There was no way the map was to scale; it didn’t even show the whole of the lake, just the shore on the Harrison County side, the docks near the town of Karnack, part of Goat Island, the largest on the lake, and Horse Island. Between those two islands sat what was called Back Lake, and Darren remembered that the water out there was so wide and unruly that folks had broken it into parts in their minds to be able to make sense of something so massive. Back Lake ultimately flowed into Clinton Lake, on whose shores Hopetown sat, the northeastern-most part of the lake that belonged to Texas.

Somewhere in all that blue on the page, Marcus put his finger on a spot that was about the shape and size of a butterbean, according to this map.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “Bordered on all sides by tall pines and hickory trees, so that you can’t hardly know what all’s went on there. But that’s it. Gogo.”

“You got another one?” Darren said, shaking his head when Marcus reached for another book. “No, a larger map, something they give out to tourists and fishermen, that sort of thing? Between the two maps, I think I can find it.”

“How you gon’ get there?”

That had yet to be figured out. On the way over, Darren had called Sheriff Quinn three times, each time leaving the same message about needing to get in contact with the game warden. The sheriff had not returned his calls, and Darren thought it was probably time to accept that that bridge was burned and smoldering by now. So he phoned his lieutenant in Houston. “Mathews,” Wilson barked as soon as he picked up his desk line. “Why am I still getting calls from Frank Vaughn, the DA in San Jacinto County? You didn’t mention the Bill King catch, did you?”

“No.” He hadn’t. And his mother still hadn’t returned any of his phone calls.

“Good, ’cause until we get this thing down on paper, get a notary to witness his confession, I don’t want to be putting our business in the street. Frank and his team in San Jacinto County been working this one for nearly two months now, and I want to be sure we got this in the bag before I tell him we got the killer, tell him to back off and let us run the case from here on out.”

“I want the same thing.”

“Well, maybe I’ll wait to figure out what he wants,” Wilson said. He made a wincing sound and then took a swig from something on his desk. Darren pictured another of his wife’s concoctions, some buttermilk and mashed-beans brew, maybe; Darren could only imagine. “You on your way back to Houston? I imagined you’ve done worn out your welcome in Marion County.”