“She wouldn’t be the first girl to kill her abuser,” Derek said. “Let’s say this guy has been raping her for years, possibly since she was a little girl. She’s been powerless to stop him. She’s had to endure the pain, the shame and degradation and the feelings of helplessness for years. Finally she snaps and decides to fight back. She sees all ministers as evil because of her father’s actions, so she takes it upon herself to punish them.”

“Why not start with killing her father?” Wayne Morgan asked. “Why kill four other ministers first?”

Derek shrugged. “Any number of reasons. Possibly to throw suspicion off herself when she did kill her father. Or it could be that she wanted to test her method-death by fire.”

“Or it could be that Missy Hovater is just an innocent victim,” Jack said.

“Yes, that, too, is possible,” Derek agreed. “But from what you’ve told me, she was at home when her father was killed, and she didn’t call 911 when she saw him burning to death. Neighbors heard his screams and made the call. And they found Missy sitting on the porch steps. Apparently, she had sat there and watched him burn.”

“That’s total conjecture,” Mike said. “No one knows what she did or didn’t do, only that when the neighbors first saw her, she was sitting on the steps mumbling to herself and when anyone tried to approach her, she started screaming.”

“She was traumatized,” Derek suggested.

“Traumatized by having witnessed her father’s murder or traumatized by having committed the murder?” Mike asked.

“Take your pick,” Derek replied.

“No one saw Donnie Hovater being doused with gasoline and set on fire, unless his daughter didn’t do it and she witnessed the event,” Morgan said. “I take it that she was in no condition to be questioned?” He looked straight at Jack.

“No, sir. After her initial examination in the ER, she was given a sedative and sent straight to the psych unit on the fourth floor. We were given strict instructions not to question her without her doctor’s consent.”

“Do you have a guard posted at her door?” Morgan directed that question to Mike.

“No. It didn’t seem necessary. The psych unit is locked down twenty-four-seven and has its own guards on duty around the clock.”

“I’d get somebody over there ASAP,” Morgan said. “We’ll want to question her as soon as the doctor gives us the green light. And keep somebody there until we figure out if we’ve got any evidence that we can use to charge Missy Hovater.”

“All right. I’ll handle that now.”

“Wait,” Morgan called to Mike. “Did y’all find a lighter at the scene? Did y’all search Missy Hovater?”

“Nope,” Mike replied. “We didn’t find anything. No lighter. No matches. And we didn’t search Missy because the child was wearing nothing but a gown, a gown with no pockets.”

Morgan nodded. Then, when Mike quietly left his office, Jack offered Morgan a cup of coffee, which he accepted. “Want any more?” he asked Derek, who shook his head, declining a second cup.

“How old is Missy Hovater?” Morgan asked as he brought the mug of coffee to his lips.

“Seventeen,” Jack replied. “Why do you ask?”

“The Fire and Brimstone Killer’s victims have been spread out over the middle of North Alabama,” Derek said. “This means he or she had to have a means of transportation to get to the victims. An educated guess would be that he or she drove their own vehicle, and driving a vehicle would require a driver’s license.”

Jack rubbed his chin. “My guess-educated or not-is that Missy Hovater did not possess a driver’s license nearly twenty months ago when Mark Cantrell was killed. The Hovaters didn’t live here in Dunmore when Cantrell was murdered, and as far as we’re aware, Missy Hovater didn’t know Mark Cantrell.”

“Good points,” Derek said. “Let’s say that Missy isn’t the Fire and Brimstone Killer. It’s still possible that she killed her father.”

“You mean a copycat killing.” Jack hated to admit that the same thought had crossed his mind. What better way to get rid of an abusive father than to murder him and blame his death on an unknown serial killer?

Cathy checked on Missy periodically over the next couple of hours and was glad that the medication had helped her rest.

“She’ll probably sleep another hour or so,” the nurse had told Cathy. “You might want to take this opportunity to go down to the cafeteria for breakfast.”

“Thanks, I’ll grab a bite later.”

When she left Missy’s room, she paused when she saw the uniformed deputy sitting in a folding chair outside the door.

He stood up the moment he saw her. “Good morning, ma’am.”

“Good morning.” She glanced at his name tag. “Deputy Glenn. May I ask why you’ve been posted outside Missy’s door?”

“Sheriff Birkett’s orders, ma’am.”

“Oh, I see.” She offered him a halfhearted smile before heading down the hall toward the waiting room.

She pulled from her pants pocket the piece of paper on which she had jotted down a name and telephone number earlier this morning. Elliott Floyd had recommended a Chattanooga law firm to represent Missy.

“I’ll call him myself,” Elliott had offered, “and fill him in on the situation. Give me until around eight-thirty, then call his private number and work out the details with him yourself.”

The waiting area was no longer empty. An elderly couple sat in the corner, haggard expressions on their lined faces. When she entered the room, they glanced her way. Then the man returned to reading the newspaper and the woman to her knitting.

Cathy made her way to the private nook near the windows overlooking the roof of the one-story ER, a 1980s addition to the hospital. She removed her phone from her purse, checked her wristwatch-8:35-and carefully dialed the number Elliott had given her.

He answered on the third ring. “Camden Hendrix here.”

“Mr. Hendrix, this is Catherine Cantrell. Elliott Floyd called you earlier this morning and-”

“Yes, Ms. Cantrell, Elliott filled me in on the case. Have the authorities tried to question Ms. Hovater?”

“No, not really, but they have posted a deputy outside her hospital room.”

“I see. Okay, give me the name and phone number for the hospital, then her doctor’s name, the one in charge of her there in the psych ward. I don’t want anyone questioning her until after I’ve spoken to her.”

“Then you’ll represent Missy?”

“If Elliott Floyd asks me for a favor, I usually comply.”

“Thank you. I don’t know what your usual fee is, but-”

“I’m not holding you responsible for the bill, Ms. Cantrell. Elliott explained your involvement. I’ll represent Ms. Hovater pro bono. As I said, as a favor to Elliott. That, and I hate the thought of a young girl being victimized by her own father.”

“Again, thank you, Mr. Hendrix.”

“I’ll try to rearrange my schedule so that I can be in Dunmore by sometime this afternoon. It’s only a two-and-a-half-hour drive from Chattanooga.”

Dial tone. End of conversation. She didn’t know Camden Hendrix, but Elliott Floyd had sung the man’s praises.

“He’s the best of the best. The man never loses a case.”

Cathy slipped her phone back into her purse and left the waiting room. Just as she approached the nurse’s station, she saw Ruth Ann Harper coming up the hall, directly from the elevator. She threw up her hand and waved. Ruth Ann walked straight to Cathy.

“Thank you for coming.”

“How is Missy?” Ruth Ann asked.

“She was still sleeping when I left to make a phone call.”

“You said that they’re keeping her sedated.”

“That’s right.”

“Will they allow me to go in and see her?”

“Yes. I’ve already spoken to the nurses, and they’ve gotten in touch with Dr. Morrison. I also explained that you’re a close family friend. And I told a small white lie. I told them that Missy had asked for you.”