“Why does she call herself Reverend?”

“From some kind of spiritualist group she used to belong to. We checked her out, she’s okay.”

“She ever give you a reading?”

Falco didn’t answer, watching the car now, a white T-bird making a U-turn to pull up in front of the funeral home, Falco saying, “There he is. Bet you anything it’s Maurice. No parking, so that’s where he parks. Probably stole the fucking car.” They watched Maurice get out-wearing the crocheted cap Raylan recognized-and Falco said, “We’ll give him a few minutes with the family, his mother, his grandma and some aunts.”

They came up on either side of Maurice standing at the blond-wood casket, the women in dark dresses and hats watching from rows of empty chairs, silent. Raylan looked down at Faron’s closed eyes, his cornrows, his folded hands resting on a floral necktie and white shirt. He remembered telling him that being dumb didn’t mean you had to get shot.

“I understand,” Falco said, in a hushed voice, “he got hit with hollow-point three-eighties. You were lucky, Maurice, you know it? That could be you laying there.” Falco paused. “Didn’t your dad go the same way? Died of gunshot when you were a little kid?” Falco paused again. “Is this like a family tradition, Maurice? If it is, I think you should end it.”

There was a silence.

Raylan waited.

Maurice didn’t move, standing with his head bowed, holding his skullcap in both hands at his crotch.

“The man next to you,” Falco said, “you remember him?”

Maurice didn’t answer or look up.

“You tried to jack his car and found out too late you picked the wrong guy.” Falco leaned in to look past Maurice at Raylan.

So Raylan said, “How you doing, Maurice?” with the feeling that was it, all he had to offer. He waited, not expecting an answer and didn’t get one.

“This man’s in a position to maybe help you out,” Falco said. “Put in a good word when you come up for sentencing. You know what I’m saying, Maurice? If you can see your way to cooperate, tell us who did Faron.” Falco paused. “I’ve got an eyeball witness who puts you at the scene. Saw you come out of the house… Just give me a name.” Falco paused again. “What do you say?”

What Maurice said, head still lowered, not looking at either of them, was, “Why don’t you cut the bull shit and lemme pray over my brother?”

Coming out of the funeral home Falco said, “Asshole. Try to help, that’s the kind of cooperation you get.”

“He wants to do it himself,” Raylan said.

“That’s right, and the next time we come here Maurice is in the box.”

They crossed the lot toward their cars, Raylan thinking, hesitant about a question he had for Falco and then asked it.

“Lou, have you ever had to kill anybody?”

“Once. Well, two guys, actually. The end of a chase we got them coming out of their car.”

“How’d you feel about it?”

“You sound like the psychologist I had to see. I told her what I felt was a tremendous relief.”

“You get sick?”

“Nauseated, yeah. Every cop I know who had to shoot… it happens, you don’t feel good.”

“You didn’t have a choice.”

“None,” Falco said. “You carry a gun you have to be willing to use it. And I’ll tell you something: it’s a lot to fucking ask of anybody.” They reached their cars, parked next to one another, before Falco said, “You ever use your gun?”

Raylan, now, was looking at Falco over the top of his car. “Twice, two different times.”

“You put them down?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what’re we talking about? You know when you have to shoot and you’re the only one who does. Don’t let anybody give you any shit about it, either.” Falco turned to open his door. “I’ll see you.”

Raylan unlocked his car and looked up again. “You didn’t tell me, on that homicide, you get a conviction?”

Falco, on the other side of the Jaguar, turned to Raylan. “We never even had enough for an indictment. I still think he did it. Kind of guy acts innocent but you know is dirty? Mixed up in bank fraud, heavy gambling, always in over his head…”

“So Reverend Dawn didn’t help much.”

“She tried. She had an idea if she touched him She goes, ‘Let me touch him and I’ll tell you if he did it.’ We didn’t know what she was talking about. Touch him-where? But she was right about how the woman was killed, so we decided okay and set it up. Put a wire on her and got them to meet at the Sheriff’s Office.”

“What happened?”

“Not much. Dawn touched him, held his hand… I guess she didn’t get the right kind of vibrations. She said as far as she could tell, he didn’t do it. Their conversation’s interesting, though, you ever want to hear the tape.”

“You let him go on Dawn’s word?”

“We couldn’t quite put him at the scene and his mother alibied him out. Guy named Warren Ganz.”

Falco started to turn.

“Lou?”

“What?”

“I know his mom.”

All the way down 95 to Delray Beach in midday traffic, Raylan looked at what he knew as fact, hoping something he hadn’t thought of would jump out at him. Okay:

Ganz owes Harry a lot of money. Harry sends Bobby Deo to collect. Bobby tells Harry to meet him, he has the money, but doesn’t show up. Instead, Harry happens to run into Dawn Navarro who, it turns out, happens to know Warren Ganz-from when he was a suspect in a homicide and she touched him. Harry disappears. And now Bobby Deo, ex-con, former bounty hunter, is hanging out at Ganz’s house with a guy named Louis Lewis-however you spell it, check him out-while Ganz happens to be somewhere in the Keys.

What did all this tell him, if anything?

That Harry might be dead.

It jumped out at Raylan and there it was, whether he liked it or not. The idea: Ganz hires Bobby to kill him and takes off so he won’t be around, have to answer questions.

But, if Ganz was so broke he’s selling his furniture, how does he pay Bobby? It would cost him a few thousand at least, hire a guy like Bobby. How does he afford a trip to the Keys?

Say he doesn’t. He hides out at home. And that’s why Bobby and Louis are hanging around, to answer the door, pick up the phone…

It seemed to make sense.

But now Raylan took it another step, to look at an idea that didn’t make sense but jumped out at him anyway. The idea that if Harry wasn’t dead, hadn’t taken off but wasn’t around anywhere, Harry could be in that house. And if he was, Bobby and Louis were there to watch him.

It was a feeling Raylan had, so it didn’t have to make sense. At least not right away. The thing to do was let his mind work on it while he wasn’t looking.

But when the feeling kept growing on him he had to look at it again-sailing down 95 among semitrailers, tourists in rentals, retirees in white cars that all looked alike. What made him keep thinking Harry might be in that house?

A feeling. Yeah, but more than that. Something Falco had said that made him think of Bobby Deo.

The pruners.

A guy staying at the house who carried pruners, wore them with his good clothes and could’ve had his pruners with him when he robbed a grocery store. Bobby and Louis. In the store to get snacks and Jell-O. And the last time Raylan had Jell-O… It was at Wolfie’s having lunch with Harry and Joyce and Harry said he always had Jell-O for dessert, strawberry with fruit in it. Harry said try it and Raylan did-and it was Jell-O all right, no better or worse than it ever was.

If Harry was being held, they’d have to feed him. But would they ask him what he wanted? Why not? Keep him happy. But what reason would they have to hold him?

Outside of money.

Harry had it and Ganz didn’t and Falco said Ganz was dirty-into illegal deals, big-time gambling, bank fraud…

Kidnapping?

If Harry was in there against his will, that’s what it was, a federal offense; you could get life. Ganz had the right guy for it, Bobby Deo, who used to go out and snatch fugitives. Bobby picks the place to meet, the restaurant, because Dawn’s there. Harry arrives and Dawn sets him up. For her old friend Warren Ganz.