“Hold that thought,” I said.

A few minutes later, the Suburban stopped and picked up Warren Griffin, who lived nearby in Greystone. It drove on to Knob Hill and picked up Brownley Harris. Then the Suburban sped out of Rocky Mount on US-64, heading in the direction of Raleigh.

“None of them look shot up,” Sampson said. “That's too bad. So who'd you shoot on Fifth Street?”

“I have no idea. Complicates things though, doesn't it? These three know something. They're in this conspiracy we've been hearing about.”

The silent gray wall?"

“That's the one. Seems to work pretty well, too.”

I didn't have to follow too closely, didn't even have to keep the Suburban in sight. Earlier that morning, around three o'clock, I'd slapped a radio-direction-finding device under the vehicle. Ron Burns was helping me in any way he could. I'd told him about the shooting at my house.

I kept a good distance behind the killers. The Suburban stayed on US-64 past Zebulon, then 1-440 to 85th South. We went by Burlington, Greensboro, Charlotte, Gastonia and then entered South Carolina.

Sampson sat beside me on the front seat, but he fell asleep before we got to South Carolina. He had worked a shift the day before and he was exhausted. He finally woke up in Georgia, yawned, and stretched his big body as best he could in the cramped space.

“Where are we?”

“Lavonia.”

“Oh, that's good news. Where's Lavonia?”

“Near Sandy Cross. We're in Georgia. Still hot on their trail.”

“You think this is another hit coming up?”

“We'll see.”

At Doraville we stopped at a diner and had breakfast. The state-of-the-art device attached to the Suburban was still tracking. It seemed unlikely that they'd check and find it at this point.

The breakfast cheese omelets, country ham and grits -was a little disappointing. The diner looked just about perfect, and it sure smelled good when we walked inside, but the generous portions were bland, except for the country ham, which was too salty for me.

“You going to follow up with Burns? Maybe become an FBI man?” Sampson asked after he'd downed his second coffee. I could tell he was finally waking up.

“I don't know for sure. Check with me in a week or so. I'm a little burnt out right now. Like this food.”

Sampson nodded. “It'll do. I'm sorry I got you involved in all this, Alex. I don't even know if we can bring them down. They're cocky, but they're careful when they need to be.”

I agreed. “I think they did the hits solely for money. But that doesn't explain enough. What happened to start the killing? Who's behind it? Who's paying the bills?”

Sampson's eyes narrowed. “The three of them got a taste for killing in the war. Happens sometimes. I've seen it.”

I put down my knife and fork and pushed the plate away. No way could I finish off the omelet and ham. I'd barely touched the grits, which needed something. Maybe cheddar cheese? Onions, sauteed mushrooms?