He wheezed in air, whistling on the phone line. 'Think of all the things those two pig cops would like to know. Like clothes and bloodstains and why there warn't no fingerprints and hair and dirt samples and all that stuff.'

'Why?'

'Well,' Sullivan replied breezily, 'I suspect that the killer of little Joanie knew enough to have two sets of clothes with him. So he could take the one set off – that one set that's all covered with blood and shit – and ditch them somewhere. He probably had the sense to keep a couple of extra-big old plastic garbage bags in his car as well, so he could wrap up that bloody clothing so's no one would notice it.'

Cowart's stomach clenched. He remembered a Miami detective telling him of finding spare clothes and a roll of garbage bags in the trunk of Blair Sullivan's car the night he was arrested. He closed his eyes for an instant and asked, 'Where would the killer dump the stuff?'

'Oh, someplace like a Salvation Army depository. You know, there's one at the shopping mall right outside Pensacola. But that's only if it weren't too messy, you know. Or if he really wanted to be careful, he'd maybe toss it in a big old Dempsey Dumpster, like the types they have at the rest areas on the interstate. Like at the Willow Creek exchange. That big one. Gets picked up every week and all that stuff just chucked right in a landfill. Nobody ever looks at what they're throwing out. Buried away under tons of garbage, yes sir. Never find that stuff again.'

'Is that what happened?'

He didn't reply. Instead, Sullivan continued, saying, 'I bet those cops, and you, too, Cowart, and maybe that little girl's grieving momma and poppa, would especially like to know why at all that little girl gets into that car, huh? Isn't that something, after all? Why does it happen, right?'

'Tell me why.'

He hissed over the line. 'God's will, Cowart.'

There was a moment's silence.

'Or maybe the Devil's. You think of that, Cowart? Maybe God was just having a bad day that day, so he let his former number-one executive officer make a bit of mischief, huh?'

Cowart didn't reply. He listened to the whispered words that slid across the phone line, landing heavily in his ear.

'Well, Cowart, I bet that whoever it was talked that little girl into his car, said something like, "Honey, can you give me some directions, please? I'm lost and need to find my way." Now ain't that the Lord's own truth, Cowart? That man there in that car, why I can see him as clear as the hand in front of me. Why he was lost, Cowart. Lost in so many ways. But he found himself that day, didn't he?'

Sullivan inhaled sharply before continuing. 'And when he's got that little gal's attention, what's he gonna say? Maybe he said, "Honey, I'll just give you a lift down to the corner, huh?" Just as easy and natural as you like.'

Sullivan hesitated again. 'Easy and natural, yes sir. Just exactly like a nightmare. No different than exactly what those good folks try to tell those children to look out for and stay clear from.'

He paused, then added breezily, 'Except she didn't, did she?'

'Is that what you said to her?' Cowart asked unsteadily.

'Did I say that's what I said to her? Did I now? No, I only said that's probably what somebody said to her. Somebody who was feeling kind of mean and murderous on that day and was just lucky enough to spot that little gal.'

He laughed again. Then he sneezed.

'Why'd you do it?' Cowart asked abruptly.

'Did I say I did?' Sullivan replied, giggling.

'No. You just tease me with…'

'Well, forgive me for having my fun.'

'Why don't you just tell me the truth? Why don't you just come forward and tell the truth?'

'What, and wreck all my enjoyment? Cowart, you don't know how a man gets his pleasures on Death Row.'

'Will allowing an innocent man to fry…'

'Am I doing that? Why, don't we have a mighty system of criminal justice to take care of those things? Make damn certain no innocent man gets a hot squat?'

'You know what I'm saying.'

'Yes I do,' Sullivan replied softly, menacingly. 'And I don't give a damn.'

'So why have you called me?'

Sullivan paused on the phone line. When his voice returned, it was quiet and deadly. 'Because I wanted you to know how interested I have become in your career, Cowart.'

'That's…'

'Don't interrupt me!' Sullivan bit off his words. 'I have told you that before! When I speak, you damn listen, Mr. Reporter Man. Got that?'

'Yes.'

'Because I wanted to tell you something.'

'What's that?'

'I wanted to tell you it isn't over. It's just beginning.'

'What do you mean?'

'You figure it out.'

Cowart waited. After a moment, Sullivan said, 'I think we'll talk again some day. I do enjoy our little chats. So much seems to happen after we talk. Oh, one thing.'

'What's that?'

'Did you hear, Florida high court's got my automatic appeal set for their fall term. They sure do like to keep a man waiting. I guess they're thinking maybe I'll change my mind or something. Decide to start playing out my appeals and all. Maybe hire some hotshot like Bobby Earl did and start questioning whether it's constitutional to fry my old sorry tail. I like that. I like their concern for old Sully.'

He paused. 'But we do know one thing, don't we, Mr. Reporter?'

'What's that?'

'That they're damn wrong. I wouldn't change my mind about things if Jesus Hisself came down and asked me nice and personal to.'

Then he hung the telephone up abruptly.

Cowart rose then from his seat. He decided to go to the men's room, where he spent several minutes running cold water over his wrists, trying to control the sudden heat that had overtaken him, and to slow his racing heart.

His ex-wife called him, too, one evening as he was Billing ready to leave work, the day after he had appeared on Nightline.

'Matty?' Sandy said. 'We saw you on the tube.'

Her voice had a sort of girlish excitement about it, which reminded him of the better times, when they'd been young, and their relationship hadn't been burdened. He was surprised to hear from her and pleased at the same time. He felt a sort of false modest delight.

'Hello, Sandy. How're you doing?'

'Oh, fine. Getting fat. Tired all the time. You remember how it was.'

Not really, he thought. He remembered he'd spent most of her pregnancy working fourteen-hour days on the city desk.

'What did you think?'

'It must have been exciting for you. It was a hell of a story.'

'Still is.'

'What's going to happen to those two men?'

'I don't know. I think Ferguson will get a new trial. The other…'

She interrupted. 'He scared me.'

'He's a pretty twisted man.'

'What will happen to him?'

'If he doesn't start filing appeals, the governor will sign a death warrant for him as soon as the state Supreme Court upholds his conviction. There's not much doubt they'll do that.'

'When will that happen?'

'I don't know. The court usually announces its decisions at several times, right up to the New Year. There'll be just a single line in the sheaf of decisions: In Re: The State of Florida versus Blair Sullivan. The judgment and sentence of the trial court is affirmed. It's all pretty bloodless until the governor's order arrives at the prison. You know, lots of papers and signatures and official seals and that sort of stuff, until it falls on somebody actually to have to juice the guy. The guards there call it doing the deathwork.'

'I don't think the world will be a lesser place when he's gone,' Sandy said with a small shudder in her voice.

Cowart didn't reply.

'But if he never owns up to what he did, what will happen to Ferguson?'

'I don't know. The state could try him again. He could get pardoned. He could sit on Death Row. All sorts of strange things can happen.'