Padgett shook her head. “He was nuts for that girl. Even as he was screwing me, Cale was crazy in love with Cindi.”

I was about to ask another question when the #72 Dodge roared into its pit. Padgett yelled to be heard over the noise of the engine.

“I’ve got to go.”

“Can we talk again later? I’m willing to wait.”

“Come back when the race ends. Joey won’t be hitting Victory Lane after this one.”

“Where?”

“At the hauler. We’ll be loading up.”

Pulling my hood over my head, I walked back to the gap where I’d stood earlier. Thunder and lightning were putting on quite a performance. Strong winds were whipping the rain into horizontal sheets.

Many fans had abandoned the stands for cover. Those who remained in their seats huddled under umbrellas or sat swaddled in brightly colored plastic ponchos.

Some drivers were still on the track. Others, like Frank, had opted for pulling into the pit.

I looked around for a dry spot to wait out the storm. Seeing few options, I decided to seek sanctuary with Galimore.

As before, he didn’t answer his mobile.

Annoyed, I resolved to find the security office on my own.

As I walked, head down, shoulders hunched against the downpour, disjointed data bytes ricocheted in my brain.

Slidell was certain Grady Winge had murdered Cale Lovette and Cindi Gamble and buried their bodies in the nature preserve. But what motive did Winge have? And why would he kill Wayne Gamble? To cover up his earlier crime? Gamble hadn’t died from abrin. He might have eventually, but had someone decided his death needed to be immediate?

Winge had the IQ of a brussels sprout. How had he gotten his hands on abrin? And why use it? Cindi and Cale had been shot, not poisoned.

Eli Hand had been poisoned. With ricin. But had that killed him? Larabee’s autopsy had also revealed head trauma.

Did Hand accidentally poison himself while experimenting with ricin? Were he and other crazies planning to use the toxin in some sort of terrorist assault? Was that what Cale Lovette and the old guy were discussing at the Double Shot?

Winge had access to the track, the barrel, the asphalt. Was he also responsible for Hand’s death?

Had Cindi and Cale discovered that Winge killed Hand? Was that why he shot them?

Had Winge truly been born again? If so, did his conversion spring from guilt?

Waterlogged fans crammed every shelter and filled every canopied or awninged foot of dry ground. At least a hundred huddled under the portico at the Media Center. Dozens had crawled under picnic tables outside concession stands.

Seeing a foot of space between a woman in a tissue-thin Danica Patrick tee and a shirtless old geezer in nothing but cutoffs, I darted under the overhang of a cinder-block restroom building. Thunder boomed as I dialed Slidell’s number.