“I pulled Eddie’s book for the fall of ’ninety-eight. Your MPs are in there. Cindi Gamble, seventeen, Cale Lovette, twenty-four. Last seen at the Charlotte Motor Speedway on October fourteenth. They were attending some big-ass race.”

“The Speedway is located in Cabarrus County,” I said. “Why did Eddie and Galimore catch the case?”

“Apparently the girl’s parents called it in here. Then Kannapolis asked the Charlotte PD to stay in. You want to hear this or what?”

As frequently happened when dealing with Slidell, my upper and lower molars started reaching for each other.

“Gamble and Lovette were an item. He worked at the track. She was a senior at A. L. Brown High in Kannapolis.”

Slidell paused. I could tell he was skimming, which meant this might take the rest of the morning.

“The girl’s parents are listed as Georgia and James Gamble. Brother Wayne. According to the mother, Cindi left home around ten that morning to go to the track.” Pause. “Good student. No problems with drugs or alcohol. That checked out solid.

“The boy’s mother is listed as Katherine Lovette. Father’s Craig Bogan. Kid left home at his normal time, seven a.m. Records showed he clocked in for the job, didn’t clock out.

“A maintenance worker name of Grady Winge saw the MPs around six that night. Lovette was talking to a male subject unknown to Winge. Gamble and Lovette drove off with the subject in a ’sixty-five Petty-blue Mustang with a lime-green decal on the windshield on the passenger side. What the hell’s Petty blue?”

“Was the car traced?” I asked.

“Winge didn’t get a plate.”

Pause. I could almost hear Skinny reading with his finger.

“Lovette hung with a group of right-wing nutballs called themselves the Patriot Posse. Militia types. The feds had him and his buddies under surveillance. I’m guessing they were hoping for a lead to Eric Rudolph.”

Slidell referred to a suspect in the bombings at Centennial Olympic Park, the lesbian bar, and both abortion clinics. In May ’ninety-eight Rudolph made the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list and became the subject of a million-dollar reward. For five years, while federal and amateur teams searched, Rudolph lived as a fugitive in the Appalachian wilderness, evading capture with the assistance of white-supremacist, anti-government sympathizers, only to be caught almost accidentally by a local town cop. Rudolph was scavenging a supermarket Dumpster for food.

“—Special Agents Dana Reed and Marcus Perenelli.”

I jotted down the names.

“What the hell makes them special? Think I’ll start calling myself Special Detective Slidell.”

I heard a sharp inhalation followed by thwp. I knew a wad of Juicy Fruit was sailing into a flowerpot on Slidell’s desk.

“Wayne Gamble said a task force investigated the disappearances.”