“I’ve been thinking about that. What exactly is he going to try to do? The file is forty-four volumes long. He can’t walk out with it under his coat. He can’t even photocopy it unless he has all night.”

“He won’t have to. Remember what Stone told us in Colorado? The file is forty-three volumes of nothing and his final report. That’s all we need. Stone’s final report.”

“Lutjens knows that?”

“I talked to him this morning.”

“What’s the other long shot?”

“Stone himself.”

She shakes her head. “Never happen. He’s too scared. They’ve got something on that guy. Stone’s not going to talk.”

“I disagree. Whatever dirt Portman has on Stone is a two-edged sword. And Stone’s conscience is working on him. It’s been working on him for thirty years. Guilt is a powerful thing, Caitlin. Stone needs to unburden himself, and I think he’ll come through for us. Or for himself, rather.”

“What about Ike Ransom? What’s his story?”

“I think Ike’s got a personal grudge against Marston that has nothing to do with Payton. He knew I’d go after Marston if I had any kind of weapon, so he gave me the Payton case.”

“But has he given you any real information? Any idea of Marston’s motive for the crime?”

“Not really.”

She drums her fingers on the table. “Motive, means, and opportunity, right? The means and opportunity are Ray Presley, but we’re stuck on motive. Marston actually made public statements supporting civil rights in the sixties. I found them in the morgue here.”

“I think it’s money. Somehow Payton’s death increased Marston’s fortune or power.”

“I can’t see that. Financially, Payton was a nonentity.”

“Maybe he was an obstacle to something. Some deal.”

“What about sex?” suggests Caitlin. “Sexual jealousy. That’s a common motive for murder.”

The photo shrine in Althea Payton’s house flits through my mind, followed by images of Del Payton huddled over his dinner table with Medgar Evers, talking about changing the white man’s heart. “That’s not it. Payton was a family man all the way.”

“That’s what they all say until they’re caught with their wee-wees in the wrong cookie jar.”

“It’s not sex, Caitlin. It’s money or power. That’s what Marston lives for.”

She sighs and gets up, then drops her left hand on the charred box of files. “I hope there’s something in here.”

“You’ve got to remember one thing. I’m treating this like a murder case, but it’s not. It’s a civil case.”

“So?”