“Why yesterday?” he asked.

I thought back over the past few days.

“Take your pick. On Friday I told Gideon Banks his daughter had kil ed her baby. On Saturday I excavated bear soup. On Sunday I scraped two guys out of a Cessna.”

“Dorton was ID’ed as the plane’s owner on Monday.”

“Right,” I agreed. “Pearce was ID’ed as the pilot on Tuesday. That’s also when we tossed the Foote farm.”

“Wasn’t the Cessna’s payload also discovered that day?”

“The coke was found on Monday, reported on Tuesday.”

“Makes me think somehow Dorton’s behind this. He gives the word on Monday or Tuesday. One of his henchmen starts clicking away on Wednesday.”

“Maybe. What about this. Slidel and Rinaldi were already looking at Darryl Tyree last week for the death of the Banks baby. By Wednesday they knew that Tyree and Jason Jack Wyatt were telephone buddies.”

“The Cessna passenger.”

I nodded.

“Tyree could have sent the e-mails.”

I thought about the warning in each subject line.

“Back off fromwhat?” I asked.

“Dogging Tyree?” Ryan threw out.

I made a face. “Slidel and Rinaldi are after Tyree. Why threaten me?”

“You’re the one who examined the baby. You’re the one pressing to find Tamela and her family.”

“Maybe.” I wasn’t persuaded. How hard was I real y pressing?

“Maybe it’s the privy victim,” Ryan suggested. “Maybe someone thinks you’re getting too close on that.”

“Slidel didn’t talk to Lancaster County until Wednesday. According to your reasoning, this scumbag was already fol owing me around by then.”

“What about the feathers?”

“We didn’t learn about the Spix’s until this morning.”

Boyd joined us. Ryan reached out and scratched his ear.

“We excavated the privy on Tuesday,” he said.

“Hardly anyone knew what we were looking for or what we found.” I counted on my fingers. “Larabee, Hawkins, Slidel , Rinaldi, the CSU techs, and the backhoe operator.”

Boyd swiveled and nudged my hand. I stroked him absently.

“I should cal Slidel .”

“Yes.”

Ryan stood and wrapped his arms around me. I pressed my cheek to his chest. The tension in his body was palpable.

When Ryan spoke his chin tapped the crown of my head.

“Whatever twisted mutant did this doesn’t realize the world of hurt that’s about to befal him.” Charlotte is neighborhoods. Elizabeth. Myers Park. Dil worth. Plaza-Midwood. Most cling to the past like Boston biddies gripping the genealogy charts that identify them as Daughters of the American Revolution. Zoning is enforced. Trees are protected. Nontraditional architecture, if not banned outright by a homeowners’ ordinance, is viewed with disapproval by obdurate residents.