings.”

Kelly takes another noisy sip from his cup.

“My dog got septicemia,” he says. “I had him on antibiotics, but not the right kind, I guess. He was dying steadily, and the other guys were riding me about it. I wanted to load him into a jeep and drive off-base to a fucking veterinarian. But you couldn'’t do that. So when it got really bad, I took a syrette of morphine and put him down. The officer in charge of us went batshit, of course. I flunked dog lab. But I’d done so well on the hard-core stuff, they weren’t about to wash me out for that.”

“So last night—”

“Last night, when I leaned over that pit bull, I was back in dog lab. Canine PTSD. Isn’t that a riot? I’'ve killed human beings without batting an eye, but I go to pieces over a fucking mutt.”

“I’d say that’s a good sign.”

Kelly shakes his head with sudden vehemence. “It ain’t that simple, boss. Loving dogs doesn’'t make you a humanitarian.

Hitler

loved dogs. He had a dog named Blondi. He loved Blondi, but he still murdered millions of people. He offed the retards and the handicapped people too.

Homo sapiens

is one fucked-up species, Penn. Sometimes I wish I was still like Caitlin.”

I lean over and squeeze his knee. “Don’t think about it. Just go get in the bed.”

“I'm good right here.”

“You sure?”

“I'm good.”

As I climb the stairs, my cell phone buzzes to announce a text

message. When I check it, I'm surprised to see it’s from Caitlin. It reads: I THINK YOU’RE MAKING THE RIGHT DECISION FOR ANNIE, WHETHER IT’S RIGHT FOR YOU AND ME OR NOT. I LOVE YOU.

Halfway up the stairs, I stop and key in my reply: I LOVE YOU, TOO. I HOPE I SEE YOU TOMORROW.

Then I walk up the steps and collapse onto my bed.

CHAPTER

45

Caitlin stands in her kitchen, reading Penn’s text message and blinking back tears. In all her time with him, she’s never lied like that, not even by omission. But the deepest hurt is from shock at her own lack of feeling. She’s waited a year and a half for him to make the decision he made today, but tonight, hearing the words, she felt…betrayed. It made no sense, but that was what she felt.

Wiping the corners of her eyes, she reaches back and switches off the gas burner. She’d started making tea, but the last thing she wants is to lie in bed for an hour thinking about what just happened. She walks down the hall to the stairs and stops suddenly, startled by the sight of a man sitting on the floor of her living room. Carl Sims looks up from a copy of

Shotgun News

with a friendly smile. There’s a pistol on the floor by his knee, and his sniper rifle leans against the wall beside his shoulder.

“Everything okay?” he asks. “didn't mean to scare you.”

“It’s all right. I just forgot. Where were you when I came in?”

“Well, I was out there when you were talking to Mayor Cage. I mean, I wasn'’t close enough to listen or anything. I was just covering you guys. You know.”

“Thank you, Carl. I'm sorry I don'’t have a TV down here for you.”

“That'’s okay. I'm fine for the night. I’'ve got this magazine, and I got one of Mr. Cage’s novels to read if I get tired of the

News.

Major

McDavitt keeps telling me I ought to read one, so I'’ll probably give it a try tonight. They any good?”

Caitlin walks to the foot of the stairs and stops. “I think so. The first three, especially.”

“The major told me you might be in one or two of them. Kind of disguised, like.”

“Oh, I don'’t know. Maybe parts of me.”

Carl smiles knowingly.

“You like Penn, don'’t you, Carl?”

Sims sticks out his lower lip as though pondering the question. “I do, yeah.”

“Why, do you think?”

“Same as the major, I guess. He’s somebody who does the right thing, if there’s any way to do it.”

“Isn’t that what you do?”

“Well…I try to. But seeing what’s right, and doin’ it—that’s two different things.”

“What about what we’ve been going through this past week?”

The sniper shrugs. “Life gets complicated. That'’s a fact. But I know this. Taking an enemy from the front ain’t always the best way. I figure Mr. Cage knows what he’s doing—even if he don'’t know he knows it himself yet. You know what I'm saying?”

Caitlin is surprised to hear herself laugh. “Actually, I think I do. I'm not sure I agree with you in this case. But I understand.”

Carl watches her for a few moments, then suddenly looks down, like a boy caught staring. “I didn't mean to keep you down here.”

“No, it’s all right. I appreciate hearing what you have to say.”

He looks back up at her. “You know what I think? I think you two gonna be all right. Sometimes it just takes a while.”

“How old are you, Carl?”

“Twenty-six.”

“You look thirty. And you sound like you’re sixty.”

He laughs warmly. “I'm just quoting what my daddy’s said to me.”

“Well…let’s hope he’s right.”

“Oh, he usually is. Good night, Mrs. Cage—oops, my bad.”

Caitlin smiles and shakes her finger at him. “I

know

that was on purpose.”

The deputy laughs and looks back at his newspaper.

“Call me if you need anything, Carl.”

“Same to you. I'm the one guarding you, remember?”

She smiles.

Caitlin ascends the long staircase, wondering why Penn’s words didn't resonate in her as they would have only a week ago. She walks into her bedroom and opens the dresser, wishing she’d packed more clothes for the trip. As she takes off her sweater and bra and slips on a T-shirt, her thoughts go back to her conversation with Pastor Simpson in the afternoon. Tying back her hair with an elastic band, she hears a noise from downstairs. Thinking it might be Carl knocking on the wall for attention, she goes to the door and sticks her head out.

A rush of movement from the right makes her jerk left, then a black hood descends over her head. As she shouts for Carl, someone yanks a drawstring tight, cutting off her air. Lashing out with both hands, she tries to break free, but a needle-sharp sting like a wasp’s pierces her neck below the jaw. Within seconds her limbs stop obeying her brain. She tries to yell Carl’s name, then screams for Penn, but all that emerges from her mouth is the blubbering of someone being shoved underwater.

CHAPTER

46

Walt Garrity stands between the Devil’s Punchbowl and a row of blinking slot machines, sipping a Maker’s Mark and trying to avoid Nancy. Since making his play with Sands earlier, he’s felt a nice buzz, and the whiskey only makes it better. He’s also realized that the case isn’t the only thing on his mind. The image of the Chinese beauty descending the escalator will not leave him. He’s been half-consciously searching for her all night. The search hasn’'t been easy, because Nancy seems to be noticing his absences more now. In fact, she ought to be running out of chips about now, and he’s going to have to put in a little time with her at the craps table.

Setting his empty glass on a table outside the bar, he heads for the main escalator that leads to the grand salon. Just as he reaches for the moving handrail, a hidden door used by the staff opens in the wall to his left, and the Chinese beauty steps out, wearing what looks like a silk kimono. She’s not looking at Walt, but she’s less than ten yards away and doesn’'t seem to be in a hurry.

He moves to his left, gently intercepting her, and says, “Excuse me, ma’am. Could I talk to you for a minute?”

“You want talk?” she asks in musical voice. “My English not good.”

Her ingenuousness melts something in Walt. “That'’s all right. I'’ll keep it simple. I really just want to sit with you for a couple of minutes.”

