"Sure," said Hawkins.

"Your valuable time and talents would be better spent on a thorough investigation of the Falcon Trace resort. It's a cesspool down there, and Mr. Francis X. Kingsbury is the root of the cess. I trust the FBI is still interested in bribery and public corruption."

"We consider it a priority."

"Then you'll keep this in mind." Molly's eyes lost some of their sparkle. "They've up and bulldozed the whole place," she said. The trees, everything. It's a crime what they did. I drove by it this morning."

For the first time Billy Hawkins heard a trembling in her voice. He handed her a card. "Anything solid, we'll look into it. And thank you very much for the tea."

She held the door open. "You're a very polite young man," she said. "You renew my faith in authority."

"We'll be talking soon," said Agent Hawkins.

As soon as he was gone, Molly McNamara heard a whoop from the bedroom. She found Danny Pogue dancing a one-legged jig, ecstatic that he was not in federal custody. Bud Schwartz sat on the edge of the bed, nervously pounding his fist in a pillow.

Danny Pogue took Molly by the arms and said: "You did good. You stayed cool!"

Bud Schwartz said, "Cool's not the word for it." Molly handed him the mug shot. "Next time comb your hair," she said. "Now then – let's have a look at those files you boys borrowed from Mr. Kingsbury."

Joe Winder took Nina's hand and led her down the trail. "You're gonna love this guy," he said.

"What happened to the movie?"

"Later," Winder said. There's a ten o'clock show." He hated going to the movies. Hated driving all the way up to Homestead.

Nina said, "Don't you have a flashlight?"

"We've got a good hour till dusk. Come on."

"It's my night off," she said. "I wanted to go someplace."

Winder pulled her along through the trees. "Just you wait," he said.

They found Skink shirtless, skinning a raccoon at the campsite. He grunted when Joe Winder said hello. Nina wondered if the plastic collar around his neck was from a prison or some other institution. She stepped closer to get a look at the dead raccoon.

"Import got him," Skink said, feeling her stare. "Up on 905 about two hours ago. Little guy's still warm."

Winder cleared a spot for Nina to sit down. "How do you know it was a foreign car?" he asked. He truly was curious.

"Low bumper broke his neck, that's how I know. Usually it's the tires that do the trick. That's because the rental companies prefer mid-sized American models. Fords and Chevy's. We get a ton of rentals up and down this stretch."

He stripped the skin off the animal and laid it to one side. To Nina he said: "They call me Skink."

She took a small breath. "I'm Nina. Joe said you were the governor of Florida."

"Long time ago." Skink frowned at Winder. "No need to bring it up."

The man's voice was a deep, gentle rumble. Nina wondered why the guys who phoned the sex line never sounded like that. She shivered and said: "Joe told me you just vanished. Got up and walked away from the job. It was in all the papers."

"I'm sure. Did he also tell you that I knew his daddy?"

"Ancient history," Winder cut in. "Nina, I wanted you to meet this guy because he saved my life the other night."

Skink sliced the hindquarters off the dead raccoon and placed them side by side in a large fry pan. He said to Nina: "Don't believe a word of it, darling. The only reason he wanted you to meet me was so you'd understand."

"Understand what?"

"What's about to happen."

Nina looked uncomfortable. With one hand she began twisting the ends of her hair into tiny braids.

"Don't be nervous," Joe Winder said, touching her knee.

"Well, what's he talking about?"

Skink finished with the raccoon carcass and slopped the innards into a grocery bag, which he buried. After he got the fire going, he wiped his palms on the seat of his new canvas trousers, the ones he'd taken off Spearmint Breath. He watched, satisfied as the gray meat began to sizzle and darken in the fry pan.

"I don't suppose you're hungry," Skink said.

"We've got other plans." Nina was cordial but firm.

Skink foraged through a rubble of old crates and lobster traps, mumbled, stomped into the woods. He came back carrying a dirty blue Igloo cooler. He took out three beers, opened one and gave the other two to Nina and Joe Winder.

Before taking a drink, Nina wiped the top of the can on the sleeve of Winder's shirt. She touched a hand to her neck and said, "So what's with the collar?"

"Telemetry." Skink pointed a finger at the sky. "Every week or so, a plane comes around."

"They think he's a panther," Joe Winder explained. "See, it's a radio collar. He took it off a dead panther."

Skink quickly added: "But I'm not the one who killed it. It was a liquor truck out of Marathon. Didn't even stop."

Nina wasn't plugging in. After a pause she said, "Joe, don't forget about our movie."

Winder nodded. Sometimes he felt they were oceans apart. "The panther's all but extinct," he said. "Maybe two dozen left alive. The Game and Fish Department uses radio collars to keep track of where they are."

Skink drained his beer. "Two nights later, here comes the liquor truck again. Only this time he blows a tire on some barbed wire."

"In the middle of the road?" Nina said.

"Don't ask me how it got there. Anyway, I had a good long talk with the boy."

Winder said, "Jesus, don't tell me."

"Cat's blood was still on the headlights. Fur, too." Skink spat into the fire. "Cracker bastard didn't seem to care."

"You didn't..."

"No, nothing permanent. Nothing his insurance wouldn't cover."

In her smoothest voice Nina asked, "Did you eat the panther, too?"

"No, ma'am," said Skink. "I did not."

The big cat was buried a half-mile up the trail, under brilliant bougainvilleas that Skink himself had planted. Joe Winder thought about showing Nina the place, but she didn't act interested. Darkness was settling in, and the mosquitoes had arrived by the billions. Nina slapped furiously at her bare arms and legs, while Joe Winder shook his head to keep the little bloodsuckers out of his ears.

Skink said, "I got some goop if you want it. Great stuff." He held his arms out in the firelight. The left one was engulfed by black mosquitoes; the right one was untouched.

"It's called EDTIAR," Skink said. "Extended Duration Topical Insect/Arthropod Repellent. I'm a field tester for the U.S. Marines; they pay me and everything." Studiously he began counting the bites on his left arm.

Nina, on the shrill edge of misery, whacked a big fat arthropod on Joe Winder's cheek. "We've got to get going," she said.

"They're nasty tonight," Skink said sympathetically. "I just took seventeen hits in thirty seconds."

Winder himself was getting devoured. He stood up, flailing his own torso. The bugs were humming in his eyes, his mouth, his nostrils.

"Joe, what's the point of all this?" Nina asked.

"I'm waiting for him to tell me who killed Will Koocher."

"Oh, for God's sake."

Skink said, "We're in dangerous territory now."

"I don't care," Winder said. "Tell me what happened. It had something to do with the mango voles, I'm sure."

"Yes," said Skink.

Nina announced that she was leaving. "I'm getting eaten alive, and we're going to miss the movie."

"Screw the movie," said Joe Winder, perhaps too curtly.

For Nina was suddenly gone – down the trail, through the woods. Snapping twigs and muffled imprecations divulged her path.

"Call me Mr. Charm," Winder said.

Skink chuckled. "You'd better go. This can wait."

"I want to know more."

"It's the voles, like you said." He reached into his secondhand trousers and took out a bottle so small it couldn't have held more than four ounces. He pressed it into the palm of Joe Winder's right hand.