“What’s Tyree saying?”

“I want a lawyer.”

“How does Tyree explain the cal s between his cel phone and J. J. Wyatt’s?”

“Little ragnose says things ain’t always what they seem. I’m paraphrasing.”

I was almost afraid to ask the next question.

“What about Tamela Banks and her family?”

“Tyree claims to know zip.”

“What about the baby?”

“DOA.”

Slidel ’s cal ousness curled the fingers of my free hand into a bal .

“We’re talking about a dead newborn, Detective.”

“Excuse me.” Singsong. “I missed my charm school class this week.”

“Cal me when you know more.”

Slamming the receiver, I leaned back and closed my eyes.

Images skittered through my mind.

Eyes devoid of caring, irises swal owed by drug-dazed pupils.

Gideon Banks’s tortured face, Geneva hovering silent in a doorway.

Charred and fragmented baby bones.

I thought of my daughter.

Infant Katy in soft, footed pj’s. Toddler Katy in pink ruffled swimsuit, chubby feet splashing in a plastic pool. Young woman Katy in shorts and tank, long brown legs pushing a front porch swing.

Scenes of normalcy. Scenes in which Tamela’s baby would never have a part.

Needing something, but unsure what, I reached for the phone and dialed my daughter. Her roommate answered.

Lija thought Katy had gone to Myrtle Beach with Palmer Cousins, wasn’t sure because she’d been away herself.

Was Katy answering her cel phone?

No.

I hung up, feeling scared.

Wasn’t Katy working as a temporary receptionist at Pete’s firm? This was Tuesday.

Didn’t Cousins have a job to go to?

Cousins. What was it about the guy that made me uneasy?

Thinking about Cousins brought me back to Aiker.

Back to the box.

Paw your way out.

I began typing random ideas onto the screen.

Premise:The Lancaster remains and the privy remains were one person.

Deduction:That person is not Brian Aiker.

Deduction:That person is not Charlotte Grant Cobb. DNA testing confirmed that the Lancaster remains were male.

Slidel ’s DOA comment had me angry and on edge. Was I being unfair to him? Maybe. Stil , I kept losing my train of thought.

Or was it anxiety over my daughter?

It was Slidel . The man was a bigoted, homophobic cretin. I thought about his tactless treatment of Geneva and Gideon Banks. I thought about his insensitive digs at Lawrence Looper and Wal y Cagle. What was that metaphoric quagmire about sleeping in tents and buying undies? Or his pearl concerning gender roles? Oh, yeah. Nature throws the dice, you stick with the toss. Embryonic bril iance.

Outside the cube.

What appeared to be coke turned out to be goldenseal.

What appeared to be leprosy turned out to be sarcoidosis.

Another Slidel ism: Things ain’t always what they seem. Or was that a Tyreeism?

Outside the four squares.

An idea. Improbable, but what the hel .