“Sit?”

“In the bar maybe? The Devil’s Punchbowl?”

She crinkles her nose. “Food not so good there. I no like.”

“We don'’t have to eat anything.”

She looks mildly anxious, as if she has somewhere else to be.

“Am I holding you up?”

“With someone else tonight. You understand?”

“You’re with someone else? You have a date?”

“Date, yes.” The girl smiles and nods, and Walt’s heart sinks.

She nods considerately, then moves to go. But after walking a few feet, she turns and glides back to him. “No date tomorrow,” she says softly, her eyes shining. “You come back tomorrow, I be your date.”

Something kicks in Walt’s chest, and it can only be his heart. He’d hardly dared hope that this woman could be had by a simple business transaction. But here she stands, waiting for his answer.

“You come tomorrow?” she asks. “Or I make another date?”

Walt swallows, trying to get his mind around the reality of what’s being offered.

“You no be sorry,” the girl whispers. “Me number one girl. Make you come many time. You feel twenty again. You like?”

Walt gulps as he did as an eighteen-year-old in Tokyo when the first streetwalker climbed onto his leg and offered him something he’d never heard of. Prostitution had been legal in Japan then, but it certainly wasn'’t in Texas, and he’d almost popped the moment her warm flesh settled against the leg of his uniform.

“Tomorrow,” he says finally. “I'’ll be your date tomorrow.”

The girl extends her graceful hand and traces one fingernail along his chest. “I like you. What I call you?”

“J.B.”

“Zhaybee?”

“Good enough.”

“Okay. I go now. Date waiting.”

She turns away again, but this time, emboldened by her frankness, Walt reaches out and lays a fingertip on her scalloped collarbone. When she turns this time, he thinks he sees a flash of annoyance, but then the submissive smile of the Orient he remembers from so long ago returns. “Yes, Zhaybee?”

“What do I call you?”

Her smile broadens. “So sorry. I forgot. I am Ming.”

“Ming?”

“Ming. Like the vase, yes?”

“I won'’t forget.”

“Bye for now.”

Walt watches her lithe form glide across the carpet until she slips into the mass of fat American bodies crowding the slot machines.

“I guess you’re dumping me now, huh?” Nancy says petulantly from behind him.

Walt turns, takes in the genuine hurt in her face, and tries to let her down easy. “We’'ve had a good run, Nancy. Haven’t we?”

“What’s so great about her?”

What’s not?

Walt wonders.

“She’s too damn skinny,” Nancy says, “too skinny by half. Nothing to hold on to when you get in the saddle.”

Walt gives her a patient smile.

“Course I guess that doesn’'t matter, since you can’t saddle up anymore.”

Despite the venom in her voice, Walt takes out his wallet and peels off $500 of Penn’s money.

“We had a good run, honey. Will you take some advice from an old man?”

“That'’s the only kind of vice I don'’t like,” Nancy says, her face hard again.

“Ad

vice.”

Walt holds her eye, forcing her to see him straight.

“Okay, okay, let’s hear it.”

“It’s nothing you haven'’t heard before. But I want you to listen this time. Find another line of work.”

“Great. Thanks, granddad. You know how hard it is in this town to find a job that pays what I make on my back?”

“Find a new town. Girls don'’t live long in this racket.”

For a few brief seconds Nancy looks back at him without affect, completely vulnerable, almost hopeful, but then a dealer calls a win, and she blinks, and the walls go back up, her eyes as opaque as plaster marbles.

“Take care, Nancy. And thanks. You brought me luck.”

CHAPTER

47

Caitlin has no idea how long she’s been locked in the car trunk when the vehicle finally stops. As soon as she woke up, she found a taillight with her foot and kicked it out, but though she stuck her hand through the hole and waved it wildly, no one stopped the car.

Two doors open and close, then the trunk pops open. Someone lifts the lid. She hears gruff commands—the accents Irish. Powerful hands seize her and lift her out of the trunk, letting her feet dangle to the ground. Fear is loose in her like a wild thing, but she keeps telling herself that if they meant to kill her, they could have done it before now. She’s glad they'’re holding her up. With the hood over her head, it’s difficult to maintain balance.

“I'm holding a Taser,” says a voice. “Try to run, I'’ll juice you. You won'’t like it. I can tell you from experience.”

They march her forward at a rapid clip, then stop. There’s a jangle of keys. Suddenly she hears panting. A barrage of barking erupts close to her, and she hears heavy bodies slamming into a Cyclone fence. All at once she remembers Linda’s note, about Quinn feeding Ben Li to dogs.

“Get ’em back!” shouts an Irishman. “Goddamn it, go! Use bait if you have to.”

One man lets go of Caitlin, but the yammering dogs keep hitting the fence. Caitlin wants to speak, but duct tape holds her jaw immo

bile. After about a minute, the dogs race away and slam into what must be a different fence. There’s a metallic rattle, then the sound of an opening gate.

The man drags her through, then opens a door and leads her into a closed space that stinks of urine, old food, and dirty animals. She smells alcohol too, rubbing alcohol, plus other medical odors she can’t identify. The floor feels like bare cement. They march her twenty steps, then stop and open another door with a key. This sounds like a real door, not a gate. Someone shoves her between the shoulder blades, driving her into the room. She almost stumbles, but keeps her feet long enough to collide with a wall opposite the door.

“We’re going to take the hood off. Be still, or you get the juice. Nod if you understand.”

Caitlin nods once.

The black hood is whipped off her head, and blinding fluorescent light stabs her eyes. After a few seconds, she realizes it’s just a cheap bulb, and her vision clears. One man stands in front of her, wearing a balaclava mask. His lips show through the mask; they look bright red, filled with blood. His eyes are gray and hungry.

“Take off your clothes,” he says.

“What?”

“Get ’em off!”

“No.”

He jabs the Taser at her. “You do it or I do. It’ll hurt less if you do it.”

“Why do you want my clothes?”

“Fuckin’ hell, you mouthy cunt. Do what I tell ya!”

Caitlin pulls her T-shirt over her head, then slides her jeans down and steps out of them.

“Panties too. Everything.”

With a hiss of anger, she pulls down the panties and tosses them at his feet.

“Not bad,” he says, his voice muffled by the hood. “A little skinny for my taste, but, damn, you’re a thoroughbred, aren'’t you?”

“What do you think this is going to accomplish?”

“Ah…well, that’s up to your boyfriend, I reckon. You too. Lucky for you, he’s got something we need. But let’s see how coop erative you can be, eh? You shave it a little close down there, don'’t ya? I like it natural.”

It takes a supreme act of will, but Caitlin turns and faces the wall. A barred window is set in it, but the bars don'’t look strong enough to hold a determined prisoner. She expects to feel the bite of the Taser at any moment, but all she hears is a closing door.

She starts to turn, but then the door opens again, just wide enough for a head. “Hey, I like that side too. Better than the front, I think. I'’ll be seein’ ya, princess. Oh, yeah. Lots to look forward to.”

This time when the door closes, a key turns in the lock, a heavy bolt shoots home, and muted steps go down the corridor.

