Katie looked at each of them in turn. “There’s something I’ve got to tell you two you may not know yet.”

Every eye went to her.

“Clancy wasn’t in the van. He got out before it blew. We’ve got a manhunt going on. If he’s anywhere near here, we’ll get him.”

Savich said, “Do you have dogs, Sheriff?”

“Yes, Bud Dicker has four hunting dogs. They’ve been out since about six o’clock this morning. No word yet.”

Sherlock said, frowning, “I can’t imagine he’d stay in the area unless he was badly hurt. Okay, Katie, I can see you know something more. Come on, cough it up.”

“It isn’t all that much just yet. I know you’ve all probably wondered by now why Beau and Clancy brought Sam here, to Jessborough, Tennessee, and held him in Bleaker’s old cabin. Was his kidnapping connected to someone local? