'How does he do that?'

The reporter took a deep breath. 'The other day. When I saw him. He threatened my daughter. He knows where she lives with her mother, in Tampa.'

Tanny Brown started to say something, then stopped.

"That's why…'

'Tell me about the threat,' the detective demanded.

'He just said he knew where she lived. He didn't say what he would do. Only that he knew who she was and that would prevent me from writing anything about him. Especially unproven allegations connecting him to other crimes.'

'And will it?'

'Well, what would you do?' the reporter replied angrily.

'You think that's where he's gone now? To Tampa. To…'

'Cut out my heart. Those are his words.'

'Is that what you think?'

Cowart shook his head. 'No. I think he believes he has me wrapped up. That he doesn't have to do anything to keep me quiet.'

Tanny Brown stared hard at him. I have daughters, too,' he said. 'Did he threaten them?'

Cowart felt a slight queasiness. 'No. He never mentioned them.'

'He knows where they live, too, Cowart. Everyone in Pachoula knows where I live.'

'He never said anything.'

'Did he know I was outside, when he was busy threatening you? Did he know I was there, close by?'

'I don't know.'

'Why didn't he mention them, Cowart? Wouldn't the same threat work against me as well?'

Cowart shook his head. 'No. He knows you wouldn't back off.'

Brown nodded. 'At least you got that right. So, Mister Reporter, how does he deal with me? If I'm his remaining problem, how does he get rid of me?'

Cowart thought hard. Only one possibility came to mind, so he spoke it quickly. 'He probably wants to do the same to you that he did to Wilcox. Lead you into a trap somewhere, and

He paused. 'Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe he's figured he should just run. Boston, Chicago, L.A., any city with a large urban inner city. He could disappear, and, if he's got the patience, after a while start in doing what he wants, once again.'

'You think he's got that patience?' Shaeffer asked.

Cowart shook his head. 'No. I don't know that he thinks he even needs to be patient. He's won at every step. He's arrogant and on a roll and he doesn't think we can catch him. And even if we do, what can we do to him? He beat us before. Probably thinks he can do it again.'

'Which means there's only one place he can be going,' Tanny Brown said abruptly. He looked around at them. 'Only one place. Back where it started.'

'Pachoula,' Cowart said.

'Pachoula,' the detective agreed. 'Home for him. Home for me. Place he thinks is safe. Even if everybody there hates him, it's still where he's safe and comfortable. Good place to start things, or finish them. And that's where I think he's going.'

Cowart nodded and gestured toward the telephone. 'So, call. Get his grandmother's house staked out. Get him picked up.'

Brown hesitated, then walked to the telephone. He punched numbers on the dial rapidly, then waited while the line was connecting. After a moment, he said, 'Dispatch? This is Lieutenant Brown. Connect me with the day-command duty officer.'

He paused again before continuing. 'Randy? It's Tanny Brown. Look, something has come up. Something important. I don't want to go into details now, but I want you to do something for me. I want you to assign a pair of squad cars to spend the day in front of the high school. And I want another car in front of my house. And tell whoever you send to tell my old man I'll be back as soon as possible and he'll get his explanation then, okay?'

The detective paused, listening. 'No. No. Just do what I ask, all right? I appreciate it. No, don't worry about my old man. He can handle himself. It's my daughters I'm worried about…' He paused, listening, then added, 'No, nothing that specific. And I'll take care of all the paperwork when I get back. Today, if possible. Tomorrow, for sure. What are they looking for? Anyone who doesn't fit. Got that? Anyone.' He hung up the telephone.

'You didn't tell them about Ferguson,' Cowart said with surprise. 'You didn't tell them anything.'

I told them enough. He hasn't got that much of a lead on us. If we hurry, we can catch up with him before he's ready for us.'

'But what if…?'

'No ifs, Cowart. The squad cars will keep him away until we get there. And then he's mine.' He glared at them. 'No one else's. I finish this. Understand?'

They were quiet a moment, and then Cowart went to his bureau and found an airline schedule stuck in a corner of his small suitcase.

'There's a noon flight to Atlanta. Nothing down to Mobile until late afternoon. But we can fly to Birmingham and drive from there. Should get to Pachoula by day's end.'

Tanny Brown nodded. He glanced over at Shaeffer, who mumbled an approval.

'Day's end,' the policeman said quietly.

26. The Briar Patch

They crossed the Alabama border into Escambia County, moving fast as the Gulf evening crowded them toward night. The southern sky had lost its eggshell-blue vibrancy, replaced by a dirty gray-brown threat of bad weather streaking the horizon. An unsettled hot wind gusted about them, sucking and pulling with occasional bursts at the car windows, stripping away the residual cold and damp they felt from the Northeast. They cut past dust-streaked farms and stands of tall pine trees, whose towering, erect bearing reminded Cowart of spectators rising in a stadium at the moment of tension. Their speed underwrote the doubts they all felt. They all felt an urgency, a need to rush ahead, uncertainty shadowing their path. The countryside hurtled past them; there hardly seemed enough space to breathe on the narrow roadway. Cowart grabbed at the armrest when they bore down on an ancient school bus, painted a gleaming snow white, bouncing and jiggling slowly down the one-lane road. Tanny Brown had to push hard on the brake to keep from slamming into the back end. Cowart looked up and saw, hand-lettered on the back of the bus over the emergency-exit door, in a flowing, joyously enthusiastic bright red script, the words: STILL TIME TO WELCOME YOUR SAVIOR!

And, below that, in slightly smaller but equally florid, writing: NEW REDEMPTION BAPTIST CHURCH, PACHOULA, FLA.

And finally, on the bumper, an exhortation in large, bubbling letters: FOLLOW ME TO JESUS!

Cowart rolled down his window and could just make out the thunderous voices of the church choir bursting beyond the heat, above the grinding and groaning of the bus engine. He strained his hearing but couldn't make out the words of the hymn they were singing, though elusive strands of music poked at him.

Tanny Brown jabbed the steering wheel of the rental car, punching the gas pedal simultaneously. With a quick thrust, they maneuvered past the bus. Cowart stared up and saw dozens of black people, swaying and clapping to both the rocky ride and the energy of the singing. The sound of their voices was swept away by speed and distance.

They continued through the growing darkness. The weakening light seemed to blur the straight edges of the houses and barns, made the twisting road they traveled less distinct, almost infirm.

'Jesus works overtime in this county,' Brown said. 'Gathering in the souls.'

Brown had driven silently, unable to shake a memory that had crashed unbidden into his thoughts. A wartime moment, horrible yet ordinary: he'd been in country seven months, and his platoon had been crossing an open area; it was near the end of the day, they were close to camp, they were hot, filthy, tired, and probably thinking more of what was waiting for them, which was food, rest, and another uncomfortable, breathless night, than paying attention, which made them immensely vulnerable. So, in retrospect, it shouldn't have come as a great surprise when the air had been sliced by the single sound of a sniper's weapon, and one of the men, the man walking the point, had dropped with a suddenness that Brown thought was as if some irritated god had reached down and tripped the unsuspecting man capriciously.