Taking out my cell phone, I call Chief Logan and ask why the hell his patrolmen haven’t managed to locate Turner yet, when he’s obviously stalking my family. Logan apologizes and promises to find Lincoln within the next few hours.

Only slightly mollified, I hang up and trudge back toward the steps of my house. Before I reach them, I hear another engine coming from the direction opposite where Lincoln fled. Crouching behind my car, I watch until I recognize the vehicle, which turns out to be a Concordia Parish sheriff’s cruiser. It pulls into the space Lincoln just vacated, and its engine dies. Walker Dennis climbs out and looks up at my front door.

I start to rise from my hiding place, but then I remember John Kaiser asking if Sheriff Dennis might have set up the hit on Henry Sexton—or at least made it possible by pulling his guard patrols. It’s certainly possible, but as I watch the new sheriff studying my door, all my instincts tell me he’s no threat, but rather a man trying to decide whether I can be trusted.

When I rise from behind the Audi, my pistol in my hand, Dennis stares at me in amazement. “You gonna use that pistol, or whistle Dixie?” he asks, a strange smile on his face. “What the hell are you doing, Mayor?”

“Lincoln Turner was just here. He’s stalking me.”

Dennis shakes his head, meaning to convey sympathy.

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

“I’ve been thinking about what you asked me this morning. About busting the Knoxes’ meth operations.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t prove they were involved in any of that.”

The sheriff waves his hand dismissively. “I didn’t want to go into any of that with Henry Sexton around. But I’ve got a history with Forrest Knox.”

An electric chill of presentiment races along my arms. “Tell me.”

“Two years back, I lost a cousin who worked undercover in our department. I was just a deputy then. Mikey ran our K-9 unit. Long story short, he got shot making an undercover buy with another cop. Earlier that day, he told me what was supposed to go down. He and this state-cop-slash-informant were supposed to buy some bulk meth chemicals. When Mikey was killed, the state CIB told us he’d died alone. They claimed their guy had been working two hundred miles away with the Gulf Coast High Density Drug Traffic Unit. I tried to follow up that story, but every door got slammed in my face. So one day I took Mikey’s drug dog to where the bastard was. The dog nearly went crazy. I pushed for an investigation based on that, but it got quashed. By Lieutenant Colonel Forrest Knox, in case you’re wondering.”

“I’m sorry, Walker. I had no idea.”