For a few moments the three of us stood in self-conscious silence. Sensing strong emotion, the men didn’t know how to act, what to say. I didn’t feel like helping them out.

Avoiding my eyes, Slidell addressed Williams. “Meet me downtown. We’ll grill this cocksucker.”

On the drive home, my eyes burned and my chest heaved intermittently.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

Somehow, I didn’t.

A bubble bath and a change of clothes did wonders for my body.

My spirits remained in the cellar.

Slidell’s visit did nothing to lift them. Maybe it was his BO. More likely his report on Grady Winge.

“The prick’s stonewalling.”

“What do you mean?”

“He won’t talk. Keeps his eyes closed and his lips moving, like he’s praying.”

“What did he say about the graves?”

“You listening to me?”

“You must have other interrogation techniques.”

“Right. The rubber hoses slipped my mind.”

“What about a psychologist?”

“We reminded Mr. Winge of the popularity of capital punishment in this state. Now we’re letting him ponder that.”

An image of the two skeletons fountained up in my mind. I felt anger and sadness. Pushed them away.

“Now what?”

I asked. “I’m going to squeeze Lynn Nolan a little harder. This time pop her at home.”

“Why?”

“I want to know more about the guy Lovette was talking to at the Double Shot.”

“You think Nolan was holding back?”

“Let’s just say I want another run at her.”

“Did Williams tell you the FBI confiscated the Gamble-Lovette case file?”

“No.”

“He virtually admitted it.”

“Yeah?”

I described my aha! moment regarding the statements Winge gave in ’ninety-eight and on the previous Monday.

“Randall made a call, confirmed that Winge’s wording was identical. He must have had someone check the original file.”

“Those arrogant pricks.” Slidell’s jaw muscles bulged, relaxed. “Don’t matter. That sonofabitch is guilty and he’s going down. The question is, who else?”

“Where does Nolan live?” I asked.

“The old hometown. Kannapolis.”

It was obvious Slidell hadn’t been home. His BO was strong enough to put down a horse. The prospect of a car ride together was not appealing.

“You’re going now?”

“I thought I’d have a couple beers first, maybe catch a movie.”

The clock said 9:20.

I desperately craved sleep.

“Hold on.” I hurried to the study and grabbed my purse.

I’d overestimated the drive time. But underestimated the aromatics. By the time we got to Kannapolis, I craved another hot bath.

Nolan lived in a faux-colonial complex that looked like it had taken five minutes to construct. Her apartment was in the middle building, on the upper of two floors. Her unit and three others were accessed by the same iron and concrete staircase.

Slidell and I climbed to her door and rang the bell.

Nolan answered almost at once. She was wearing very little, most of it black and transparent.