“What are the chances a witness would use the exact same words and phrasing so many years apart?” I was totally psyched.

Williams appeared to consider that. “You think Winge made up his story? Practiced it to be sure he’d get it right?”

“It would explain why the Mustang could never be traced. Think about it. A car that rare?”

“Why would Winge lie?”

No one had an answer.

“Slidell says Winge is as dumb as a bag of hammers,” Larabee offered.

“He’s not a smart man,” I agreed.

“Why tip you about Eli Hand?” Williams asked.

“Maybe Winge was involved in Hand’s death and is feeling guilty,” Larabee tossed out.

“After more than a decade?” Williams sounded skeptical.

“He claims to have found Jesus,” I said.

“You believe him?”

I shrugged. Who knows?

“Maybe Winge was involved in what happened to Gamble and Lovette.” Larabee was hitting his stride. “Maybe he killed them. Maybe he killed Wayne Gamble because the guy was figuring things out.”

We all went still, realizing the implications of that line of reasoning.

Might Winge think I was figuring things out? Had he left me the threatening voice mail? Might he be planning a similar “accident” for me?

“We’ve got Winge under twenty-four-hour surveillance,” Williams said. “If he changes his socks, we’ll know about it.”

Williams stood.

Randall stood.

“Until this is resolved, I’m going to ask the CMPD to run units by your town house on an hourly basis.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary?”

“Better safe than sorry.”

Williams stuck out a hand. “Nice job on the Mustang catch.”

“Thanks.”

We shook. Randall did not join in.

“Perhaps it’s best if you lay low for a while.”

What the flip? First Galimore, now Williams.

I made a noncommittal sound.

“I’ll phone if anything breaks,” Williams said.

That call came very, very soon.

Chapter 29

GALIMORE RANG AT NINE-TWENTY. THE WEEKEND’S RACES were fast approaching, and the media were growing hysterical for information on Wayne Gamble’s death. He couldn’t leave the Speedway for any reason.

Galimore sounded so rushed, I didn’t take time to mention that the landfill John Doe had been identified. Or to explain how that had come about.

Slidell phoned around ten. I filled him in on recent developments. He promised to locate Maddy Padgett once he got done checking documents and a PC confiscated from Wayne Gamble’s trailer.

Williams’s call came at eleven-fifteen. I was in the stinky room gluing cranial fragments. Wayne Gamble’s partially reconstructed skull sat in a bowl of sand at my elbow.

Williams sounded out of breath. “About the time we were leaving the MCME, Winge got into his truck and drove from his mother’s house to the Stephens Road Nature Preserve. You know it?”

“It’s between Mountain Island Lake and Lake Norman, right?”