•   •   •

“There’s been no official deal offered,” Sonny Stevens said. “But that conversation over in Oxford was pure, unadulterated bullshit. I don’t care if they got a hundred different rifles of yours, Lillie. You were there to protect Sheriff Colson and you performed your duty.”

“Except it wasn’t my rifle.”

“I know it wasn’t,” Stevens said. “Y’all have gotten in with some folks who play dirty for a living. I don’t care for it, but it’s the way they do business.”

“They seemed real proud of the timing,” Quinn said. “They indict this month, they can take us to trial just weeks before the election.”

“They’ll lose,” Stevens said. “But we can’t stop an indictment. Everyone knows you can indict a goddamn ham sandwich.”

“So what would a deal mean?” Lillie said.

“Please excuse my legalese here,” Stevens said, “but they’re just trying to fuck with you. That bullshit they floated past us about that cold case? You think they were just shooting the breeze? You make an arrest and they drop everything. Even if you just work with them, they may back off some.”

“Maybe I’ll have time to print up some new election banners?” Quinn said. “‘Vote for Colson. Indicted on Lesser Charges.’”

“You sure are taking this well,” Stevens said.

The law office was hot as hell that afternoon, the old man liking to crank up the heat to nearly ninety degrees, Quinn rolling up his sleeves as they spoke. Lillie fanned her face with a printout of confiscated items from her house. Outside, a brittle wind rattled the windows, rain from earlier freezing along the porch bannister and freezing the drops in the bare trees along the Square.

“I did do a bit of asking around about that case,” Stevens said. “Lots of folks remember. But no one—and I mean no one—wants to talk about it.”

Quinn nodded.

“I don’t see how you can ever make a case on something so damn old,” Stevens said. “The DA isn’t even offering a realistic time line to make something work. Putting a case together could take y’all years. This rush doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Funny thing is,” Quinn said, “we were on this already. We didn’t need someone trying to bribe us or hold our ass to the fire.”

“Welcome to a political shitstorm,” Stevens said. “What happened back then was barbaric. There hadn’t been a lynching in this town for thirty years before that. People got sick over what happened to those two little girls and didn’t want to wait for the process of law. It’s an affront to everything I believe in.”

“Can you at least give us some names?” Lillie asked. “They don’t have to give statements, maybe just lead us in the right direction.”

“This happened thirty-seven years ago. It’s a history lesson. You’re not going to find anyone who wants to discuss it.”

“It’s not history to Diane Tull,” Quinn said.

“Not many folks are going to rally around this fella who got killed,” Stevens said.

“Because he was black?” Quinn said.

“Because he killed a young woman and raped another,” Stevens said. “There were town people, not county people, who knew what was going to happen to this fella and turned their backs. The man I spoke with was part of a group of men who gave the go-ahead to make this happen.”

“Who?” Quinn said.

“I can’t say,” Stevens said, leaning back into his chair, the day darkening in the windows behind him. “I’m sorry. He’s a client. This was said in confidence. He believes his hands are clean.”

“You always keep it so goddamn hot in here, Mr. Stevens?” Lillie said.

“It’s twenty degrees outside,” Stevens said. “We might get an ice storm tonight.”

Lillie looked to Quinn. She shook her head. “You want to tell him or should I?”

“Go ahead, Lil,” Quinn said.

“That man who was found burned up on Jericho Road never touched those girls.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Stevens said.

“Diane Tull saw the man who raped her a few weeks after they killed this man,” Lillie said. “It’s torn the shit out of her every day with everyone telling her to keep her mouth shut. She blames herself. These good people in town should be ashamed.”

Stevens swallowed. He nodded and rubbed his freshly shaved jawline. “I didn’t know that,” he said. “I never heard they got the wrong man. Is she sure on this? Hell, she was just a little girl.”

Quinn nodded.

“Jesus.”

“But given our personal shitstorm,” Lillie said. “We won’t be following up on anything but looking for new employment.”

“Y’all lose this election and God knows what kind of people will be running things,” Stevens said. “When you came back, Quinn, I had some hope for this place, that Johnny Stagg wouldn’t piss his mark on every inch of this county.”

“Seems like the new Johnny Stagg has more to lose than ever,” Quinn said.

“He’s a changed man, Quinn,” Stevens said, shaking his head. “Haven’t you heard? Everything straight and legal and for the good of this county.”

“Might not be out in the open,” Quinn said, “but Stagg’s got a pretty sweet deal going on the side.”

“Beyond the Rebel?” Stevens said.

“Yes, sir,” Quinn said. “Nobody can ever say the man suffers for ambition.”

The first real thing Chains LeDoux ever said to Jason Colson was outside a Tupelo beer joint, both men pissing against a brick wall. Chains was so drunk that he needed one hand to brace himself as he turned to Jason and said, “Who the fuck are you, man?”

Jason finished up, zipped up his fly, and said, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

LeDoux was a mean drunk, always looking to fight after a few shots of Jack, and tonight he’d had a whole bottle. He stumbled over to Jason, jabbing him with a dirty finger and saying, “Snitches are a dying breed.”

“I’m not a snitch.”

“You expect me to believe all your bullshit?” Chains said. “You just show up in Jericho and get in with Big Doug, talking about how you make movies out in Hollywood? Bullshit, man. I bet you ain’t even been to Hollywood. You’re a damn humper for J. Edgar Hoover.”

“Hoover’s been dead since ’72.”

“Well,” LeDoux said, “whatever Fed got you wanting to break us. That’s what all you want, right? You hate us? Hate our kind because we don’t work for the man. We don’t stand in lines and punch the clock and dance like puppets. We ride, we screw our old ladies, we get high and loaded. Why you want to shut that down?”

“I’m not trying to shut anybody down,” Jason said. Feeling a little uneasy, as Chains had that .38 tucked in his belt, leather vest wide open, eyes burning hot with Jack and little red pills. “I’m just passing through, visiting some family. Come on, let’s drink.”

“You’re a fucking snitch, Colson,” LeDoux said. “Right?”

“Just a stuntman.”

“What movies have you done?”

“I’ve done a lot,” Jason said. “I work for an outfit called Stuntmen Unlimited. You don’t want me to ride with y’all and that’s your thing, man. Either we drink and hang out or I’m gone.”

“You’re gone when I say, motherfucker,” Chains said, “or I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”

A few of the boys had wandered outside the beer joint, shouldering past one another, trying to get a good view of what was about to happen, lots of shit-eating grins on their faces. Big Doug wasn’t among them. Big Doug was inside chatting up a big-titted cocktail waitress named Connie who told him he reminded her of Grizzly Adams.