“Of course I haven’t. It’s ridiculous. My father murdering a black man? He’s probably the least prejudiced man in this town.”

“Del Payton’s death may not have been a race murder. Tell me something, Livy. What would you do if you found out your father had ordered the burning of my parents’ house?”

“That’s insane.”

“Just pretend it was true. What would you do?”

“Well, obviously, I’d be the first one to call the police.”

Maybe she didn’t even know she was lying. “I need to go, Livy.”

“Can we see each other tonight?”

I couldn’t believe she wanted to be within ten miles of me after the newspaper story. “Not tonight.”

“Tomorrow, then?”

Images from the day before filled my mind: Livy floating naked in the pool, kissing me passionately as we sank slowly through the green water, her thigh pressing against me. “We’d better play it by ear. There’s a lot going on right now.”

“That’s all the more reason to stay close. Just remember what I said about my father. I meant it.”

“I will.”

I hung up and dialed Ike’s cell phone before thoughts of Livy could overwhelm me. I wanted to call her back and say, “Pick me up in twenty minutes.” But the past had finally caught up with us, and Ike the Spike was growling in my ear.

“Meet me where I wanted to last night,” he said, meaning the warehouse in the industrial park by the river. “One hour.”

“What about?”

“What about? About whatever the fuck it is you think you’re doing, man. This town’s going crazy. One hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Damn straight you will.”

* * *

I’ve been sweating in the dark warehouse for twenty minutes, breathing the stink of fertilizer and wondering what could be keeping Ike. It’s fully dark now, and the spotlight of a tugboat pushing barges upriver arcs through the night like a Hollywood klieg light, searching for sandbars and unexpected traffic. A slight breeze off the Mississippi penetrates the twenty-foot-wide warehouse door, where I stand watching the dark line of the levee, waiting for the headlights of Ike’s cruiser.

I am unarmed but not unprotected. Daniel Kelly is covering me. After asking four times if I really trust Ike Ransom, Kelly parked his rental car behind the warehouse and told me to forget he was there. I parked the BMW out front so that Ike would see it when he drove up.

What I take for the sound of another tugboat suddenly resolves into a car engine. A set of headlights descends the levee, pulls into the parking lot of the warehouse, and stops beside my car.

It’s Ike’s cruiser.