Peach pulled a phone from her pocket. It was off; she’d turned it off before she went inside Dr Smeltz’s office. When she turned it on, the phone was slow to reacquire signal. She finally was able to open her mobile browser and hunt for the name of the lawyer that Deacon had given her. Alison Kuipers. She found an entry for the woman at the Tampa law firm used by the Common Way Foundation, and she dialed the lawyer’s direct number.

‘This is Alison Kuipers. Please leave a message …’

Peach wasn’t sure what to say. When she heard the beep, she left her number but no name. Then she added: ‘Call me as soon as you can. It’s about Justin Kiel.’

She hung up. As she did, her phone let out a noise like a wolf whistle. She had voicemail. When she checked her phone records, she saw that her brother Deacon had called while her phone was off. The call was three hours old.

She played the voicemail message and heard his voice, but it was muffled and strange. He was whispering.

‘Fruity, it’s me. Hey, listen … I got a call back from someone in state corrections. He says Frank Macy spent two years inside with a roommate named Truc. Vietnamese, gang affiliations in L.A. Truc is back on the street, and word is, he’s involved in gun trafficking. High-capacity assault weapons. Give me a call as soon as you get this message, okay? There’s something you should know about Macy and Diane, too …’

There was silence, and Peach thought that Deacon had hung up, but a moment later, he went on.

‘Listen, if Macy really is involved in something, chances are he’s not alone. Don’t trust anybody.’

Peach climbed out of her car and was immediately drenched. She didn’t run to dodge the rain; she didn’t have the energy, and her twisted ankle throbbed. She felt carried by the wind at her back. She squished through loose mud to the hole in the fence and made her way to 98th Street. Their house was black. Deacon’s Mercedes was parked in the driveway. He was home.

She kicked through running water in the street. It was dark brown with dirt and littered with pine needles, and it was already deep enough to carry debris from neighboring yards. She opened the gate in the warped fence – No Trespassing, Beware of Dog – and headed for the front door.

Give me a call as soon as you get this message, okay?

Ten feet away, she froze. Their front door was wide open.

The driving rain drowned out every other noise around her. Her eyes flicked to the windows, but she saw no movement behind the ratty curtains. Instinctively, she glanced over her shoulder. She was alone outside the house, but she didn’t feel less afraid.