“Was Fordyce mentioned by name? Or George McGowan?”

“No. I’m almost positive. These pros would know to be careful about that, too.”

“What about Jay? What was he doing all this time?”

“He was lying on his back beside me. He didn’t put up a struggle. I think he may already have been unconscious because of all the alcohol he’d consumed.” She sighed and looked over at Raley. “The next thing I remember is waking up the following morning, thinking I had the worst hangover in history, but with no memory of any of this until Fordyce opened his front door to that sadistic bastard.”

“Earlier you told me that, when you woke up, Jay was turned away from you.”

“I suppose after I passed out, they held the pillow over his face and then set the stage to make it look like a drunken lovers’ quarrel that ended in murder.” She stopped recording and turned off the camera but left it plugged in to keep the battery charging.

Raley wanted to go back and mop the marble floor with both Britt’s attacker and Fordyce, but that would be a personally motivated, vengeful, and stupid action. Instead he had to focus on what they must do next. How could he bring Fordyce’s treachery to the public’s attention before Fordyce could have them eliminated? They were driving a marked car. They only had several minutes’ head start.

And Fordyce had facilitators on retainer who responded to his summons at a moment’s notice. There were at least four of them. They acted swiftly and lethally, then faded into the woodwork. They’d had less than one day to orchestrate Jay’s execution, yet they’d carried out the plan perfectly.

This morning, if Britt hadn’t recognized the man and acted swiftly, they would already be dead. By one means or another, they would have been expediently sanctioned. Fordyce could invent any story about how they came to be dead and he would be believed. He could say they’d attacked him, and he’d had no choice but to kill them in self-defense. Or that they had threatened him, and when he tried to defend himself, they fled, never to be seen again.

Whatever story he contrived, it would be believed. Their conversations with Candy and Pat Wickham, Jr., would substantiate that they were aggressively seeking revenge on those who, they believed, had wronged them. It would be surmised that their paranoia had made them dangerously delusional, so that, by the time they barged into the AG’s home, they had lost all reason.

If they died or simply disappeared, Lewis Jones might smell a rat and create some noise, raise some questions. So might Delno Pickens. But who would listen to either of them, the neo-Nazi father of a reprobate and arsonist, and an unwashed old hermit who lived in the swamp?

With him and Britt out of the picture, the police station fire and all those deaths that came after it would remain in the history books as recorded. No one would ever know about the colossal miscarriage of justice being perpetuated as long as George McGowan and Cobb Fordyce were leading their lives with impunity.

Raley couldn’t tolerate even the thought of that. He gripped the steering wheel and reminded himself that he wasn’t dead yet. He might not survive, but as he and Britt sped along the narrow, two-lane road, he resolved that he would fight to his last breath to set things right.

Without the pistol, their only weapon was the video recording. As she had pointed out, it was hardly a signed confession. But it was all they had, so they had to make the most of it.

“Can you make a copy of that video?” he asked.

“I’d need two machines, and videotape only duplicates at real time. I don’t have access to the machines and-”

“We don’t have the time.” But he’d begun to formulate an idea. “Actually, just the threat of the video might be enough.”

“Enough to do what?”

“To get George McGowan to spill his guts.” He glanced at her, saw that she was listening closely. “On the video, Fordyce doesn’t implicate himself, but he doesn’t refute my allegation that the three detectives were guilty. He even went so far as to venture that George had disposed of Jay. I don’t think George will take too kindly to that.”

“He won’t want to take the fall all by his lonesome,” she said. “He’ll want to set the record straight.”

“If I can coax something out of McGowan that would incriminate them both, then the video of Fordyce would be useful after all. We’d have caught him lying and trying to transfer blame.” He motioned toward the camcorder. “Take out that tape and put in a fresh one. Has it been juiced up enough to run? Show me how to operate it.”

“I’ll do the camera work.”

He shook his head. “I’ll go to George. You have another chore.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then said, “You want me to turn myself in.”

“It’s the only way you’ll be safe, Britt.” He outlined his plan to her. When he was finished, she asked, “What about Clark and Javier?”

“I don’t trust the PD. I don’t want you anywhere near police headquarters. McGowan and Fordyce have too many friends there. The tape might conveniently disappear.”

“My lawyer?”

“We’re not sure how trustworthy he is, but we know for certain he’s got no balls.”

She thought about it, then said, “All right, I’ll do it. But it won’t be easy. Especially today.”

“If someone accosts you, you start talking fast, create a scene, draw attention to yourself if you have to do cartwheels up and down Broad Street. Produce that tape, make sure some of your media pals see it. Make yourself heard.”

She smiled at him. “That I can do.”

“But can you drive my pickup?”

“Automatic shift?”

He nodded.

“Then I can drive it.”

The way their luck had been running, they were surprised to find the truck where they’d left it at the deserted airstrip. It was covered with a thick layer of dust but otherwise appeared not to have been touched.

“This spot is still our secret,” Raley remarked as he brought the sedan to a stop.

Britt unplugged the camcorder. “You’re clear on how to use it?”

“A three-year-old could do it.”

They got out of the sedan. Raley climbed behind the steering wheel of his pickup, started the engine, checked the gas gauge. “Half a tank, which should be plenty to get you into Charleston.”

She offered to take the sedan.

He shook his head adamantly. “Too dangerous. They’ll be looking for it. I only hope I can get to George before Fordyce’s heavies get to me.”

“They could be looking for the truck, too.”

“They could, but it’s meaner than the sedan. Harder for them to push off the road.” Even though he’d said that, she read the worry in his expression as he got out of the cab, leaving the motor running.

“I’ll be okay,” she said.

“Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?”

“Both,” she admitted. “But once I get where I’m going, I’ll be safe. In handcuffs, perhaps, but safe.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave her a long, meaningful look. “Britt…”

She smiled gently and pressed her fingers vertically against his lips. “You don’t have to say anything, Raley Gannon. I know you like me, and more than a little.”

He pulled her against him and kissed her long and deeply, then released her and in a voice made gruff by emotion said, “Be careful. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Before he could talk himself out of it, he boosted her into the cab of the pickup.

He followed her in the sedan from the airstrip to the main road, and then for several miles until their paths split. She waved to him from the driver’s window. He gave her a thumbs-up, but for a full five minutes after they separated he was tempted to say screw it to this plan, make a quick U-turn, and go after her. He didn’t want to let her out of his sight. He would much rather they stuck together no matter what.

But he kept to the plan. Each had an assignment, and both were equally crucial to success. The video recording of Fordyce empowered Britt. As long as it was in her possession, she would have a measure of protection and control. Raley was unarmed, except for the camcorder, which was nothing more than a stage prop, really. He hoped George McGowan would fall for it.