Caitlin turns slowly in place, taking in every detail of the room. It’s a simple square with plywood walls, a concrete floor, and a low ceiling that looks like the underside of a tin roof. A plastic dog bowl sits on the floor, filled with water. A pail stands beside it, empty, and she realizes that this is to be her toilet. A door slams somewhere, and the walls of her cell vibrate.

“Well, this is what you get,” she says aloud, walking forward and testing the bars with a steady pull. The bars aren'’t set in the window, but screwed over it. She could have them off in a couple of hours.

It can’t be that easy,

she thinks. Then she remembers the dogs.

“Fuck,” she whispers, realizing her situation at last. The bars weren’t put here to hold a human in this room, but a dog.

I can use my wonderful opposable thumb to get the bars off, but the dogs are outside, hoping I'’ll drop through that window like food through a chute.

The sound of an engine reaches her, and after a grinding of gears, it slowly recedes into silence. Thinking they’ve left her alone, Caitlin nearly jumps out of her skin when something bumps the wall to her left. At first she thinks it’s a dog, but then the sound comes again, a steady tapping against the plywood, low down on the wall. She drops into a crouch and puts her cheek against the wood.

“Is someone there?”

Three slow taps respond.

“Who are you?” Caitlin asks.

“Who are

you?”

“Caitlin Masters.”

There’s silence for a few moments. Then a muffled female voice says, “Penn Cage’s old girlfriend?”

“Yes! Tell me your name.”

There’s a long pause. Then the voice says, “Are you for real?”

“What do you mean?”

“You could be with them. Helping them. Quinn.”

“My God, no! They just kidnapped me. I’'ve been looking for Linda Church. Is that you, Linda?”

“You tell me the rest first. Why would they kidnap you?”

“Penn got your note—from that Pentecostal girl. He thought you’d got away safe, but I wasn'’t sure. I wanted to find you. I never stopped looking for you, Linda. I traced that girl from the Oneness church. And then the preacher, Simpson.”

Caitlin hears soft whimpering. “I want to believe you.”

“Linda, is it really you? Please tell me. What can it hurt? They already know you’re here. They

put

you here.”

“I guess. I can’t think right anymore. I'm sick. My leg’s infected.”

Caitlin remembers this from the note. She’d forgotten it, assuming that Linda had got medical care by now. “Do you have fever?”

“I'm burning up. But that’s not the worst part.”

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s been doing it to me. Quinn.”

“Doing it?”

“Raping me. He started last night. He’s done it so much that I'm getting a UTI. It hurts so bad when I have to pee, and I shiver all over afterward.”

“Did you tell Quinn that?”

“He gave me some pills he said would help. Antibiotics. They’re for dogs, I think, but he said it’s all the same. But they'’re not helping. If it gets any worse, I don'’t know what I'’ll do. I stopped drinking water so I won'’t have to pee.”

“You can’t do that, Linda. You have to drink. You’ll die if you don'’t.”

“I'm going to die anyway. They’ll never let me out of here alive. He’s going to use me till he’s tired of me, then feed me to the dogs. He told me.”

Fear and outrage rush through Caitlin in a flood. “That'’s not going to happen. Listen to me, Linda. We’re getting out of here!”

“How? Does anybody know where you are?”

Caitlin doesn’'t want to admit the truth, but she can’t bring herself to lie. “No.”

“Then how are we going to get out? There’s dogs outside this kennel. Bulldogs and something else too. Big dogs. They don'’t even leave men to guard me most of the time. They don'’t have to. It’s twenty feet to the fence. Even if you could get out of here, they’d tear you to pieces before you got to it.”

“Is that what this building is? A kennel?”

“Uh-huh. You’re in a regular room like an office. But the rest of it’s just two lines of fenced stalls with an aisle between. There’s cats in one stall down by the door. That'’s it.”

“That helps. The more I know, the better chance we have. I'’ll think of something. You just drink your water and try to stay strong. Maybe the antibiotics will start to work. I know the bladder infection hurts. I’'ve had those myself. But you listen to me, girl. We are

getting out of here.

Do you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Say it, Linda.”

“We’re getting out.”

“Say it like you believe it.”

“I'm sorry. My throat hurts. Did they put a collar on you?”

“What?”

“A dog collar.”

“No.”

“They’ve got a dog collar on me, and it’s chained to a post. He only takes it off when he does it to me.”

Jesus Christ.

“If you’re going to do something, please do it quick.”

Caitlin thinks frantically. “Are we by ourselves now? Did they really leave?”

“I think so.”

“I'm sure I can get these bars off the window.”

“No! Don’t do that! You’ll draw the dogs. They could jump through that window if they tried.”

“Okay, okay, I won'’t.” Caitlin looks around her cell again, then lifts her gaze to the cheap tin roof. “What about the roof? Do you

care if I try to get part of that open? Then I could get up on top and see what’s out there.”

After a brief silence, Linda says, “I guess that’s okay. Just don'’t fall off.”

Caitlin flexes her hands, then takes hold of the window bars at shoulder height. With a mighty effort, she leans back and starts walking her feet up the wall, first to chest level, then past the window.

Skinning the cat,

they called it when she was a kid. Surprised she can still manage the maneuver, she keeps stretching and extending until her bare feet reach the edge of the low-lying ceiling, then begins kicking. By the fourth kick she’s put a dent in the tin, but soon she has to unwind and drop back to the floor, panting and rubbing her hands. She’s not sure how long she can keep it up, but she’s pretty sure a roofing nail has started to lift out of the two-by-four at the top of the wall.

CHAPTER

48

Today will be Annie’s first day back at St. Stephen’s, and she seems a little uncertain as we coast down the long drive of the school. I'm not exactly at peace myself. Despite my cease-fire agreement with Jonathan Sands, I’'ve warned the headmaster and security guard to be on the lookout for strangers on the campus, and not to be shy about calling 911 if they see any. Chief Logan has prepped the dispatcher to send two squad cars to St. Stephen’s with sirens blaring if there’s even a hint of trouble.

“Are you all right?” I ask, glancing over to the passenger seat. “You seem quiet.”

“I had another dream.”

“What about?” I ask, easing the car right, toward the middle school.

“Caitlin again.”

I glance at Annie, but she keeps her eyes focused forward. “Was it bad or good?”

“Bad.”

“Will you tell me what it was?”

Her face tightens with indecision, but then she says, “I dreamed Mom was alive again.”

This surprises me, since Annie was only four when Sarah died and has few clear memories of her. “What happened in it?”

“I don'’t want to say. It was creepy.”

“Everybody has creepy dreams sometimes.”

“Well, we went to visit Mom’s grave, like we’ve done before, but Mom was

with

us. And the thing is…the creepy thing…”

“It’s all right, baby.”

“

Caitlin

was the one who was gone. In Mom’s grave. And Mom was with us, looking down at the stone.”

Sensing that Annie is really disturbed, I pull onto the grassy shoulder of the driveway and put the Saab in park. Cars loaded with children glide past, then slow and empty their charges at the door of the middle school.

“Maybe you dreamed that because of the talk we had last night. What do you think?”

