It was then that a soft voice sounded behind them.

"Hello, miss."

Sachs detected in the words a particular lilt, formed by a history of service labor and contact with the public. She turned and saw Andrew Constable standing next to a huge guard. The prisoner was quite tall, his posture completely erect. His salt-and-pepper hair was wavy and thick. His short, round lawyer stood next to him.

He continued, "Are you part of the team looking out for Mr. Grady?"

"Andrew," his lawyer cautioned.

The prisoner nodded. But kept his eyebrow raised as he looked at Sachs.

"It's not my case," she said to him dismissively.

"Ah, no? Was just going to tell you what I told Detective Bell. I honestly don't know anything about those threats against Mr. Grady." He turned to Bell, who gazed back at the suspect. The Tarheel cop could sometimes look bashful and reserved but that was never the case when confronting a suspect. A cool glare was his response now.

"You have to do your job. I understand that. But believe me, I wouldn't hurt Mr. Grady. One of the things that made this country great is playing fair." A laugh. "I'll beat him at trial. Which I will do—thanks to my brilliant young friend here." A nod toward his lawyer. Then a look of curiosity at Bell. "One thing I wanted to mention, Detective. I was wondering if you might have some interest in what my Patriots've been doing up in Canton Falls."

"Me?"

"Oh, I don't mean that crazy conspiracy nonsense. I mean what we're really about."

The prisoner's lawyer said, "Come on, Andrew. Better to keep quiet."

"Just conversing here, Joe." A glance at Bell. "How 'bout it?"

"How d'you mean, sir?" Bell asked stiffly.

The expected allusion to racism and the detective's southern roots didn't rear its head. He said, "States' rights, working folk, local government versus federal. You should go to our website, Detective." He laughed. "People expect swastikas. They get Thomas Jefferson and George Mason." When Bell said nothing a thick silence filled the close air around them. The prisoner shook his head then he laughed and looked abashed. "Lord, sorry me . . . Sometimes I just can't stop myself—all this ridiculous preaching. Get a few people around me and look what happens—I outstay my welcome."

The guard said, "Lessgo."

"All right then," the prisoner responded. A nod to Sachs, one to Bell. He shuffled down the hall to the faint clink of the shackles on his legs. His lawyer nodded to the prosecutor—two adversaries who respected and yet were wary of each other—and left the secure area.

A moment later Grady, Bell and Sachs followed, and joined Martinez. The policewoman said, "Doesn't seem like a monster. What're the charges exactly?"

Grady said, "Some ATF folk working undercover on a weapons sting upstate found out about this plot we think Constable was behind. Some of his people were going to lure state troopers to remote areas of the county on fake nine-one-one calls. If any of them were black they were going to kidnap them, strip them naked and lynch 'em. Oh, there was some suggestion of castration too."