Darren stayed in town long enough to meet two of her sisters, who had flown in from Washington, DC, and Pennsylvania; they thanked him for alerting the authorities to her disappearance, but still he felt ashamed there wasn’t much else he could do. It was not a case in which the Texas Rangers chose to get involved. It was Quinn’s to handle. He told the sisters that Monica had tried to stop something she thought was wrong, that she had prevented good people from being cheated out of their birthright and that it may have gotten her killed. They said they were going to stay for a bit, renting a room in the hotel where their sister was last seen and promising to park outside of Rosemary King’s house for days on end; they wanted her to feel their sister’s ghost.

When Leroy Page came out of his coma a week later, he was arrested again, this time for kidnapping and child endangerment, but only Sheriff Quinn’s men were present. Greg had left town by then, and so had Darren, but not before he’d gotten the old man to sign legal documents that Lisa had generously had a lawyer at her firm prepare, pro bono, for Mr. Page, papers that turned over property rights to Margaret and Donald Goodfellow with a clause that specifically forbade any subleasing of the land, thereby eradicating the legal and cultural loophole the white nationalists in the trailer park had used to usurp a whole swath of Hopetown, terrorizing Mr. Page and Margaret’s extended family.

Lisa had seemed pleased she was able to help.

It was, they both knew, the least she could do.

Greg and Darren had met at the edge of Hopetown to watch while Marion County deputies kicked out every resident in every trailer, van, car, houseboat, and tent, telling them anything they couldn’t drive off the land in fifteen minutes would be demolished by a bulldozer. People rushed out barefoot holding picture albums, TVs, one fellow struggling to carry a minifridge. They packed up cars, trucks, and the yellow van that sat next door to the trailer where Gil Thomason had lived with Marnie and her kids. They were all running, all except Bo, whom the deputies had arrested two days before for shooting into Leroy Page’s house and nearly killing the man. Attempted murder, another state felony. Greg, his hate-crime work done, had brought a couple of beers to the show, and they both leaned against Darren’s truck, having the most peaceful moment between them in days, both enjoying the spectacle of white folks being run off some shit they’d never owned, had no business touching.

At one point, Greg’s expression grew soft, pensive. “We got to talk, man.”

Darren shook his head. “Not now, Greg. Soon. But not now.”

He never got a chance to say a proper goodbye to any of them.