“Just trying to see if anything may have been missed. Did you try to find Cale on your own?” I opened and sipped my Pepsi. It was warm, but I wanted Bogan to feel at ease.

“I contacted everyone I could think of. Trouble was, I didn’t know much about the kid’s life. The only thing he and I ever shared was NASCAR.”

“You and Cale were estranged,” I said.

“He blamed me for his mother’s death. Like I could have prevented it? The woman was an alkie and a crackhead.”

“Do you believe your son left the area voluntarily?”

“Yeah. I can believe that.”

“Why?”

“He and his girlfriend were all caught up in that movement.”

“The Patriot Posse.”

“Look, Cale had been living on his own for six years.” Defensive. “He was twenty-four. I had no control over who he hung out with. Not that I disagreed with everything they were saying.”

“Do you know Grady Winge?” I asked.

“Isn’t he the guy who saw Cale and his girlfriend driving off in a ’sixty-five Petty-blue Mustang?”

“Yes.”

Again, jazz erupted from my purse.

“I’m so sorry. I thought I’d switched it to vibrate also.”

“Blame Daytona.”

I reached in and flicked a button. When I sat back, Bogan was eyeing me oddly.

“Grady Winge?” I asked.

“I knew Winge to shoot the breeze. We talked gardening a couple of times. But I don’t leave home to watch races anymore.” He gestured at the TV. “Got a better seat right here.”

“What about Eugene Fries?”

“Never heard of him.”

“Fries was a concession-stand worker at the Speedway in 1998.”

“That narrows it to a couple hundred people.”

Galimore rejoined us. Again apologized for the interruption.

I let him take over.

“Talk about Cindi Gamble.”

Bogan screwed his lips to one side and shook his head.

“You didn’t like her?”

“Wasn’t much to like or dislike. The word I’d use is ‘ordinary.’ But she had some crazy-ass ideas.”

“Such as?”

“The little girl wanted to drive NASCAR.”

“Why was that crazy?”

“Cindi Gamble was as likely to drive NASCAR as I am to swim naked with Julia Roberts.”

“She did well with Bandoleros.”

Bogan snorted derisively. “I saw a couple of those races. That gal couldn’t steer her way around a toilet bowl. Cale could outdrive her any day of the week.”

Daytona chose that moment to stroll in and jump onto Bogan’s lap.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude. But I’ve got bougainvillea needs fertilizing.”

I looked at Galimore. He nodded.

I hit Bogan with my standard closer. “What do you think happened back in ’ninety-eight?”

Bogan shrugged.

“At the time, did you agree with the task force finding?”

“Who was I to disagree?”

“Do you still accept it?”

Bogan stroked Daytona for a while before answering.