“Ray is the problem you were talking about. He’s directly involved in the murder, but if I push him, he’ll push back. He doesn’t have your gun anymore, but he could still raise a hell of a stink if he wanted to.”

Dad sighs and leans back in his chair.

“It doesn’t matter,” I decide. “Presley wasn’t solely responsible for Payton’s death. The fact that someone just tried to kill him proves that. Somebody’s afraid he’ll talk.”

We both look up as my mother slides open the library door. I assume she is summoning us to supper, but she says, “You’ve got a visitor, Penn.”

“Who is it?”

“Caitlin Masters.”

I wasn’t expecting Caitlin, so she must have news. “Bring her in.”

“She’s playing with Annie.”

When Mom disappears, Dad says, “How much does Masters know?”

“Nothing about the blackmail.”

“Don’t tell her what happened to Ray. Not yet.”

Caitlin comes to the door carrying Annie in her arms, then passes her off to my mother and promises to be back in the kitchen in a few minutes. She’s wearing black jeans, sandals, and a white pinpoint button-down with her sable hair spilling around the collar. She looks harried but also ready to burst with excitement.

Dad stands as I make the introductions, and as soon as Mom closes the door, Caitlin says: “I just hit the jackpot.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I traced Lester Hinson. The guy in the article from the Leesville Daily Leader?”

“What’s his story?”

“He’s a small-time crook who spent most of his life in Angola Prison. He lives in New Orleans now.”

“You talked to him?”

Too excited to remain in one place, Caitlin begins pacing. “More than that. I found out exactly how he ties in to the Payton case. In April of 1968 Lester Hinson and a supply sergeant named Earl Wheeler ripped off an arms depot at Fort Polk and started selling the stuff on the black market. A month later they were busted by the Army CID. That’s what the article was about, right? Well, Hinson was a civilian, and he got a visit in jail from Special Agent Dwight Stone. Stone wanted to know if the pair had sold C-4 to anyone from Mississippi, particularly Natchez. They had. Stone had to get the charges pled down to find out who the buyer was, but he didn’t mind that at all.”

“The buyer was Ray Presley,” I say in a monotone.

Her mouth drops open. “You’re not guessing, are you?”

“No. We just placed Presley at the crime scene when the bomb went off.”

“How did you do that?”

“You finish first. I can’t believe Hinson just spilled his guts to you.”

“He didn’t. I did what cops do.”

“What’s that?”