Could Dad be hiding at Quentin’s house? When the old lawyer’s not working in Washington, D.C., he lives on seventy acres in Jefferson County, Mississippi, and I can hardly think of a more isolated sanctuary for Walt and my father to hide in. Whether Quentin would risk his law license to hide a client fleeing a murder warrant is another question. But of course my father is more than a client to Quentin. This half-crazy idea gives me the first hope I’ve felt since I learned Dad jumped bail, but the only way I can safely confirm it is to drive the thirty-five miles to Quentin’s place.

Turning right on Franklin Street, I cruise past the turn to City Hall and continue north, half convinced I should make the drive right away. There’s not much else I can accomplish in the next couple of hours. Since my altercation with Randall Regan didn’t trigger any incriminating phone chatter, he and Brody are obviously smarter than I’d hoped. The only other thing that might push them to incriminate themselves is Sheriff Dennis hitting the Knoxes’ drug operations, which won’t happen for another eighteen hours, at the earliest. Why am I even thinking about that? Now that Dad and Walt have been painted as cop killers, everything else is academic—

When my phone rings, I assume it’s Kaiser calling back, but it turns out to be Chief Logan of the Natchez police.

“Don? What’s happening?”

“I found what you were looking for. Are you still interested?”

“Can you be more specific?” I ask, confused.

“L.T.”

Lincoln Turner. My heartbeat picks up immediately. “Where?”

“His white pickup is parked at a juke joint out by Anna’s Bottom. It’s called CC’s Rhythm Club. Looks like your basic dump to me.”

Having been thwarted on all fronts today, the idea of confronting the man who started this nightmare—and who’s been stalking my family—appeals to me. Moreover, Anna’s Bottom lies in roughly the same direction as Quentin Avery’s place. You could almost say it’s on the way.

“Keep him there, Don. I’m on my way.”

“Keep him there? He’s outside the city limits, Penn. I’ve got no grounds to detain the guy if he tries to leave.”

“He’s in a jook house, right? If he tries to leave, give him a field sobriety test. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t even have jurisdiction out here! This is the county. Billy Byrd’s territory. Penn, wait. You don’t sound like yourself. I heard about that APB, too. What exactly you are planning to do?”

“Just keep the subject where he is, Don. I’m on my way.”