“Who’s going to kill me? McGowan? Fordyce? Both of them? Which one? Who?”

Pat Jr. was shaking his head.

“Who is it?” Raley pressed.

“Please don’t ask.”

“But you know, don’t you?”

“I can’t say anything more.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because nobody knows about me!”

His face crumpled with misery. His cry was so loud, so raw, that for a moment Raley remained quiet.

Then he nodded, as though saying he got it now. “They didn’t betray your dad’s trust about your homosexuality, so you can’t betray theirs. Is that it?”

Pat Jr. nodded.

“Even if it kills you?”

“My life’s shit anyway.” He broke down into sobs again.

Raley regarded him closely, then looked at Britt. She indicated with a small shake of her head that she didn’t believe the weeping man would give up any more information. He was held in a grip of fear more threatening to him than Raley.

“Pat?” Choking back sobs, he responded to Raley’s softer tone and raised his head. “I think you’re a creep for doing what you’re doing to your family. It isn’t fair to them, and it isn’t even fair to you. You all deserve a happier life than the one you’re leading. If it’s true that you love your wife, tell her now. It will hurt, but it won’t hurt as much as it will if you let this pretense continue.

“But in the meantime, I don’t want to be responsible for your family’s safety or yours. Talking to Britt and me could prove dangerous, you’re right about that. I suggest you leave tonight.”

“Leave?”

“Go home, pack up your wife and kids. Take them to the beach, to the mountains, just get lost for a while, a couple of days at least. Empty your ATM and don’t use your credit cards. Throw away your cell phone. Cover your tracks.”

Pat Jr. looked back at Britt as though asking, Is he nuts? “Take his advice, Pat,” she said. “I was drugged the night Jay was murdered. But on the outside chance I might recover my memory of what happened, someone tried to kill me. My car was run off the road. It’s submerged in the Combahee River. If Raley hadn’t been there to rescue me, I would have drowned. Anyone who would do that wouldn’t hesitate to harm your children, if only to punctuate their threat. Take your family and go tonight.”

“If you notify your boss at the PD, don’t tell him your destination,” Raley advised him. “It might get back to George McGowan or Cobb Fordyce.”

Pat Jr. looked at them, swallowing hard. “They’ve known me since I was a boy. I really don’t think they’d do anything to me.”

“That’s probably what your dad thought,” Raley said grimly. “Jay, too.”

He and Britt walked back to the gray sedan still parked down the street, got in, and watched as Pat Wickham, Jr., drove away from the nightclub he’d never seen from the inside.

“Do you think he’ll do what we advised?” Britt asked as they watched his car disappear around the corner at Meeting Street.

“Either he will or he’s already on his cell phone calling in the cavalry.”

“Which would mean he lied when he said he didn’t know what had happened to Cleveland Jones after his arrest.” She considered it a moment, then said, “I think he was telling the truth. He doesn’t want to know what happened in that interrogation room because of the implications to himself. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“He may not know specifically what happened, but I don’t think he believes Jones had two skull fractures when he was arrested. He knows that whatever did go down was consequential. He also knows who killed Jay. And he must be scared out of his wits of him.”

“Or them.”

“Or them. Because if he wasn’t, he’d have exposed them when Pat Senior was shot. He let them get away with murdering his own father, which is incomprehensible. He-” Suddenly he reached out and clamped his hand over her head, shoving her down. At the same time, he slouched low in his seat.

“What?” she asked.

“Our friends just came out of the club.”

“Butch and Sundance?”

“The very ones.” He’d seen them in the side mirror. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him, he slid the pistol from his waistband.

Alarmed, she said, “You’re not going to shoot them, are you?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“Do you think Pat Junior called them?”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. If he had told them we were right outside, they’d have torn out of there. They’re in no apparent hurry. See for yourself. They’re going the other direction, their backs are to us.”

He removed his hand from her head, and she raised it far enough to peer over the seat. The two men had set off down the sidewalk, walking toward King Street. They weren’t dawdling, they looked like they meant business, but she figured they always walked with a purposeful stride. But, as Raley had said, they didn’t seem to be in a huge hurry, either.

“They don’t look like a gay couple on an evening out,” she said.

“Nope.”

“Then funny they should show up here.”

“Hmm. The same way it was funny they showed up at The Wheelhouse the night you and Jay met there. At least the one did. This is the first time you’ve seen the second one. Look familiar?”

“No. But I haven’t seen his face yet. Do you think they were looking for Pat Junior tonight?”

“God, I hope not. He wouldn’t last ten seconds against these guys.”

Britt said, “It’s a small triumph, but it sort of does my heart good, knowing they were in there wasting time while we were within yards of them.”

The pair met three men on the sidewalk and moved aside to let them pass. Butch watched them over his shoulder until they entered the bar. He said something to his buddy, who took umbrage and gave him the finger, which caused him to chuckle. Then the two continued on their way.

“Did you get a better look at Sundance when he turned around?” Raley asked.

“Yes, but I don’t think I’ve seen him before. I didn’t have the reaction I did when I saw Butch through your cabin window.”

The two reached the end of the block and turned the corner, disappearing. Raley poked the pistol back into his waistband and started the sedan. “How ’bout a little role reversal?”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna follow them.”

CHAPTER 25

THE MAROON CAR HAD BEEN LEFT IN A PUBLIC PARKING LOT two blocks off King Street. Because of the traffic, Raley was able to go slow and keep well back until the pair retrieved their car. He followed them out of the historic district, and then several miles along a major boulevard to an older Holiday Inn.

“Assassins on a budget,” Britt said.

“No, they’re charging the client three times what the rooms cost.”

The hotel had two levels of rooms accessed by open-air corridors. The men parked their car steps away from rooms on the ground floor. Watching from a strip-center parking lot across the busy, divided thoroughfare, Raley and Britt saw the driver, the one they called Butch, open the trunk and remove a duffel bag.

She said, “That looks heavy.”

“Tools of their trade.”

Thoughtfully she asked, “That night on the road, why didn’t they just shoot me?”

“The risk of leaving evidence. The timing.”

“Two homicides so close together, mine and Jay’s, our being friends, that would have roused suspicion.”

“Your murder might not have passed as a random act of violence. Better that it take days, weeks maybe, for some poor fisherman to discover your car with you inside.”

“And then it would have appeared I’d killed myself.”

“Right. Then if you had remembered something Jay told you, and had passed it along to someone else, it could be discredited and dismissed.”

“The ramblings of a distraught woman about to take her own life.”

“Exactly.”

“They’re very clever, aren’t they?”