“Yes. Why?”

“Oh, come on, Deb’rah. You know why. Why else did you try to get him and Eric over here this afternoon? You know they didn’t leave their names with Jack or Mayleen.

Just like you know that Eric could’ve been the one to punch Braz Hartley.”

“No, I don’t!” I said hotly. “And neither do you. He wasn’t the only black kid at the carnival Friday night.”

“Maybe not, but I’ve got to start somewhere, and it might as well be with the one who’s acting suspicious. Or his friend. The one who has an aunt who can make him talk. Ride with me over to Chapel Hill?”

“This evening?”

“Why not?”

“Aren’t you seeing Sylvia tonight?”

“Nope. I’m seeing Stevie. Or I will if you’ll help me find him. You’re the one went to school there.”

“You could’ve,” I reminded him tartly.

Dwight looks more like a football player these days, but there was a time when he was so fast and could shoot a basketball from outside with such accuracy that Dean Smith had sent scouts to his high school games. For some reason, though, Dwight had joined the Army right after graduation.

He was driving his pickup this evening instead of a patrol car and he didn’t look very official in jeans and a long-sleeved green knit shirt with a navy blue collar.

“Shaw’s closer,” I said.

“Yeah, but you’re not Eric’s aunt. I thought I’d try to get Stevie to talk to me, off the record. Tell me what he saw, then go from there. We can stop for supper on the way home at that Mexican place you like. You want to come or not?”

With the odd vibes he was giving off, I wasn’t sure. On the other hand, I didn’t want him hassling Stevie without me there.

“Okay,” I said, “but only if I drive.”

“What’s wrong with my driving? Just because I keep to the speed limit—”

Dwight’s actually a good driver. When expediting with blue lights flashing and siren blaring, he can safely cover as much ground as any other officer in the county, but put him behind the wheel when he’s off duty and he becomes an automotive ambler, moseying along at five or ten miles below the speed limit. The drive to Chapel Hill takes me about fifty-five minutes. It would take him at least ninety.

“Just give me your keys,” I said. “I’m too hungry for you to drive.”

On the way over, Dwight let go of a few more details. There had been a bloody shoe print on the floor of the Dozer, and they’d found tissue samples and nasal mucus around the heel area.

“No distinctive tread, though,” said Dwight.

They were going to look into Braz’s auction buys and eBay sales. “The mother says they’ve got a place this side of Widdington and he’s been storing some of his buys there till they head back to Florida next month. We’ll go out with her tomorrow, and I may send Mayleen or Jack around to any self-storage units in the area where he’s bought stuff, but I still think we’re going to find the killer right there in the carnival. You do know the speed limit’s forty-five through here, right?”