“Y’all ride safe,” he said, before backing out and kicking up a billowing cloud of the dry and dusty road.

Quinn and Lillie waited at the DA’s office in Oxford the next morning with Sonny Stevens telling them everything was going to be just fine. “I don’t think they found what they were looking for,” Stevens said. “And now they want to slide something across the table? We’ll listen to their bullshit, thank them for their time, and then walk over to Ajax and have a Bloody Mary. What do you say? Be a shame to waste the trip.”

They sat together in the front conference room of an institutional-looking building off Monroe Avenue that had once been the local health department. The office still smelled like ammonia and old people. The floors were a dingy, worn linoleum under skittering fluorescent lights. Someone had tacked last year’s Ole Miss football schedule on the wall. As always, the scrawled Ls outnumbered the Ws.

“I didn’t care for the way I was treated yesterday,” Lillie said. “Dale Childress and his partner came to my front door, shoving that warrant into my face. They acted like they were raiding a drug dealer’s house, tracking mud on my kitchen floor, waking up Rose. They didn’t have the sense or decency to put anything back.”

“So noted,” Stevens said. “This entire matter has been disruptive as hell to y’all’s lives and that of the sheriff’s office.”

“I don’t think they’re making an offer,” Quinn said. “I think they’re about to show us their cards. Grand jury meets in a week. I don’t like the timing.”

“Don’t get your dick in a twist,” Stevens said, looking sharp today in a navy blue suit, white shirt, and red tie. He straightened his collar and cuffs. “Excuse me, Lillie. Sorry to be so crude. But let’s wait and see. I just don’t care to do all this sitting around. We’ve been in this goddamn place for almost thirty minutes and my ass is starting to hurt.”

Not two seconds later, the door opened and in walked Childress, followed by a fat man in a blue suit with a florid face and enormous gold glasses. The fat man looked as if he’d just jogged twenty miles to make the meeting. He offered a sweaty hand all around: “Trey Wilbanks, Assistant District Attorney.” Trey knocked over a coffee mug as he was shaking hands, but it was Quinn’s and empty and only made a minor thud as it fell to the floor.

“I appreciate y’all driving over this morning,” Wilbanks said.

“Didn’t know we had a choice,” Lillie said.

Stevens flicked his eyes at Lillie but quickly returned a calm, pleasant gaze back to the men, hands folded in front of him. Wilbanks flipped through some papers as if trying to recall exactly what this meeting was all about.

Childress hadn’t offered to shake hands. He sat beside the fat ADA and slumped into his seat, not smiling or making eye contact with Quinn. All of Childress’s good ole boy Aw, shucks act from their first meeting was gone.

“Deputy Virgil, do you own a fifty-cal sniper rifle made by the Barrett Firearms Company?” Wilbanks asked.

“No, sir,” she said. “You looking to purchase one?”

Wilbanks wiped his sweating face with a napkin. He smiled and glanced to Childress before continuing, showing no emotion as he spoke. “Seems you had one in your garage under lock and key.”

“That’s a lie,” Lillie said. “I know my guns.”

Wilbanks grinned a bit more, sending a What can I do? look to Sonny Stevens, who had ceased smiling a few seconds before. Stevens’s entire posture changed, listening to the questioning. The old man had his index finger covering his mouth, eyes flicking over the sweating young attorney as if trying to shush himself and not let go a tirade he was holding close.

“Our purpose of this meeting is to give y’all a chance to talk things over and perhaps offer another version of the events that gibes with this new evidence,” Wilbanks said. “We found fifty-cal shells in the hills above that old airstrip in Tibbehah County and bullets in the bodies of the two dead men. The fifty-cal rifle we found at Deputy Virgil’s home is now with a state lab with rush orders to get results. None of us want to make law enforcement look bad.”

Quinn took a breath, steadying himself. He stared at Childress, waiting for that sorry son of a bitch to meet his eyes. But Childress didn’t have the courage, keeping his eyes down, a good old dog.

“We’re just trying to make some sense of the events,” Wilbanks said.

“I shot one man,” Lillie said. “I shot a corrupt officer trying to kill Sheriff Colson. I used my Winchester model 70 and turned that weapon over to the state. But y’all can go straight to hell if you believe that in the heat of the moment I put down a gun I’ve been shooting since I was a teenager and picked up a tactical fifty-cal to cover my tracks. That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“What’s strange to us,” Childress said, finally speaking, looking up from the floor, “is that some of these puzzle pieces got some weird edges.”

Quinn had to hold on to the armrests of his seat, dig the hell in, or else he felt he might launch over the conference table and grab the bastard by his wispy hair or mustache and bang his head on the table.

“That weapon never belonged to Deputy Virgil,” Stevens said. “Are y’all gonna charge my clients today? Or did you just want to piss a little in their morning coffee?”

Wilbanks coughed into his hand and wiped his face, sweating even more, as the meeting continued. He looked over at Childress and licked his lips. “We’d hoped to get some kind of statement from Miss Virgil regarding these events. To clarify.”

“Chief Deputy Virgil,” Sonny Stevens said.

Wilbanks apologized and looked down at the legal pad on his desk. He tapped a pen on some penciled notes, waited a few long seconds, and looked across the table. “Do you mind if we change topics for a moment?” he asked. “We did have another reason for calling this meeting.”

Stevens cut his eyes over at Quinn, smoothed down his tie, and circled a couple fingers for him to go ahead, tell them what he wanted.

“You’ve reopened a cold case from 1977?” Wilbanks asked.

Quinn nodded.

“How’s that coming?” the fat man asked.

“I’m a little confused here,” Quinn said. “What’s that investigation have to do with the shooting last April?”

“Our office has taken a big interest in that case,” Childress said, speaking up. “The district attorney wanted us to ask personally how y’all were making out.”

“Well,” Lillie said, “we’d be further along if we weren’t being called out for bullshit questions. Or having to wait around while you boys creep my house. Do you know what a fucking mess you left my panties drawer?”

“Just doing our jobs,” Childress said.

“Just like us,” Quinn said. “Without question.”

“Why’s the old case so important?” Stevens asked. “With eight counties, it’s not like y’all are sitting around with your thumbs up your asses.”

“This one has caught the attention of the DA,” Childress said. “It has a lot of personal significance for him.”

“Did he know the victims?” Quinn asked.

“Victims?” Childress said. “I know of only one.”

Quinn stared at Dale Childress and said, “Just which case are we talking about?”

“The lynching,” Wilbanks said. “That black fella who they strung up in the tree, shot and burned.”

“How’d you know about that?” Lillie asked.