I look away from his sad eyes, wondering what could possibly have driven a man of his strength and experience into such a miasma of defeatism. “No offense, Agent Stone, but I think you’ve been doing too much reading and not enough soul-searching.”

To my surprise, this does not anger him. He squeezes my shoulder. “You have more illusions than you think. I wish you luck.”

“I wouldn’t need it if you’d tell me what you know.”

He shakes his head and takes a step back. “Whatever you do, you send that little girl someplace safe before you take another step. You hear?”

“That I’ll do.”

As he retreats to his porch, I buckle Annie into her safety seat and join Caitlin in the front. She looks at me with fire in her eyes.

“Did you catch what he said inside?”

“About Payton’s murder not being about civil rights?”

“No. When you asked him if he had any personal notes he kept from his superiors.”

Stone is still watching us from the porch.

“He said if we wanted to learn what he did, we should do what he did.”

She nods excitedly. “Talk to the eyewitnesses, right? That was the first thing he said. He looked at you real hard. Remember?”

“Yes. Like he was trying to communicate something nonverbally. Do you know what it was?”

She gives me an almost taunting smile. “Talk to the eyewitnesses.”

“What is it, for God’s sake?”

“Penn . . . he used the plural. According to all accounts, there was only one eyewitness to the Payton bombing.”

She’s right. Frank Jones, the scheduling clerk. Had Dwight Stone tried to tell me—without telling me—that there was more than one witness in the Triton parking lot on the day Del Payton died?

“I told you I was good at this,” she says, smiling with triumph. “Let’s get out of here.”

I start the Cherokee and wheel it around until we’re pointed back toward the jeep track. “What did you think of Stone?”

“I think he’s scared.”

“Me too.”

We spent the night in Gunnison. We might have rushed and made our flight, but none of us really wanted to race back to the heat of Mississippi. We took a suite at the Best Western and ate a long meal in a local steak house. Caitlin and I tried to list every possible reason Del Payton could have been murdered besides civil rights work, but Annie didn’t cooperate with this effort, which made it virtually impossible.

Back in the suite, we rented The Parent Trap on the in-house movie channel and watched it from the big bed. Annie lay between Caitlin and me, facing the TV, while we leaned back against the headboard, the pillows from both beds padding our backs. When Annie allowed it, which wasn’t often, we speculated about Stone and his cryptic statements. But watching TV with a four-year-old means watching it.