“A very smart and calculating move,” Daniels said. “I’d expect no less from you.”

“Chaplain, look at it from our perspective,” Stone said. “She’s putting a lot of pressure on Tallahassee. Demanding her husband be released from lockup and a full investigation be conducted. She’s gone to the press. The department has to act quickly and decisively. We’ll get to the bottom of it and if you’re innocent—”

“If,” I said. “If. This is . . .”

“Listen to me, Chaplain,” Stone said. “Don’t make this any worse than it is. Lie low. Let us investigate. I promise you the truth will come out.”

Fortner finally spoke up. “I know you think this is personal because of your history with Inspector Daniels, but I’d have to handle things the same way based on the victim’s testimony and the evidence we have.”

“You said you found semen and blood,” I said. “Test it. She told me her husband raped her. I’m sure you’ll find it’s his.”

“You willing to provide a sample too?” Daniels said.

“Absolutely. But to FDLE, not you.”

32

The thing I wanted to do most—confront Molly Thomas—I couldn’t do.

It would only make things worse.

So would having Dad or someone in his department talk to her.

I was driving my old S-10 in the direction of town, but it was only a direction, not a destination. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to be.

I considered calling Susan to ask her to talk to her dad. What had she told him about what happened between us to get him to do what he’s doing? I hadn’t spoken to her in over a year and had no desire to do so now, but I was desperate.

In town I pulled into the Jr. Mart parking lot and used the pay phone to call her.

She didn’t answer.

I got back in my truck and considered driving up to the state park, but instead I just drove.

Eventually I wound up at Potter’s Landing, some ten miles outside town.

I started to make a U-turn, to head back into town, waiting long enough for a white Ford Bronco to pass by.

But it didn’t.

It slowed and pulled off the road at an angle blocking me in.

Matt Skipper and three other men, including Shutt, got out.

I tried to think whether there was anything in my truck I could use for a weapon. The tire iron was the only thing that came to mind, but it was latched inside a recessed storage spot in the back. I could never get it out in time.

I jammed the gear shifter in Reverse and stomped on the gas.

But before I had moved very far, Skipper was there pointing a handgun at my head through the open window.

“Stop and put it in Park,” he said.