Caitlin laid her hand softly against Henry’s hair and stroked it. “I know this is hard, to be trapped in this room while other people go out and try to finish what you started. It’s not fair, and I won’t pretend it is. But whatever I find, Henry, your name will be there with mine. I promise you that. Not for the glory—because I know that’s not what you care about—but for the closure. So the families will know it was you who brought them justice.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “And for Swan. She’ll see it, too.”

Henry finally turned to her, his eyes more alert than she’d seen them since the attack. “If you try to find the Bone Tree, you could end up just like me. Or worse.”

“I know that. But it’s worth it to me.”

After some moments, he nodded slowly. He tried to roll to his left, but failed. “My cell phone,” he groaned. “In my pants. In that bag, there. Get it.”

Caitlin quickly found a soiled pair of trousers in a shopping bag beside the chair she’d been sitting in. In their right front pocket was a Nokia cell phone.

“Look in my contacts,” he said. “Toby Rambin.”

Caitlin flicked through the buttons with manic dexterity. “Who is he? I looked for a phone number and couldn’t find one.”

“A poacher. Rambin hunts the swamp down in Lusahatcha County. I only found him a few days ago. Didn’t tell anybody. Not Penn … nobody. All he has is a cell phone. Talked to him Monday night. Rambin says he knows where the Bone Tree is. I was setting up a meeting, but … this happened.”

Caitlin’s heart thumped as her eyes zeroed in on the name in tiny text. “Got it.” Quickly, she memorized Rambin’s name and number, then entered the characters in her Treo. “Do you think this guy is for real?”

“Maybe. He sounded scared enough. He wants money, though.”

With a twinge of guilt, she edited Henry’s “Toby Rambin” contact so that the surname “Rambin” became “Smith.” Then she altered the area code of Rambin’s phone number to that of South Carolina. Unwilling to go so far as to delete the information altogether, she saved the changes, then slipped the phone back into Henry’s pants.

When she looked up, Henry was holding out his bandaged hand. Caitlin hurried to his bedside and took it in hers. “You be careful,” he said. “They play rough down in Lusahatcha County. The Knoxes own land down there.”

“I will. Let me ask you one more thing. I found a telephoto shot of you with a rifle scope over your face. What’s the story on that?”