“Cover-up for what?”

“Cleveland Jones and how he died.”

“Cleveland Jones? The detainee who set the fire?”

“Allegedly. It’s too long a story to go into now, but basically my investigation was getting close to the truth, and the truth was that Jones was murdered in that quasi interrogation room, and the fire was a smoke screen, literally. Suzi Monroe was killed to sabotage me.”

She took several moments to absorb that. He could sense her shock. Finally she said softly, “Holy merde.”

“Not so holy. Definitely merde.”

“Do you have any proof?”

“I’m working on it.”

“Working on it,” she repeated dismally. Several more seconds elapsed, then she said, “Raley, you’re the most levelheaded person I know. You wouldn’t accuse men of something this serious if you weren’t convinced they were guilty.”

“I am and they are.”

“But…This is…” He’d left her at a loss for words, possibly for the first time in her life. Trying again, she said, “This is preposterous. Cobb Fordyce is the top law officer in the state. You’re about to accuse him of conspiracy and murder. Think about the repercussions.”

“I have. For five years I’ve thought of little else. He’s an elected official, but if he committed a crime-”

“I wasn’t talking about the repercussions to him but to you.”

“I haven’t got anything to lose.”

That silenced her for half a minute. “You’re saying Jay, your friend, was part of it, too?”

“They all were.”

“When I talked to George McGowan last night, he sounded a little shaken,” she admitted. “I thought it was because of the funeral.”

“It was seeing me that shook him.”

“He told me you believed Jay was about to confess something to Britt Shelley.”

“I think Jay was going to come clean about what really happened in the police station that afternoon, about Suzi Monroe, all of it. He was silenced before he could, and I think he had an intuition that he was in danger. That’s why he took her to his town house.”

“He took her to his town house because Jay, being Jay, wanted nooky. Even cancer wouldn’t prevent him from getting it when he could. True, she said in her press conference that he told her he had a big story, but that could have been a smooth come-on.”

“It wasn’t.”

“How do you know? You’re speculating. You’re-” Then she stopped. “Oh, shit. You’ve been in contact with her, haven’t you? Jesus, Raley. If you have, you could be charged with aiding and abetting.”

He didn’t address that because he didn’t want Candy to be compromised. “Can you get me an appointment with Cobb Fordyce?”

“No.”

“Candy.”

“Okay, highly unlikely.”

“Persuade him.”

“With what?”

“He and his cronies stole my life,” he said with heat. “For that alone don’t I deserve fifteen minutes of his time?”

She pondered it for a full minute, during which Raley kept quiet and fed coins into the phone, which he’d steadily been doing during the entire conversation.

He’d just about given up all hope that she would grant his request when she said, “I’ll put in a call to his office. That’s all I’ll do, but I’ll do that. When would you like to see him?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. Are you insane?”

“Call him today, set up an appointment for tomorrow.”

“Raley, be realistic. He’s the attorney general.”

“He’s a public servant,” he said, raising his voice again. “I pay his fucking salary.”

“But you can’t just waltz in-”

“Which is why I’m calling you.”

“Hold…Dammit! Raley, hold on.” She covered the mouthpiece. He could hear her impatiently apologizing and requesting that she be given a few more minutes to conclude this phone call. When she came back on the line, she said, “They’re waiting on me. I’ve got to go.”

“I’m running out of coins anyway. Will you call him?”

“If he agrees to see you, which I seriously doubt, what are you going to say to him?”

“I’m more interested to hear what he has to say to me.” He could still sense her uncertainty. “I promise not to outright accuse him of murder.”

“Not in so many words, but if you say to him what you’ve told me, it’s a damn strong implication.”

He had one shot at closing the sale; he took it now. “Look, Candy, more than anyone I know, you’re the standard-bearer for truth and justice. Fordyce may be pure as the driven snow, the shining example of integrity he appears to be. If so, he’ll be receptive to my questions about Jones, the fire, and Suzi Monroe. He’ll order an immediate and thorough investigation.

“But if he was a conspirator in a criminal cover-up, he doesn’t deserve the office he holds and should be made to answer for his crime, or crimes.” He let that sink in, then added, “Either way, whether he’s true-blue or guilty as hell, justice will be served.”

He waited, practically holding his breath and fingering his last quarter, while she considered it. Then she said, “Christ, you’re tenacious. You’re also right, goddamn you.”

“You’ll get him to talk to me?”

“I don’t know if I can. He’ll ask why you want to see him. What should I tell him?”

Searching for an answer to that, he glanced over his shoulder and made eye contact with Britt, who was still in the passenger seat of the car, anxiously watching him through the windshield. “Tell him I want to nominate a poster child for victims of date rape drugs.”

She drew a deep breath and released it on a sigh. “The timing of this sucks for me.”

“I’m aware of that. And I’m sorry as hell about it.”

“What’s the urgency? You’ve lived with this for five years. It can’t keep until next week?”

He thought of the men in the maroon sedan, of Britt’s car sailing off the embankment into the river. “No. It can’t keep.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I don’t promise a thing. I may not be able to reach him. Even if I do, he’ll probably refuse, and he’ll think I’ve lost my marbles for asking.”

“I understand that. But try and convince him.”

Once again sighing with reluctance, she said, “Okay. Where can I reach you?”

Miranda, George, and Les were sipping cocktails on the terrace when George excused himself to answer a call on his cell phone. The caller was Candy Mellors, sounding harried and unhappy over the necessity of calling him. She was brusque, and the conversation didn’t last very long. When it ended, George reluctantly returned to the terrace, dreading the news he must impart to his wife and father-in-law.

“Who was that?” Miranda asked.

He considered lying, but that would only prolong the inevitable. “Judge Mellors.”

“Two nights in a row? Are the two of you dating, or what?” Miranda asked snidely. She took a dainty sip of her Cosmopolitan. “No, that can’t be it. She’s a dyke.”

George retrieved his drink. “She’s not a dyke.”

“She looks like a dyke.”

“She was married.”

“Oh please, George. You are so naïve.” She looked across at Les with an expression that said, Can you believe he’s such an idiot?

“Well, whether she is or isn’t,” he said, “she had some disturbing news.”

That got Miranda’s attention. A Botox-defying frown appeared on her forehead. Les didn’t have Botox to ameliorate his frown. “Well?” he barked. “Are you hoping this news will improve with age? Let’s hear it.”

“She heard from Raley Gannon this afternoon. He called her office. Since she wasn’t at the funeral and hasn’t seen him since he left town years ago, she wanted to know if I thought he was stable.”

“Stable?” Les said.

“What did he say to make her think he was unstable?” Miranda asked.

“He asked her to set up an appointment for him.” He paused deliberately, knowing it would irk them. “With Cobb Fordyce.” No one moved for several seconds, then George shook the small ice cubes from the bottom of his empty glass into his mouth and crunched them noisily. “Cat got your tongues?”