“I don'’t know. It’s just that the last time I dreamed about Caitlin, me and Gram ended up having to hide out of town.”

I pat her knee, then squeeze it reassuringly. “That didn't have anything to do with your dream. That was something to do with my work.”

She looks skeptically at me for a while. “Did you talk to her about what we said last night?”

“A little bit. We’re going to talk some more today, I think.”

“You think? Or you know?”

“We’re not sure yet. Sometimes big things like this take a little time to work out.”

She looks down at the glove box and nods with quick assertiveness, as though she knows her voice will crack if she speaks while looking at me. “Did you tell her I wanted her to be my mom?”

“Did you want me to?”

“Did you?”

I sigh in resignation, knowing she can outlast me at this game. “No. I didn't.”

“Good. I'm worried it might scare her.”

“No, no. Why would you think that?”

“Well, she’s going to want her own babies and stuff. She may not want to think of herself as my mom.”

Annie’s fear of rejection brings tears to my eyes. I squeeze her hand. “I'’ll tell you a secret. I think Caitlin’s always wanted to be your mom.”

Annie looks up at me and blinks three times, her eyes wide and vulnerable. “Really?”

“She’s tried to do all the things Mom would have done, if she’d lived. I think Caitlin worries that you’ll think she’s trying to take Mom’s place.”

Annie’s mouth falls open. “But I don'’t think that!”

As perceptive as she is sometimes, it surprises me that Annie doesn’'t see the relationship of her dream to what’s happening in our lives. “Well, that’s the hard part about these kinds of situations. People are scared to say what they really feel, and sometimes they wait too long to do it.”

“Have you done that? Waited too long?”

“I don'’t know. I don'’t think so. I think we’re going to get everything worked out.”

Looking up, I see no more cars at the door. One of the teachers looks up the hill at us and gives a friendly wave.

“You’re going to be late, baby.”

She takes my hand and squeezes it. “It doesn’'t matter, Dad.”

“No. I guess it doesn’'t.”

“Let’s go,” she says brightly, as though everything has been resolved. “Like Gram says, ‘One way or another, everything’s going to be fine.’”

I laugh and drive down to the door of the school. Annie leans over and kisses my cheek, then lifts her backpack from the floor. When I start to speak, she presses her finger to my lips.

“You don'’t have to tell me not to worry, or not to talk about any of this. I know how things work.”

With that, she smiles, gets out, and disappears through the door of the school I loved as a child, the school that made me what I am, the school that my daughter will soon be leaving forever.

CHAPTER

49

Caitlin hunches naked on the balls of her bloody feet, listening to Linda’s chain rattle. She can tell by the sound that the chain is heavy, the kind with big, bright links that farmers use to tie tractors to flatbed trailers. Some people, Caitlin knows now, use them to strengthen fighting dogs, by making them drag the chains around every minute of their lives, as Linda must do now. Linda sleeps fitfully in her fever, moving frequently, shifting the dog collar that holds her to the chain.

Caitlin has not slept. She feels as though she’s awakened in some nightmare version of

The Count of Monte Cristo,

but instead of solitude as her curse, she must endure the cries of a woman who has suffered thirty hours of rape and abuse, while being powerless to help her. Caitlin doesn’'t intend to stay that way. She knows a lot more about her situation than she did when she arrived last night, and she doesn’'t believe their plight hopeless, as Linda so clearly does.

Being betrayed by her former pastor seems to have cracked the foundation of Linda’s religious faith. Caitlin senses that her will to live is fragile, her injuries and infections no doubt aggravating the situation.

From long and careful questioning of Linda during the night, Caitlin believes they'’re not far from Natchez. Yesterday, Seamus Quinn visited the kennel building that is their prison three separate

times, with only a few hours between each visit. Caitlin is sure he must be driving back and forth to Natchez between the bouts of rape.

What interests her more is that Quinn has told Jonathan Sands that Linda is already dead. Quinn was apparently supposed to kill her on the night Ben Li died, but by a brave leap from the boat, Linda saved herself. Quinn found her again by quietly putting out the word among hard-luck gamblers that all debts would be forgiven if someone could deliver Linda Church to him. Quinn’s ploy paid off, and he’s apparently kept her alive because he always coveted his master’s favorite mistress.

That Quinn would lie to his boss about something so important might offer a chance to drive a wedge between the two men, but the more frightening aspect of this lie is that Quinn must mean to kill Linda soon, so that Sands will never know he failed in his first effort—or risked letting Caitlin hear what she’s already heard. This, Caitlin knows, is the worst indicator of her own likely future. For if they mean to let her live, why would they allow her to see or hear what they’ve done to Linda Church? Her best hope is that some disconnect between Sands and Quinn has resulted in this scenario. Otherwise, she has only one chance: escape.

During the night, Caitlin kicked at the kennel’s tin roof for two hours, off and on, taking breaks before repeating the skin-the-cat move required to get her feet up to where the tin meets the wall. Her feet were bruised and bleeding after ten minutes, and the pit bulls outside went crazy while she did it, but no humans appeared. Quinn apparently believes that the dogs alone are sufficient to prevent an escape.

After she got a section of tin pried up, she learned why. The kennel building is surrounded by a heavy Cyclone fence eight feet high, set back twenty feet on all sides, and hidden from the air by a huge shed, like those that house machine shops. The metal struts that support its roof are twenty feet above her head. If she had a rope, she might be able to reach one of the rafters, but she doesn’'t know if there’s rope in the kennel. Even if there is, and she could climb hand over hand to the struts, Linda would not be able to follow.

According to Linda, the kennel building is forty paces long and hardly more than a glorified doghouse. They placed Caitlin in the

structure’s only room with four walls, other than a locked storeroom that occupies one end of the building. The remainder of the kennel’s interior consists of two rows of empty dog stalls partitioned by heavy Cyclone fencing, with a central aisle running between them. The first stall on the right, past the entry door, holds several live cats to be used as training bait. Despite Linda’s fevered state of mind, all this conforms to what Caitlin remembers from her hooded journey down the central aisle.

Using this knowledge, she reconnoitered the entire roof, looking for a weak spot where she might drop down into another part of the kennel. Everywhere she went, the dogs followed, looking up with the obsessive fascination that only real hunger can bring. The pit bulls have narrow waists and massive chests, like those of steroid-addicted bodybuilders. The musculature of a couple of them actually looks human in the chest and forelegs area. Still, she thinks, based on the Internet reading she’s done on dogfighting, these are probably not true fighting dogs. If they were, they wouldn'’t be left to run loose in the same yard; they’d be chained far enough away from each other not to do any damage. Instead they'’re probably guard or “protection” dogs, which can be controlled by commands, at least by the proper person. What puzzles Caitlin is what happened when she was brought through the yard to the kennel last night. The dogs weren’t ordered away by command. She remembers Quinn telling a man to “use bait if you have to” to get them away from the gate. This makes her think the pit bulls might just be a pack of dogs they use for training purposes, kept hungry to intimidate Linda—and now her—into staying put.

