“I told them.”

“Told who?”

“I told people you’d never touch those Born Losers when they came back,” he said. “And it won’t bother you a lick to see Chains LeDoux flogging his pecker out on the town square. You’ll get in with them thicker than thieves.”

Quinn stood. He looked down at Stagg.

Ringold stood, too, and Stagg stood between them, his nose and lacquered teeth inches from Quinn’s face. “You don’t know?”

Quinn stared at the man, thinking about what exactly would happen if he punched Johnny Stagg in the throat and tossed him from his office. Ringold would try to stop it, but most of the job would already be done.

“Your goddamn daddy rode with them sonsabitches,” Stagg said. “He was a full-on member of the Born Losers when they hung that man high from that tree out on Jericho Road. That’s why you won’t touch it. It’s too goddamn close.”

Quinn didn’t say a word. He breathed and studied Stagg’s craggy, misshapen face.

Stagg walked out of the office. But Ringold hovered there, hands loose and easy at his side, tilting his head to the side and giving a wry smile, before following behind Johnny Stagg.

There was snow two weeks later, not much of it, maybe a dusting of an inch, ice over the bridges and some slick spots on the paved roads. Quinn had gone back to night patrols, Lillie taking on the day. It wasn’t even 1800, but the sky had grown black as Quinn met Lillie outside the Dixie gas station, the bright lights and neon shining onto frozen puddles. She parked her Jeep and climbed in the F-250 passenger seat, holding two large accordion folders and an old cardboard box.

“Merry Christmas.”

“It’s almost February,” Quinn said.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, then,” she said, “if you’re into hair samples, dental prints, three shell casings, and an old pair of combat boots . . .”

“Holy shit.”

“Yes, sir,” Lillie said. “I only had to put in five written requests and call the state office about fifteen times before they replied. But here it is, delivered to the SO today, signature only.”

“I wonder why the local DA didn’t look for it.”

“Because they didn’t know,” Lillie said. “I got passed around to every son of a bitch in the attorney general’s office until I found the archive. And then I had to call the archive with a creative list of search criteria. This all was filed in 1979 when the evidence was sent for safekeeping. The case was just ID’d as an unidentified body. There was no murder case or corresponding paperwork from your uncle.”

“We knew that.”

“But here we go . . .”

“Now what?”

“I’m going to drive it over to Batesville in the morning,” Lillie said. “With a lot of sweet talk and my charming personality, we should get some DNA results back in a year or two.”

“You shitting me?”

“We got one lab for this region,” Lillie said. “A year is being generous.”

“What kind of shells?”

“Twenty-two long.”

“And the boots?”

“Boots,” she said. “Black boots.”

She handed Quinn the box and he opened the top and reached inside. The boots were very old, cracked black leather with worn rubber soles and smelled of mothballs. They had twelve eyelets but no laces, the topmost eyelets busted from their holes. Quinn studied the tongue of the boot, barely making out the name. CORCORAN. MADE IN THE USA. “These are paratrooper boots from the sixties,” Quinn said. “I saw my fair share in surplus stores when I was a kid. I used to love going in those places.”

Quinn put the old boots back in the box and handed the box back to Lillie. “More stuff in the files for you to read,” Lillie said. “The dental impressions are incomplete. Teeth missing. The lower jaw apparently had been removed.”

“If he wanted to keep it quiet,” Quinn said, “why in the hell wouldn’t my uncle just destroy it? Not send it on as a John Doe?”

“He didn’t investigate,” Lillie said. “But I guess he figured this fella’s life was worth the price of a stamp.”

Quinn let out his breath. Light snow swirled in the headlights of his truck. It was very quiet and very cold outside.

“Any word from Miss Jean?” Lillie asked.

The heater ran fast and hard in his truck. “Nope,” Quinn said. “She denies my dad was ever part of that crew. She told me she’d rather me quit discussing the matter altogether.”

“Sounds like Jean.”

“And since that talk, she’s gone to half a box of wine a night.”

“Hit that nerve.”

“Guess so.”

“But you believe Stagg?”

“I’d never take Stagg at his word,” Quinn said. “But I spoke to J.T. He fixed bikes and rode with the Losers some. He confirmed it. He said my daddy was a full-patched member.”

“Between raising hell and making movies, he was riding with a gang?”

“Club,” Quinn said. “J.T. said they were just a club and most of them decent folks.”

“Chains LeDoux?” Lillie said. “You see his sheet?”

Quinn nodded. “Hard man,” Quinn said. “Did three tours with the Marines in Vietnam. Came home to Mississippi to raise hell.”

“What’d J.T. say about the lynching?”

“At first, he pretended not to know,” Quinn said. “I brought a six-pack with me and after about four beers he said he recalled what happened but believed they got the right man.”

“He was with them?”

“He said some of the club didn’t go,” Quinn said. “He said he didn’t see it.”

“Would you admit it?”

Quinn shook his head. “Nope.”

“And Hank Stillwell?”

“Says he tried to stop it,” Quinn said. “He said he called Judge Blanton from a pay phone to talk some sense to the boys because my uncle was away.”

“But Blanton didn’t want to get involved?”

“That’s what he said,” Quinn said. “He claims Blanton wanted him to allow God’s will after hearing what had happened to Lori.”

“Blanton,” Lillie said. “Jesus H.”

“And Jason Colson, too.”

Lillie shook her head, her face half shadowed in the dim light by the pumps. “Did your dad really date Adrienne Barbeau?”

“And Suzanne Somers,” Quinn said.

Lillie raised her eyebrows.

“Maybe at the same time.”

“Must’ve been hard for your mom,” Lillie said. “Having a wanderer like that around.”

“Funny thing is that Jean swears to Christ that he never cheated on her,” Quinn said. “I know she loved him. A lot. She’ll talk about Elvis Presley all goddamn night, but one word about Jason Colson will send her tearing up, rushing out of the room.”

“What happened?”

“He left,” Quinn said. “Three or four times. Each time, Caddy and I thought it was for good. But he’d keep showing up like a house cat. Then that all stopped.”

“Birthday cards?”

“For a while.”

“Calls?”

“Almost never.”

“Why?”

Quinn’s diesel engine kept on chugging into the cold night, light cutting through the darkness and the long bend of Jericho Road. The little snowflakes hitting the asphalt and burning down to nothing.

“Go relieve that sitter for Rose,” Quinn said. “I’ll call later.”

“Roger that.”

Lillie reached for the door handle and started to get out. She pushed a bunch of her long curly hair behind her ear. She was strong and hard-edged, but could be tender and loving, too. She just didn’t show that side to people she didn’t trust. “You know all the talk about the DA wanting this thing for political points is Grade A bullshit.”

Quinn nodded.

“Johnny Stagg is shitting his pants,” Lillie said. “Chains LeDoux goes free on Friday.”