He heard Wainwright let out a heavy sigh, then ease himself up out of the booth. He could feel Wainwright’s eyes on him.

“You ready?”

Louis looked up.

Wainwright picked up his shot, took one last swig and set it down. “Come on. I’ll drive you.”

“I can get home.”

“You’ll put that Mustang of yours in the bay, if you try. Let’s go.”

Louis struggled to his feet, reaching back for the shotglass, but Wainwright put a hand on his arm.

“Let it go, Louis.”

Louis stumbled, catching the back of the booth for balance. A ripple of embarrassment moved through him. God, he hated getting sloppy.

“I’m sorry, Dan,” Louis whispered, hoping no one could hear him. “I didn’t mean to get this drunk.”

“Yes, you did,” Wainwright said, taking his arm.

Louis closed the door on Wainwright’s cruiser and stumbled into the darkness toward his cottage, hearing Wainwright holler out a goodbye.

He brushed aside a palm and tripped over the rocks that lined the path. He squinted, trying to pick his way in the dim light thrown off by the Branson’s On The Beach sign.

His stomach was starting to churn. He needed a bed. Now.

Something snapped behind him. He jumped and spun.

“Where ya been, Louie?”

Louis stared into the shadows of the swaying palms. “Cade?”

He heard the rustle of the wind in the sea oats but still couldn’t see anyone. He staggered, almost falling, but pulled himself up.

“Goddammit, Cade. Come out where I can see you!” he shouted.

“I ain’t hiding.”

Louis scanned the dunes and dark trees, but all it did was make him nauseous. Finally, he picked out Cade’s silhouette.

“I told you not to come here again,” Louis said.

“You told me not go in your house. I didn’t.”

Louis closed his eyes. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He turned and threw up in the bushes, grabbing onto the palm.

“You done?” Cade asked.

Louis wiped his mouth and looked back at Cade, using those few seconds of clarity that come immediately after vomiting up half a bottle of brandy. His heart kicked an extra beat.

Cade was holding something small and dark in his arms. It was Issy.

“Let her go,” Louis said slowly.

Cade had the cat clamped under his elbow, holding its front paws tightly with his left hand. He was stroking the cat’s fur with his other hand.

“Let her go!” Louis said.

Cade’s hand hesitated at the cat’s neck. Then, suddenly, he let go. Issy sprang away and ran into the shadows.

“I wasn’t gonna hurt her, Louie,” Cade said.

Louis struggled to focus on Cade’s face. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Cade was silent. Louis waved a dismissive hand at him and started toward the porch. Cade moved quickly, catching Louis’s arm. When Louis pulled away, he stumbled.

“You fucked me and my family,” Cade said.

Louis pointed at him. “Tell it to someone else. You fired me. You’re crazy. Your kid is crazy.”

“I told you to leave it alone and you didn’t.”

Cade came closer and Louis thought he saw a flash of silver. A knife? Louis felt his heart quicken and he tried to stand up straight and focus. It was dark, they were away from the street, no one in the other cottages would hear or see a thing.

Make a move and you’re dead. Think. . bluff.

“What?” Louis said. “You come here to put a hole in me? Like. . fuck, what’s his name, that Haitian guy?”

Cade took a step closer.

“What are you going to do, Cade? Kill me and jump bail?”

“That’s not a bad idea.”

“You gonna take Ronnie with you? What about Eric? You wanna trash his life too?”

Cade had stopped moving at least. Louis couldn’t see the knife anymore. Maybe he had imagined it.

“I found out something,” Louis said. “Something about Kitty that could help you.”

Cade didn’t move.

“There’s a lab report that’s missing.”

“So what?”

“It shouldn’t be,” Louis said. “It should be there and it isn’t.”

“You’re talking like a drunk, Louie.”

“Listen to me, Cade,” Louis said. “The report could prove you didn’t rape her, that someone else did it.”

Cade was silent. “How?” he asked finally.

Louis knew there was no way to explain it right now so Cade could understand it. “Blood, Cade,” he said. “They can tell by your blood.”

“What if it has Ronnie’s blood?”

“Fuck, Cade, what if it doesn’t?” Louis asked.

Louis couldn’t make out Cade’s face, but he had heard something change in Cade’s voice. Louis tried to see Cade’s right hand, tried to make out the glint of the knife. He wanted to be ready if Cade made a move.

“What about it, Cade?” Louis said.

“You’re asking me to put my kid’s balls up on the block and hope no one chops them off. You’re asking me to trust you.”

“I’m asking you to trust your own fucking son.”

Cade said nothing, but Louis could hear the rustle of his clothing. Suddenly, there was another glint of silver and Louis heard something hit the sand at his feet.

He looked down.

The butt of a knife was sticking out of the sand, only an inch from his foot. He looked up.

Jack Cade was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The small reception area outside Mobley’s office was crowded. Louis guessed that the young woman and the disheveled man were reporters, but he didn’t recognize the two blue-suited black men who stood solemn-faced near the Amazon’s desk. The Amazon herself was on the phone, scribbling on a pink message slip to add to the pile at her elbow. She gave Louis a harried look as he wedged himself in near her desk.

The room was stuffy. Louis massaged his temples, hoping the aspirin would kick in soon. He knew he should have just stayed in bed this morning, but the nagging voice in his head had drowned out the hangover.

Let it go, Louis.

He was tired of hearing that. Okay, maybe he was obsessed, but damn it, someone had to be. He was on his own now, fired, dismissed with a knife at his feet.

He looked at Mobley’s closed door. But he was still in need of an ally.

The Amazon hung up the phone. She looked at Louis and cocked her head toward Mobley’s door. Louis didn’t even look to see if the others were pissed that he was going in ahead of them.

He closed the door, shutting out the ringing phones.

“You’ve got two minutes, Kincaid.”

Mobley shoved aside a stack of papers and began rifling through his messages, obviously irritated.

“I need something from you, Sheriff.”

“What?”

“After Jack Cade visited Duvall threatening to sue him, Duvall asked his secretary to pull Cade’s 1967 trial file. The secretary says it was still on his desk when she left just before Duvall was shot. Your guys picked it up as part of the crime scene.”

“And you want to look at it.”

“Yeah.”

Mobley shook his head. “No way. It would raise all kinds of questions that I don’t need right now.”

“Sheriff-”

“Forget it. I don’t want to piss Sandusky off, Kincaid. Especially for you and some moldy old case.” Mobley leaned back in his chair. “Besides, I heard Outlaw fired you, that true?”

Louis ignored the question. He rubbed his brow, catching sight of the evidence box from Kitty Jagger’s homicide on Mobley’s credenza. Vince had said the old sample was either destroyed-or returned.

Louis motioned toward the white box. “Can I look through that box again?”

“Look, Kincaid. I’ve already got my ass in a sling because you’re out asking questions about Kitty. From her father, her high school friends-”

“That’s what I do-ask questions,” Louis said. “Just let me take a look, okay?”

Mobley raked a hand through his hair. “Make it quick.”

Louis put the box on Mobley’s desk and began taking out the evidence bags. When he got to the Clot Buster, he carefully set it aside.