He taps the wheel impatiently. “Couple of people I talked to remembered him. They said it seemed like he really tried to solve the case.”

“He did more than try. He solved it.”

Ransom looks over at me, his speed-pinned eyes distant. “He tell you that?”

“In so many words.”

“No details?”

“He won’t talk about it.”

Ike laughs humorlessly. “What did I tell you? The quiet game. Everybody’s playing it.”

“What are they so scared of? Marston?”

“Judge Leo got some serious juice, man.”

“Is that all?”

“What you mean?”

“Did you know John Portman was here in 1968?”

“John who?”

I hesitate before answering. I have a feeling Ike knows exactly who I’m talking about. “The director of the FBI,” I say, watching him.

He accelerates and whips around the car ahead of us, but I can’t tell whether he did it to buy time or not.

“What you mean, he was here?”

“It was his first year as an FBI agent. He was working the Payton case with Stone.”

Ike shrugs. “That’s the first I heard of it. But I told you to stay away from the FBI, didn’t I? You can’t trust no Feds, man.”

“Never mind. Look, I’ve thought of a way to go after Marston. But it’s risky. I’ve got to know more than I know now. You understand? You’ve got to give me something more.”

“Like what?”

“How about some evidence?”

“Shit, man, if I had evidence, I’d get that motherfucker my own self. Finding evidence is your job.”

“Why do you think he was behind Del’s murder?”

“I just know, okay?”

“It’s not okay, damn it. It doesn’t make sense. Why would Marston want Del Payton dead?”

“That’s what you’re supposed to find out.”

My father’s original doubts about Ike’s motives are coming back to me. “Why do you hate Marston so much, Ike?”

He turns to me, his eyes smoldering. “I done told you once. It’s personal.”

“That’s not good enough anymore.”

“Fuck you, then!”

I say nothing for the next mile. Ike’s respiration is heavy and erratic, as though so much energy is consumed by his anger that he has to remind himself to breathe.

“Were you and Ray Presley cops at the same time?”

He keeps his eyes on the road. “Presley was in Parchman when I joined the force. But I knew that motherfucker later on. We were like two bad dogs on a street. We always stayed on different sides. Still do.”

“Well, somebody just tried to kill him.”

An eerie stillness comes over Ike. Then he turns his head toward me, and the intensity in his eyes is frightening. “Tried to kill him how?”

“Poison.”

“Take more than poison to kill that bastard.”

“I think Presley planted the bomb that killed Del Payton.”