The comment about using bait stayed with her, though, and before much time passed, the rudiments of a plan had formed in her mind. If she could somehow get to the stall that holds the cats, she could pry off the bars of a window on one side of the kennel, toss a couple of cats out as bait, then jump through a window on the opposite side and sprint for the fence. If the dogs are hungry enough, she feels sure she can cover the twenty feet required before they figure out her trick. Of course, getting to the cats proved impossible last night. Prying up a sheet of tin from the top side of the roof had proved much harder than kicking up a section from below. If she didn't have to worry about sliding off into the jaws of ravenous pit

bulls, it might be easier, but there’s no point thinking like that. She’s made decent progress on the tin sheet over the spot where, by the sound of mewling, she judges the cats to be, but she stopped with first light, worried that Quinn would show up. It will take another hour’s work to get the sheet pried up enough to drop down and get at the cats.

The real problem with her escape plan is Linda. Even if Caitlin can somehow free Linda from her collar and chain, her leg injuries might keep her from running quickly enough to the fence—never mind climbing it.

The only other option Caitlin can think of is the storeroom. Quinn has taken Linda into the storeroom to rape her, and Linda recalls seeing a drug cabinet and stacks of bagged puppy chow inside it. She does not, however, recall seeing any tools. If the cabinet contains tranquilizers like the one they used on Caitlin, there might be some chance of drugging the dogs. But unless she can get down through the roof of the storeroom, that option is off the table. And according to Linda, the men who feed and train the dogs are likely to show up soon—they come once in the morning and once in the evening—and Quinn could appear at any time.

The chain next door rattles louder than before, and Caitlin stops bobbing in her crouch. She hears Linda groan through the plywood, then a parched sobbing sound.

“Linda? It’s Caitlin. I'm here.”

The chain rattles loudly, and Caitlin hears plastic slide.

“Oh my God,” Linda whines. “I have to pee. What am I going to do?”

“Just grit your teeth and do it. That'’s all you can do.”

“I can’t! I can’t take it!”

“You have to. I'm with you.”

The plastic pail slides again, and there’s momentary silence. Then Caitlin hears urine hitting the plastic pail, and Linda begins to scream. Caitlin hugs herself and tries to block it out. Once, when she was hiking in Belize with a boyfriend, she developed a urinary tract infection from too frequent sex. The pain was almost unbearable, and by the time they got back to civilization, it had spread to her kidneys. She’d spent three days in a hospital on IV antibiotics, wondering what women had done before the discovery of penicillin.

Surely millions must have died, and in the same agony that Linda Church is suffering now.

There’s a heavy bump against the plywood wall, and the chain rattles loudly. Linda is gasping. Caitlin is about to try to comfort her when she hears the sound of an engine. The pit bulls begin barking wildly.

“Oh, no,” Linda says. “Nooo…”

The engine dies, and a door slams.

Linda’s sobs grow louder. “I can’t do this!” she wails. “Oh, God, don'’t let them do this.”

Caitlin speaks a few words of reassurance, but her heart is skipping from fear. She’s never been at the mercy of a man the way Linda has these past hours, much less a sadistic psychopath. As she struggles to gain control of herself, she hears Linda reciting a Bible verse. Caitlin doesn’'t recognize it, but the sound of the terrified woman steels something within her. Long ago Caitlin determined that she would not go through life as a victim, and she has no intention of becoming one now.

By the time the door of the kennel building slams open, she’s standing naked but erect in her cell, right over the bloody footprints that could alert her captors to her nocturnal efforts. She’s used some of her precious drinking water to try to lighten the bloody marks, but the only real result was to make them larger. If anyone notices, she plans to tell them she’s started her period.

She hears booted feet come up the aisle between the stalls, then stop just short of her room. Though she can’t see Quinn, she remembers his photograph from the Golden Parachute file Penn showed her. He was handsome in what some call the black-Irish way, with curly black hair, dark eyes, and good bone structure. But even in the photograph the whole effect was spoiled by what appeared to be gray, badly-cared-for teeth.

“Top of the mornin’ to you, ladies,” Quinn calls. Then his voice moves closer to Caitlin’s door. “How you doin’ in there, princess?”

“She needs medicine!” Caitlin shouts. “She’s really sick.”

“I gave her some antibiotics.”

“They’re not working!”

“I'’ll give her something else then. We definitely don'’t want anything interfering with our party.”

“Just let her alone! She’s in agony!”

“You want to take her place, princess?”

The question seems so genuine that something jumps in Caitlin’s chest.

“I wouldn'’t mind a piece of you, darlin’. Cleanest I’'ve ever had, by the look of you.”

For one primal moment Caitlin wonders if Linda wishes he would turn his attention to Caitlin today.

Of course she does. And I can’t blame her

A key rattles in the lock on Linda’s cage, and Linda begins to shriek.

“LET HER ALONE!” Caitlin shouts.

“Ah, it’ll pass, now she’s done her business. She’ll be ready for another workout in no time.”

Caitlin crushes her palms over her ears as she hasn’'t done since she was a child.

CHAPTER

50

I'm sitting at a private table in a side room of the Castle, the restaurant Caitlin and I frequented most often when she lived here. It’s a Gothic outbuilding of Dunleith, the most magnificent antebellum mansion in the city. I often make sure that people who are flying in to look at industrial sites stay here, and to prime them for the experience, I tell them that the main house makes Tara in

Gone With the Wind

look like a utility shed. No one has ever argued the point.

Caitlin and I have had good meals and bad ones at the Castle, not because of the quality of the food, but because we’ve worked through so many phases of our relationship over the tables here. When times were good, we ate at the small table in back, beside the window overlooking the verdant grounds. When times weren’t so great, we ate in the private dining room where I'm waiting now. If Caitlin does show up, she won'’t be surprised to find me at this table.

It’s 12:25 now, and though I hate to admit it to myself, she’s probably not coming. Caitlin tends to be late now and then, but she wouldn'’t be on a day such as this. I can’t quite believe she’d leave me sitting here without even a phone call, or at least a text message. But I guess she feels strongly enough about where things are to view standing me up as her statement on the subject. I should probably

just order lunch and try to parse out her feelings, but given my conversations with Annie, I don'’t think I can put this event—or nonevent—behind me without being sure Caitlin hasn’'t been delayed by something unforeseen.

I speed-dial her cell, but it kicks me immediately to voice mail. Either she switched off her phone, anticipating upsetting calls from me, or else she’s driving south and chatting happily to Jan about the documentary she’ll soon be working on.

Searching my contact list, I call the

Examiner

office and ask for Kim Hunter, the reporter who is Caitlin’s best remaining friend on the staff. It takes some time for Kim to come to the phone.

“Hello?” says a young male voice free of any Southern accent.

“Kim, it’s Penn Cage.”

“Hey.”

“Look, I'm down at the Castle, and I thought Caitlin was going to be joining me for lunch. Do you know anything about that?”

“No. She didn't say anything to me.”

“You saw her this morning?”

“No. I haven'’t seen her since yesterday afternoon. She came in and pulled some old stories she worked on.”

“Do you know what stories?”

“Something she did on charismatic religions. You know, foot washers and faith healers, that kind of stuff.”

