"What sort of area did they live in?"

"A county of small towns and farms. The group owned a sizable farm, but they sold it. They left it in perfect order for the new owner, complete with a tractor and other essential equipment, so apparently they didn't plan to take up farming again in another location."

"It's just a total blank, isn't it?" she said.

"Seems that way, and it's a little late in the game to start tracking these people. If they left no trace then, there would certainly be no trace now."

"I suppose you're right."

They were both silent for a moment.

"How are you doing?" he asked quietly, and in such a way that she knew it wasn't simply a polite question.

"I'm just sitting here letting my mind wander, and all I seem to be able to think about is Jackson. Have you ever lost anybody?"

"My parents, but not in the same way. They had long and productive lives and, when they finally became ill, died quickly."

"Have you ever lost a friend by violence?"

"I've known cops who were killed in the line of duty. I've never personally known an innocent bystander like Jackson who died in a crime."

"You know, it's said that when people have limbs amputated, the nerve endings in the stump make them think they can still feel the leg or arm."

"I've heard that."

"That's how it feels, as if some important part of me had suddenly been amputated, but I can still feel it. It's still real."

"It won't always be that way."

"I'm afraid to hope for that. I might feel better not losing that part of me completely."

"After my father died-he followed my mother by a couple of years-I would find myself dialing his number, expecting to talk to him. It took a couple of weeks to get past that. I'd want his advice, and I'd just pick up the phone, then feel like an idiot"

"I'm not the first to feel this way, I know," she said, "but it's the first time for me, and I don't like it."

"I wish there were something I could say to make it better."

"Thanks. I guess I'll just have to find a way to deal with it. It's okay when I'm working-I told you how I can switch it off. But when I got home tonight…" Her voice trailed off.

"Have you had dinner yet?" he asked.

"Yes, I just ate something, but thanks for asking." She was sorry she had eaten; she would have enjoyed his company. "Jackson would have liked you," she said.

"I liked him, for the brief time we knew each other."

There was an awkward silence.

"Listen," he said, "I've got a nervous feeling about this little town you found. When you go out there tomorrow, let your office know about it and arrange a check-in schedule."

"I really don't think it's dangerous," she said.

"Don't take a chance. If these are the people who robbed the bank, they don't take chances, and they don't mind killing. It would make me feel better if you kept in touch with your office."

"Oh, all right, if it'll make you feel better."

He gave her his cell phone number. "And you can call me, if you need to."

"Don't worry, I'll be with Ham, my dad. Nothing bad could happen to me in his company."

"I hope you're right," Stone said. "Good night."

"Good night." She hung up and tried to watch Sam Waterston win his difficult case.

She woke up in the middle of the night, still in Jackson's chair.

Ham turned up at eight o'clock- late, for him-and demanded coffee before they left for their trip.

"I guess we're fishing in more ways than one, huh?"

"Yep," Holly said.

"What are we fishing for?"

"Bank robbers, but I don't suppose they'll be wearing ID tags. Apart from that, I just want to get a close-up look at the place, get the feel of it."

"Okay, you're the boss," he replied, downing the last of his coffee.

"Daisy, sit," Holly said to the dog. "No dogs today, you're staying home."

Daisy looked hurt.

"Don't try the guilt thing," Holly said sternly. "Stay. Let's go, Ham."

Ham had loaded a light aluminum skiff, a couple of rods and a tackle box into the bed of his pickup truck. "Camouflage," he said, nodding at the dingy. They got into the truck and started toward the mainland.

"I hope you aren't packing," she said.

"Funny you should mention it," he replied.

"Give it to me," she said.

He handed her his Beretta 9mm, and she stuffed it into the glove box.

"Lock it when we get there," she said.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I'm light. I don't want anybody thinking we're the law."

"I'm a retired military guy," he said. "You're the law."

"I'm retired military, too, and don't forget it today. Forget about the law part. Oh, I almost forgot." She took out her cell phone, dialed the station and asked for Hurd Wallace.

"Deputy Chief Wallace," he drawled.

"Hurd, it's Holly. Ham and I are going out to Lake Winachobee to take a look at a little town on its northern bank."

"Okay," Hurd replied.

"I want to be cautious about this, so I'm going to call in every hour at fifteen minutes past, give or take. If you don't hear from me for two hours in a row, call the sheriff and come find me, and bring some backup, too."

"What are you getting into, Holly?"

"I don't know, and that's why I'm being cautious. Don't do anything rash, but if I miss two calls, come get me."

"All right, but you watch yourself. Ham, too."

"Thanks, I'll talk to you later." She punched out.

"You really think that's necessary?" Ham asked.

"I sure hope not."

As they approached the turnoff to Lake Winachobee, they ran into a line of stopped traffic, and two minutes passed before they were able to turn left. A sheriff's deputy, probably an off-duty hiree, was directing traffic, and they followed a dozen other cars down the dirt road.

"We must be in the next county," Holly said, checking the map. "That's not an Indian River County deputy. Yes, here it is-Deep Lake County. I've never even heard of it."

"Doesn't seem to be much to it," Ham said, glancing at the map.

"Except all this traffic."

"Maybe they're having a fishing tournament," Ham said.

"You see any fishing gear on these cars and trucks?" Holly asked.

"Now that you mention it, no, but I see a lot of rifle racks."

"Who are these folks? What do you think?"

"They look pretty ordinary," Ham said. "There's one truck just like mine, the rest are American cars or SUVs. I don't see any Japanese or German stuff."

"So they're patriots."

"Automotive patriots, anyway," Ham said.

"I guess we're dressed the part," Holly said. They were both wearing old camouflage fatigue tops over jeans, their usual fishing outfits. There was a faded spot on Ham's sleeves where his stripes used to be.

The traffic moved swiftly down the dirt road, kicking up dust. Ham rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioning.

Holly could see the row of Main Street buildings ahead, but before they reached them, another deputy directed them to turn right, along with all the other traffic.

"I hope this isn't some kind of Klan meeting," Ham said. "I might have to shoot somebody."

They were directed into a large clearing in the pines, and ahead stood a tent that would house a small circus. They parked the truck, and Holly insisted that Ham lock the glove box. Everybody was filing toward the tent, and they fell in with the group.

They were an ordinary, blue-collar-looking group, Holly thought, though some of them looked more prosperous than that. There were families with small children and teenagers, all neatly dressed-no long hair or tattered jeans.

"Must be a revival meeting," Ham said. "These look like church folk."

Holly looked around for posters or flyers advertising the event, but saw nothing. Just outside the tent they joined a line that had formed, and a couple of minutes later they were approaching a ticket desk, except no tickets were being sold. Instead, people were laying twenty-dollar bills on the counter, and they were being put into a box.