Walt took out his burn phone and checked it again, but being near the window hadn’t improved his reception. At least I know Tom’s okay, he thought. Even if I don’t know where he is.

As he tiptoed back across the floor, he realized that, depending on what the men below did next, he might have to spend quite a while in this place. Lowering himself to his knees, he rolled onto his back and slid slowly under the bed.

CHAPTER 30

“THIS HOUSE LOOKS just like it did twenty-seven years ago,” Mom says, looking around the living room of Sam Abrams’s parents’ Duncan Avenue home. “I remember coming to one of your senior parties here. My god, you and Sam were just boys.”

“How come I’ve never been here before?” Annie asks, looking wide-eyed around the unfamiliar house. “If you’re such good friends with Mr. Sam?”

“His parents are older than Gram and Papa, punkin. That’s why they moved to Florida.”

“But they kept this house? And the furniture?”

“That’s right. So they can come visit their kids during holidays.”

“Jewish holidays?”

“I imagine so. Why don’t you run upstairs and check out the bedrooms? That’s where they all are.”

Annie looks toward the ceiling, then sniffs suspiciously. “It smells like old people.”

“Well, they lived here fifty years, at least.”

As Annie wraps her mind around this, I know my mother must be thinking of the house she and my father lost to arson seven years ago.

“Come on, Gram,” Annie says. “Let’s see where we’re going to be living this time.”

Mom waves her toward the front foyer and stairs. “You go on, honey. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Annie rolls her eyes, then takes my mother’s suitcase from her. “I’ll carry your bag up.”

“Thank you, muffin.”

At age eleven, Annie must be pretty tired of being addressed as punkin and muffin, but she rarely protests so long as none of her friends are around. She disappears in search of the stairs, and then I hear the clunk-clunk-clunk of a heavy case being dragged up carpeted steps.

My mother gives me a look that communicates many things: guilt and regret most of all. “I hate losing the Abramses. But we’ve lost most of Natchez’s Jewish families over the last twenty years. All their children settled elsewhere.”

“Like most of my classmates.”

“Won’t the neighbors think George and Bernice have come back to town?”

I can’t help but chuckle at this. “Sam called the nosiest one and told her he’s rented the house to a visiting professor from Alcorn State University.”

“That was smart.”

“The only question the neighbor asked was whether the professor was white or black.”

Mom smiles and shakes her head. “The closed garage is nice. I was a little worried people would recognize your car downtown, even tucked back behind the fence and bushes.”

“This is a better safe house by every measure. It’s totally untraceable, so long as you and Annie stay inside and keep the curtains closed.”

I walk into the kitchen and pull the curtains almost shut. The Abramses’ house stands on Duncan Avenue, facing a park donated to the city in the nineteenth century by one of the “nabobs of Natchez.” It’s one of the most peaceful streets in the city, since it faces the back nine of the golf course and thus has houses only on one side. Beyond the links, I can make out the Little League ball fields where Drew Elliott and I played Dixie Youth baseball.

Mom walks up behind me and squeezes my upper arm. “It’s going to be all right, Penn. I really believe that.”

Before I can answer, my new BlackBerry rings. After seeing Caitlin’s Treo earlier, I realized I couldn’t live without at least occasional access to my e-mail accounts. As soon as I set up the phone, I gave the number to Caitlin and Walker Dennis, telling them to use it only if they couldn’t reach me on one of my new TracFones.

“Who’s calling?” Mom asks anxiously.

“Sheriff Dennis, from Vidalia.”

She looks grave, and I realize she must fear the worst every time the phone rings.

“What you got, Walker?” I ask. “How are your deputies doing?”

“The second one just died. Terry Stamper was about to go into the OR over in Alexandria. Turns out his aorta was torn, and he bled out while he was on the gurney.”

“Jesus, Walker. I’m sorry.”

“Three kids, Penn. Oldest is six.”

“Is it about Tom?” my mother whispers, probably terrified by my expression.

I shake my head and cover the microphone hole. “Nothing to do with Dad. I may be a while. Why don’t you check on Annie?”

Mom nods and heads for the staircase.

“I’m so sorry, man,” I repeat, sitting at the banquette in the corner of the kitchen. “I wish we hadn’t gone to that warehouse.”

“That’s the job,” Dennis says stoically. “My men knew that. And we’re gonna finish this particular job.”

“I’m with you.”

“Good. I finally got ahold of Claude Devereux. I told him I wanted the Double Eagles in my office at seven A.M. tomorrow. All of them I could get, but for sure Snake Knox and Sonny Thornfield.”

“What did he say?”

“That he’d pass on my request—if he could find them.”

“He’ll pass it on, all right. He probably called Forrest Knox two seconds after you hung up. But Kaiser’s right. I wouldn’t expect to see the Eagles tomorrow.”

“Well, I’m going to question them one way or another, even if I have to extradite them from Texas. You could probably help me with that, huh?”

“Yes, but that’s a slow process. Have you found anything useful in what you confiscated during the busts?”

“Nothing against the Double Eagles. Going through the computers is slow work. But if we find something, it’s gonna be there.”

“What about your interrogations of the people you busted this morning?”

“Not one of them’s talked yet. They’re scared to death, Penn.”

“That tells me they know their employers well.”

“Yeah. But I’ve never seen anything like this. I feel like I could walk in there with a blowtorch and they wouldn’t say a word.”

This takes me back to my days as an ADA in Houston. “Have you checked out their families?”

“What do you mean?”

“I was thinking about hostages. Sometimes you see that in the drug trade. The Double Eagles might be holding some wives or kids, to ensure silence.”

“Oh. I get it. But tracing these families could be tough. Quite a few of these folks are illegals.”

“Do what you can. What about Leo Spivey’s death? Anything come from that?”

“It was probably murder, but there’s nothing pointing to anybody in particular. I’ll tell you something peculiar, though. I noticed it when I talked to Claude Devereux.”

“What’s that?”

“Claude sounded scared, too. Especially for a cocky old lawyer.”

I remember Pithy Nolan telling me that calling Claude Devereux a snake would be a slander to the serpent. “Lawyers who walk the line between both sides of the law tend to build up liabilities over the years. Maybe Devereux’s afraid that his note’s about to come due.”

“It is, if I have anything to do with it.”

“Are you going to tell John Kaiser you called Devereux?”

“I will if I hear the Eagles are coming in. Short of that, I got no use for Kaiser.”

“The FBI could help you with those computers you confiscated.”

Walker pauses for a moment. “I’ll think about it. What’s your plan?”

“I need to sleep, like you said. I’m about to pass out. But I can come over to the station if I can help you with anything.”

“Nah. Get some rest. If the Eagles do come in tomorrow, it’s gonna be a long day, and I want you there.”

“Thanks. And again . . . I’m sorry about your deputy.”