Maybe the stories have something to do with her interviews in New Orleans, I think, though it seems unlikely. “Did she say anything to you about going to New Orleans today?”

This time the silence is longer, and Hunter sounds uncertain about telling me more. “She said she might be going down to do some interviews for a documentary being shot there.”

“I know about all that, Kim. About Jan, everything. Please tell me anything you know.”

“Hang on. Mike would know more about that. He’s been taking messages from the guy.”

“From the filmmaker?”

“Right. He’s called here two or three times this morning. Hang on.”

I hear the phone clatter onto something hard.

An alarm is buzzing in my head…. If Caitlin had made plans to

be in New Orleans today, she would have made them directly with Jan—of that I'm sure.

“Penn?”

“I'm here.”

“Mike said the guy called just a few minutes ago. He’s been trying to get Caitlin all morning. Apparently Mike figured Caitlin was with you, working on whatever you guys have been doing this past couple of days.”

“Thanks, Kim, I appreciate it. If you hear from her, please have her call me immediately, okay?”

“I will. Is something wrong? Should we be worried?”

“I don'’t know. Just try to find her if you can.”

My next call is to the landline at Caitlin’s house, but by the fifth ring I'm already out of the restaurant and running to my car.

My tires screech as I skid into the curb in front of Caitlin’s house. Her door is standing open. It was closed this morning when Annie and I left for school. For a moment I think everything might be okay, but then I realize Caitlin’s rental car isn’t in the driveway.

Bounding up the steps, I go through the door and find Kelly crouched over Carl Sims, trying to unwrap duct tape from his wrists. Carl is lying on the floor, his eyes closed, his usually mahogany skin almost gray.

“What happened?” I ask. “Where’s Caitlin?”

“Not here, that’s all I know. I just got here. Carl’s fucked up. They darted him with something.” Kelly points to an orange feather lying on the floor, then looks up at me. “I think they’ve taken her.”

“

Taken

her?”

“Kidnapped her.”

“Sands?”

“Who else? But why, I have no idea.”

My vision begins to blur as panic rushes through me. “I tried to call you on my way here. Why didn't you answer?”

“I can’t find my cell phone.”

“Is Carl alive?”

“His heart’s beating. They must have hit him with some kind of big-game tranquilizer. I just called 911.”

“You didn't check in with him last night?”

“Dude, I didn't wake up until two minutes ago. I think they drugged me too. Somebody must have slipped something into my drink at the Corner Bar.”

“Why the hell would they take Caitlin now? We had an agreement!”

Kelly gently slaps Carl’s face. “Either they want something from you, or they want to keep you from doing something.”

“I already told them I was backing off!”

“I just thought of a third possibility.”

“What?”

“Caitlin wasn'’t too happy about our deal to back off. What if she

didn't

? What if she kept working the case?”

Immediately, I know Kelly’s right. Still, I say, “She wouldn'’t do that.”

He gives me a look. “Come on, man. This is Caitlin we’re talking about.”

She told me last night that she considered our agreement terminated—

“Do you know where she was yesterday?” Kelly asks. “What she did all day? Because Carl wasn'’t with her a lot of the time. She told him she needed some time alone, and she meant it. I was surprised she let him stay here last night.”

“That'’s

why

she let him stay,” I think aloud. “She knew there was risk, because she was still working this thing. Damn it!”

Kelly puts his ear to Carl’s chest, then feels his pulse.

“What should I do? Call the FBI? Caitlin’s father?”

“No way. Hell no.”

“That'’s what anybody else would do. That'’s why this was such a stupid move on their part!”

“Sands expects you to know the rules. Calling in the FBI automatically risks the life of the hostage. You go public, like her father might, you’d be signing her death sentence. Think about it: If Caitlin kept pushing the case, Sands would assume you were too. So he thinks

you

broke the agreement. They don'’t want to kill her. But they could. That'’s the whole point of taking her. You’ve got to stay cool. You’ll hear from them soon. You should go across the street and check your message machine.”

“They know my damned cell number!”

As Kelly and I stare at each other, Carl begins to cough in his arms. Then he vomits onto Kelly’s leg and the hardwood floor.

“Thank God he didn't do that last night,” Kelly says. “He had duct tape over his mouth. He would have done a Jimi Hendrix right here.”

“We can’t just wait around for Sands to make the next move.”

Kelly wipes vomit off his pants. “I should’ve just thrown him in the car instead of waiting on an ambulance. Jeez.” Kelly looks up at me with weary disgust. “What do you want to do?”

“Grab Sands or Quinn off the street and squeeze them until they tell us where she is. You told Sands yesterday that you’d kill him if he fucked with my family. Well, Caitlin is family.”

“She is, absolutely. But we won'’t be able to get to them now. They’ve gone to the mattresses.”

Carl seems to be breathing better, but he’s not yet coherent.

“But

why

?” I ask. “Sands isn’t stupid. Why take the risk of me calling the FBI and blowing up the whole Po sting?”

“I told you, either Caitlin gave them no choice, or you have something they want.”

“But I don'’t!”

“Maybe they think you do. Sands thinks there’re still variables floating around out there. The USB drive, for instance. And whatever that computer kid had on him. The bird lover. And don'’t forget Linda Church.”

Kelly’s right, especially about Linda. “I could see Caitlin trying to find her.”

“The worst scenario,” he says, “is that Caitlin was planning to go public, and they found out about it. They probably have somebody on their payroll down at the paper. Only makes sense.”

“Jesus. Do you think they took her just to kill her? Kill her and lose her body?”

“No. They’d have taken Carl too. This is like when kings used to exchange hostages to prevent wars from happening. Gangs still do that kind of thing.”

“How is this like that? They have Caitlin, and we have nothing.”

“Sands must

think

you have something. Probably Ben Li’s insurance.”

As soon as these words leave Kelly’s mouth, I know what to do. I

take out my cell phone, but before I punch a key, Kelly says, “Whoa, what are you doing?”

“Watch and learn.” I speed-dial Seamus Quinn, and the Irishman answers with his usual smug sarcasm.

“Top of the morning to ya, Mr. Mayor.”

“It’s after lunch, Quinn.”

“Is it? I'’ll bet some people are just wakin’ up, though.”

I nod meaningfully to Kelly. “We both know what happened last night, so let’s skip the games. I know you won'’t talk about it. I just want you to know one thing.”

“You’re not gonna threaten me again, are you? I'm getting a bit tired of that.”

“Do you remember our conversation on the

Queen

on Monday?”

“I remember your bodyguard assaulted me. With a deadly weapon. I'm thinking of pressing charges.”

“Listen to me, you stupid bastard—”

Calm down,

Kelly mouths, shaking his head.

“Your boss discussed some missing data. Do you remember that?”

Quinn’s answer is silence.

When we left the

Magnolia Queen

yesterday morning, Kelly assumed that Quinn had possession of the missing USB drive, and was holding it to use in a possible deal with Hull. I agreed. But if Sands and Quinn are desperate enough to kidnap Caitlin, something tells me that they have neither Ben Li’s stash nor the USB drive. And if Quinn doesn’'t have it, logic leaves only one other likely candidate—someone who heard the voice memo Tim made on his cell phone before he died. Knowing Shad Johnson as I do—as a political creature above all else—I judge that it’s worth the risk of bluffing Quinn on this point.

