Cade looked over at Ronnie, who immediately averted his eyes. “Blood is thicker than water, man,” Cade said.

Ronnie went over to Eric, who had been watching the exchange intently.

“Come on, we got work to do,” Ronnie said. Eric got up and they left.

Louis ran his hand across his face, wiping away the perspiration. The air was thick with the smells of the trailer. He stood, picking up the newspaper. “I have to go.”

Cade looked up at him. “Leave that girl’s case alone or I’ll fire you.”

“You fire me and I’ll tell the sheriff’s office about that little confrontation you had with the Haitian. Mobley ought to like that, don’t you think?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Kincaid.”

Louis turned and walked out, jerking the door shut behind him. He stopped to pull in a deep breath of fresh air and saw Ronnie and Eric near his car.

Eric was looking at the Mustang, running a hand lightly over the fender. He looked up as Louis approached, his dark eyes almost hidden by the hair falling over his forehead.

“Eric likes your car,” Ronnie said.

Louis looked down at Eric. For the first time, Louis thought he saw some life in the kid’s eyes.

“This a sixty-six?” Eric asked.

“Sixty-five. I’ve had it since high school.”

“This is a classic. Is it worth a lot?”

“Only to me, probably.” Louis got in the car.

Eric walked around the car, peering in the windows. Ronnie leaned in the car’s open window.

“He didn’t mean none of that stuff he said in there,” Ronnie said. “Not about Miss Outlaw or that Jamaican guy. Dad’s just. . angry.”

“Angry and stupid,” Louis said. “I’m trying to help him.”

Ronnie lowered his voice. “He’s scared. He’s scared they’re going to get him for this Duvall thing. He’s scared of going back to prison.”

Louis wanted to tell Ronnie what he was thinking. That Ronnie didn’t know his father, that the man who had left when Ronnie was fifteen was dead and a different man had come back. A man who was capable of things a son couldn’t imagine.

Louis started the car.

“Is he?” Eric said suddenly.

Ronnie turned to look at his son. “What?”

“Is he going back to prison?” Eric asked.

Ronnie turned to his son. “Well, Mr. Kincaid is going to do everything he can-”

“Is he?” Eric repeated.

Ronnie looked at Louis. But Louis was looking at Eric’s eyes. There was no sadness in them, no fear that his grandfather might be going to prison. Just something that hadn’t been there before-cold, hard hope.

Chapter Eighteen

It was four A.M. and he was looking for something that wasn’t there.

The entire Jagger case file was spread on his bed, floor and dresser, the contents divided into statements, evidence logs, photos and interviews. He had found a statement Ahnert had taken from Horace Atterberry that backed up what Cade had said: He and Atterberry were watching Star Trek in a motel room. Louis set it aside.

Odd. That was almost the same alibi Cade offered for the night Spencer Duvall was shot, that he was home watching Star Trek, the Next Generation. Same show, twenty years apart. Was this what Ahnert was talking about?

It couldn’t be that simple.

Hell, maybe Atterberry was still alive. He would try to locate him tomorrow, despite the fact that Susan expected him to follow up on Candace’s lover.

He continued to read, staring at the typed words and gruesome photographs until they were blurry. He could find nothing else.

Thunder rolled overhead and as rain began to patter the roof, Issy ran in from the living room and jumped on the bed. Her fur was wet. She had probably gotten outside through the torn porch screen. He had to get the thing fixed or one day he’d come home and find her flattened on the road.

She rubbed up against him and he nudged her away.

She came back, and again he set her aside. She moved to the end of the bed and stared at him. He took off his glasses and stared back. It occurred to him that in the nearly two years he had owned the cat, he had never felt anything but obligation toward it.

Is that your kitty?

Louis reached for her, but she scampered off, disappearing into the bathroom.

He went back to reading. Another report. Another piece of evidence. All of it seemed in order, everything a prosecutor would need to convict a murdering rapist.

Interviews with Willard Jagger, the owner of Hamburger Heaven, Jack Cade’s customers. He even found Ahnert’s statement from Joyce Crutchfield, but it said only what Ray had already told him, that Kitty had no boyfriends and pretty much led a quiet life, going to school, working and taking care of her father.

Damn it, what was missing?

Talk to Kitty.

Louis looked around the room for the autopsy report and saw it lying on the floor near the dresser. There was water dripping from the ceiling right over the top of it.

He snatched it up and shook the water free. He moved back to the bed, crawled up against the pillows and reached for his glasses.

At the lung analysis he stopped.

Potassium monopersulfate. He had tripped on it the first time he read the report but had forgotten about it. Ahnert said to look for something that was missing, so this couldn’t be it. What else had Ahnert said? Something is there that shouldn’t be. Was this it?

He looked at his watch. It was almost dawn. He couldn’t call Vince Carissimi, the ME, for a couple hours yet.

He crawled off the bed and went to the closet. He had not fully unpacked, even after a year, but he knew he had a dictionary somewhere. He rifled through a box of books. College texts, old notebooks, a yellowed police manual from Ann Arbor and his high school yearbook. Nothing.

Well, his generic dictionary probably wouldn’t have the sulfate thing in it anyway. He looked at the phone, hesitated, then walked to it. He dialed Susan’s number.

It rang once and he was surprised she picked up so quickly, but she was probably used to getting late-night calls.

“Hello. .” She sounded drugged.

“Susan, I need you to look up something for me.”

“Huh?”

“This is Louis. That big dictionary on your dining room table-”

“I. . what time is it?”

“It’s almost morning,” Louis said.

“The hell it is. Wait a minute. .”

He heard her sheets rustle, then she came back to the phone.

“Tell me first what you said to Mobley.”

“I didn’t say anything to him.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

There was a pause. He could hear her breathing.

“Susan, I swear.”

“Okay, what do you need a dictionary for?”

“There was something in Kitty Jagger’s lungs that wasn’t explained. Look it up for me.”

There was a long pause. Then a sigh. “Kincaid, I thought you were going to find Candace’s girlfriend.”

“Come on, Susan. Please.”

“Hold on.”

The phone went down with a clank in his ear. A minute later, she was back.

“Spell it.”

Louis read off the letters.

He could hear pages turning. “Okay. Here it is. All I see here is potassium sulfate. . no mono-thing.”

“Okay, what is potassium sulfate?”

“You’re not going to like this, Kincaid.”

“What is it?”

“ ‘Potassium sulfate: A white crystalline compound used especially in fertilizer’.”

Louis closed his eyes. Who more likely to use fertilizer than a damn landscaper?

“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe she got it from the dumpsite.”

“It was in her lungs, Susan. Dead people don’t inhale anything.”

Susan was silent for a moment. “Maybe she wasn’t dead when she was dumped.”

“No blood at the dumpsite. She bled and died somewhere else.”

Susan sighed tiredly. “Sorry, Kincaid.”

“Not your fault.” He tossed the autopsy report to the bed. “Thanks anyway.”