Wilson gave him a funny look, then said, “My understanding is that Frank Vaughn lost a pretty solid circumstantial case in a hang-’em-high county—” Something about the image he’d painted for Darren made Wilson go red, as if he’d unexpectedly passed gas in an elevator. He cleared his throat and continued. “Vaughn had his day, he had his grand jury, and he couldn’t get an indictment. That ought to make him think twice about trying again anytime soon.”

“Or it might make him try harder.”

Wilson seemed to contemplate this for a second, then repeated his earlier directive: “Don’t fuck this up, Mathews. I’m serious. Mack ain’t your problem. That murder case ain’t your problem.” Darren couldn’t tell Wilson that he was dead wrong—not without opening up the whole sordid story of the gun and his double-dealing mama. And no way he was doing that. He simply nodded dutifully when his lieutenant told him to get to Jefferson as fast as he could.

4.

4.

HE CALLED Lisa from the road, left two messages for her, in fact, before he reached the freeway. Her secretary promised Lisa would call back as he nosed his Chevy through the last trickle of morning rush hour, making his way through the concrete city to Highway 59, the road that would take him out of Houston and into the heart of East Texas. He drove north, toward Jefferson, a town of a little over two thousand near the Louisiana border. The case file lay open on the passenger seat of the Chevy’s cab, while the letter from Bill King rested against the steering wheel as he drove. He read it in snatches, pulling his eyes from the road for only a few seconds at a time. After he got past the town of Humble and George Bush’s airport, the task grew easier, as the buildings and strip malls, tractor dealerships and fireworks stands gave way to naked countryside—thick groves of pine trees on both sides of the highway—and the traffic thinned.

Bill King opened by quoting Deuteronomy.

He knew God wanted him to be strong and courageous, to not give in to fear, because the Lord would not forsake him. He knew this. But he reckoned God had soldiers of grace on earth, and he needed someone to find his boy. He begged the governor, addressing him by his first name, to press the sheriff of Marion County to take seriously reports of his son Levi being missing.