“I’'ve got it, Quinn.”

“You’re lying,” says the Irishman, and for a moment my confidence wavers. But something in his voice tells me to push on, and with the dizzying rush that a cliff diver must feel, I say, “I’'ve got your boss by the short hairs, you bastard, and there’s only one way he’s getting it back. A trade.”

“Even if you have it, you can’t use it,” Quinn says with more certainty. “Your own government would bury you. You still don'’t know what you’re dealing with.”

Hope and excitement have filled my chest. “I'’ll tell you what I know. Your government buddy Hull’s like a vampire—he can’t stand the light. If I go public, he’ll vanish into a puff of smoke. Keep your focus, Quinn. The thumb drive is the thing. And if you put one scratch on Caitlin, you and Sands will spend the rest of your lives on Parchman Farm. You think Irish prisons are tough? You’d be better off dead,

mate.

You’ll be hearing from me soon.”

“Wait—”

When the connection goes dead, I pump my fist. “They don'’t have it.”

“That'’s great,” says Kelly, cradling Carl’s head. “The problem is, you don'’t either.”

“No. But I know who does.”

The wail of a siren echoes up Washington Street at last.

“Just in the nick of time,” mutters Kelly. “Christ.”

“Stay with him until they get here,” I say, backing through the door.

“Where are you going?”

“The DA’s office. You can find me there or City Hall.”

CHAPTER

51

It’s only three blocks from Caitlin’s house to the DA’s office. I use the brief drive to call Chief Logan at police headquarters.

“Haven’t heard from you in a while, Mr. Mayor,” Logan says with subtle sarcasm.

“I could say the same. I’'ve been pretty busy. What about you?”

“You could say that.”

“I'm calling to give you a head’s up on something. There was a kid named Ben Li who worked on the

Magnolia Queen

. Computer specialist. I think he’s in trouble—maybe even dead.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Just trust me, Chief. You ought to look into it. I’d pay special attention to things like safe deposit boxes or storage rooms the kid might have rented. You could search his house too, but I don'’t think you’re going to find anything there.”

Logan doesn’'t speak for a few seconds. Then he says, “I sure wish you’d decided to tell me this a little earlier. Like yesterday.”

“Why’s that?’

“Did this Li kid live on Park Place?”

“I don'’t know. Why?”

“Because a house owned by someone of that name burned to the ground before dawn this morning.”

A cold blade of premonition slices through me, but Logan pushes on too quickly for me to read its significance.

“I’d like to ask you a couple of questions, Penn. Face to face, if possible.”

I’'ve reached City Hall, and just in time. “I’d like that too, Don, but I'’ll have to get back to you. I'm about to go into a meeting with the district attorney.”

“That right? Be sure and give him my warmest regards.” The sarcasm drips from Logan’s voice. “Not that he gives a shit. He thinks the only thing we’re here for is to fix speeding tickets for his buddies—who are few and far between.”

“I hear you. I'’ll get back to you when I can.”

“I'’ll see what I can find out about this Li kid.”

I tell Logan I appreciate it, then park in my private spot and start toward the building that houses the DA’s office. The lunch crowd is returning to the city offices, but I hardly respond to their greetings, my mind on a fire that was surely no accident, and that must have meaning for those with the wits to read it.

It’s a measure of what Sands has done to this town that as I pass long-familiar faces, I wonder whether I can trust any of them.

Rose, my secretary, is walking up the sidewalk from the parking lot.

“Paul Labry’s waiting for you in your office,” she calls. “Apparently he showed up halfway through lunch, and he’s been there ever since. Dora says he’s very upset.”

“Why didn't you call me?”

“I just found out myself. He didn't want you disturbed. Said you had to talk face-to-face and nobody should mention him to you on the phone.”

Veering right, I trot across the grass to the door of City Hall.

Two women in the foyer dart out of my path with a cry as I take the steps two at a time. All I can think of is that it was Labry who first gave me the name of Edward Po, from his Golden Parachute files. Asking him had been a selfish thing to do; it put both him and his family at risk. But now I sense that this act is going to come back to haunt me—or has already cost Labry dearly. If he looked deeper into the Golden Parachute investors on his own

“Where is he, Dora?” asks a loud and insistent male voice. “Damn it, he never gets back this late from lunch!”

“Paul?” I call, opening the door. “I'm here, man. What’s going on?”

The man who stumbles toward me looks like a caricature of the dignified civil servant who accepted the citizenship award from me at the Ramada two days ago. He looked tired at Tim’s burial yesterday, but now his eyes are bloodshot, his cheeks flushed, and his clothes in disarray, the front left tail of his poly-cotton-blend button-down hanging askew.

Dora gives me a look bordering on desperation.

“Let’s go in my office, Paul. Come on back.”

Labry stares at me like he’s about to burst into tears, then throws his hand twice in the direction of my office, walks into it, and collapses in the chair opposite my desk.

I give Dora a placating gesture just as Rose comes in behind me. “Is everything okay?” she asks.

“We’re fine,” I tell her. “Will you check and see whether Shad Johnson’s in his office?”

“You want me to buzz you or wait till you’re done?”

“Buzz me when you know.”

Shutting the door softly behind me, I lay my hand on Paul’s shoulder and squeeze it. “What’s happened, Paul? I’'ve never seen you look like this.”

“I’'ve never felt like this,” he says, staring over my desk as if I'm sitting on the other side of it, and not looking down at the top of his head.

When he remains silent, I go around my desk and take my seat.

“I wanted to come talk to you this morning,” he says, “but…I couldn'’t get up the nerve.”

“What is it, Paul? Is it what I talked to you about yesterday? Running for mayor?”

Labry laughs so hard at this that mucus drips from his nose. He wipes it with his sleeve, but when he lowers his arm, the smile is gone. “I can’t ever be mayor now. Never.”

“Why not?”

“I wouldn'’t get fifty votes. I don'’t deserve fifty votes.”

“Why not? What’s the matter?”

“I'’ll be bankrupt in a month. My father too, only he doesn’'t

know it. We’re going to lose everything. The business…our houses. All of it.”

“What?”

“I told you yesterday that retail’s gone down the toilet. Well, I did some things to try to compete with the big guys. Expand, you know? But I just made things worse. The debts just grew and grew. Then I did some gambling, hoping to make up the shortfall.”

This takes me completely off guard. “I didn't know you gambled.”

“I don'’t, really. Just enough to get to know some of the people who run the casinos. Which is crazy, when you think about it, because I didn't even want the damned casinos here. But it was Sands who bailed me out, man. He got me out of—”

“Sands?” I ask sharply. “Jonathan Sands?”

“Right. One night I got a little drunk and started bitching about the banks hounding me, and Sands offered to help out. He did too. But now…” Paul looks helplessly at me, then grabs his own shirtfront and jerks it upward. “They own me, man. They

own

me. I owe them so much money, I could never pay it back. There’s no way I can be mayor with them pulling my strings like a puppet. It’d be a travesty of everything you and I ever talked about doing.”

