“If these bones are what we think they are,” I tell her, “that won’t matter. You might be asked some questions to establish exactly where you found them, but no one’s going to press trespassing charges. They’ll be too busy trying to keep out of trouble themselves.”

“What if they’re not what you think?”

“Then your names will never come up.”

Nancy breathes a little easier after this, but her jaw remains set.

Henry tugs anxiously at his mustache. He’s clearly afraid to let these bones out of his personal custody, and after all the work he’s done on these cases, I can hardly blame him.

“Sheriff’s an elected position,” Kirk reminds us. “Walker Dennis won’t want any part of this tar baby.”

“I don’t want you to say a word to him about my sources,” Henry says.

“No chance,” I promise. “And Kirk is probably right. Walker will want to punt this to the feds to protect his own ass. But at least we’ll know where we stand with him.”

Henry slaps the side of Kirk’s truck. “Screw it. It’s been thirty-seven years since those boys disappeared. Let’s find out what the sheriff’s made of.”

I take the carefully wrapped bones from Kirk and give him sober thanks, but the marine just laughs and shakes his head. “Beats the shit out of working for a living.”

Nancy clearly has a different opinion.

Twenty seconds later, the parking lot is empty again.

THE CONCORDIA PARISH SHERIFF’S Office occupies the lower floor of the parish courthouse, an incongruously modern building constructed in the 1970s. Partially faced with brown reflective windows tilted back at an angle, the stucco building looks onto the junky sprawl that lines Highway 84 from Vidalia to Ferriday. The presence of the sheriff’s department is evidenced by clusters of white cruisers to the left of the courthouse, augmented by rescue boats and a mobile command post parked under metal shelters at the rear.

I called Sheriff Dennis as soon as Henry and I pulled out of the music store parking lot, and he agreed to meet us with the understanding that I would explain why we needed a deputy to escort us out of Ferriday last night. When we arrive at the basement motor pool, we find a brown-uniformed deputy waiting to lead us up to the sheriff’s office.