“Jesus, Paul…I had no idea. Why didn't you come to me? I would have tried to help.”

“Come to you? Do you have

any

idea how hard that would have been? Come to you and tell you I'm a total fuckup? My old man already thinks I drove the business into the ground. He doesn’'t get it, how the world has changed.”

“Paul—look, I know you’re in trouble, but I’'ve got something really big going on right now. I’'ve got to make some calls.”

He’s shaking his head again. “No, no, I told you, I was supposed to come see you this morning. I just couldn'’t do it. That'’s why I started drinking. I couldn'’t face you, man.”

“What are you talking about?”

At last all his frenetic twitching stops, and he looks me dead in the eye. “They sent me to talk to you. To give you a message.”

“Who did?”

“Sands’s security guy. Quinn. It’s about Caitlin.”

For a moment I'm not sure I’'ve heard right, but then my face goes cold.

“Whatever it is you’re doing,” Labry says, “you'’ve got to stop it for thirty-six hours. That'’s the message. They don'’t have any intention of hurting her. They’ve got her in a hotel somewhere.”

I'm pushing myself slowly away from my desk, trying to process what I'm hearing as panic and rage rise in me. “How long have you known this, Paul?’

“Quinn came to the store this morning. Look, I know it sounds bad. But they have some big deal about to go down, and they said you guys were going to screw it up somehow, by going public with something. I don'’t even know if you know about it. Maybe it was mostly Caitlin, but…Penn, don'’t look at me like that. You look like I took her or something. I love Caitlin. She’s got more—”

“Get out of my sight, Paul.”

Labry stares as though I’'ve slapped his face, then begins sobbing. I stand and walk past him, heading for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” he cries, running after me as Rose gapes.

“To see Shad Johnson.”

“Shad? Why?” He catches up with me on the staircase and pulls me to a stop. “Penn, if you report this, they’ll kill her.”

“You just said they wouldn'’t!”

Labry is fidgeting again, trying to think of anything he can to stop me. “I don'’t

know

! I have no idea what’s really going on. But you must, right? Just do whatever it is they need, and she’ll be fine!”

“Get out of my way, or I'’ll throw you down these stairs. I'm not going to Shad about the kidnapping.”

He backs away, looking stricken. “Why, then?”

“He has something I need.”

“What?”

“You’re still trying to get something for Sands, aren'’t you?”

“No! I had to do this, Penn. He was going to tell my father everything! Pop would die of shame, man.”

I leap down the stairs and race out of the building, headed down the block to the DA’s office. Labry chases after me, yelling where anyone can hear. A deputy going into the sheriff’s office looks up and stares after us.

“Let me make it up to you, man!” Labry screams. “I'’ll do anything.”

“Get her back for me!” I shout over my shoulder. “Can you do that? That'’s the only way to make this up.”

As I enter the building that houses the district attorney’s office, a sudden epiphany hits me. I run up the stairs, knowing that Labry will follow. When I reach the top, Paul calls out from the landing, trying to keep from being heard by the people on the upper floor.

“Penn, don'’t! Don’t say anything you can’t take back! Let’s go talk to Sands. I'm sure we can work something out. You’ve got money—”

“They don'’t care about

money!

Not the kind we have. They could buy this town a thousand times over!”

“There’s got to be something we can do!”

“There is. Come up here, and I'’ll tell you.”

Labry climbs warily toward me, then stops one step below the top as I make room for him at the head of the staircase.

I reach out and pull him up to the top step, then speak quietly. “You’re going to come into Shad’s office with me and tell him just what you told me. The message you gave me, and who told you to give it.”

Labry jerks back, his eyes wide, then tries to turn to go back downstairs. I reach out and grab his shirt, half to hold him here, half to keep him from breaking his neck. But panic has seized him. He windmills his arms to get his balance, then strikes out at me hard enough to disengage us. As we separate, he falls backward, but the wall catches him, and he practically rides it to the bottom of the steps.

“How could you do it?” I shout. “Our children

play

together!”

Labry is sobbing again, staring up in despair. “I had no choice,” he says in a dead voice. “No choice.”

He looks as if he’s about to say something else, but then his eyes go wide, and he backs out of the building.

“What the hell was that about?” asks a clipped baritone voice behind me.

I turn and look into the face of Shadrach Johnson. He regards me with cool detachment, waiting for me to explain my presence on his territory.

“You and I need to talk,” I tell him. “But first get rid of your secretary. You don'’t want any witnesses to this conversation.”

CHAPTER

52

Caitlin is staring out the window of her plywood cell, into the sharklike eyes of a giant white dog. After Quinn took Linda to the storeroom, her screams stopped, but soon men arrived in a pickup hauling a long trailer behind it. What caught Caitlin’s attention was a man wearing a heavily padded suit that made him look like the Michelin tire man. She assumed this was for working with dangerous dogs, and her assumption soon proved correct.

The trailer unloaded four white dogs that dwarfed the pit bulls outside. Their heads reached the men’s waists, and they had wrinkled faces with cropped ears that gave them the look of some hybrid fighting creature she had never before seen. The pit bulls went wild when the white dogs appeared; several cowered near the kennel. A few minutes later, a second trailer appeared with more men. They opened the gate of the kennel yard, gathered up the pit bulls, loaded them into their trailer, and drove away in a cloud of dust. Then the white dogs were released into the kennel yard.

After studying them for a while, Caitlin felt sure these new dogs must be Bully Kuttas, like the dog Penn described on his porch the night Sands revealed himself. Penn had thought the dogs that attacked him and Kelly on the river island were also Bully Kuttas, but he couldn'’t be sure. In any case, these white dogs frighten

Caitlin more than the pit bulls, something that hadn'’t seemed possible an hour ago.

The sound of a closing door pulls her away from the window. Linda’s door rattles the wall of Caitlin’s room, then she hears Linda’s gate close. Quinn says something too soft for Caitlin to make out, and Linda doesn’'t reply. Then the booted feet stump off down the kennel.

After the door closes, Caitlin says, “Linda? Are you all right?”

“My stomach hurts.”

“Did he hurt you again?”

“No. He gave me some different pills. I think that’s why my stomach hurts.”

“Well, try to hold them down. Drink some water if you can. That will dilute your urine, and it won'’t hurt as bad when you pee.”

A sound like a scoff comes through the wood.

“Linda, I’'ve got an idea about how to get out of here. I want you to listen to me. Will you do that?”

After a brief silence, Linda says, “I'm listening.”

Quickly, Caitlin describes her plan to use a cat as bait to distract the dogs to one side of the kennel, while she and Linda make a break for the fence on the other side. She makes it sound as plausible as she can, but Linda’s lack of questions worries her. “Well?” she asks at last. “What do you think?”

“It won'’t work.”

Caitlin tries to suppress her frustration. “Why not?”

“Because first you have to get the cats. And just getting the roof off won'’t get you through the Cyclone fence. It’s over my head too, not just walls.”

Caitlin starts to argue, but Linda’s still talking.

“And even if you get the bars off the windows, you’ll never get this chain off my neck.”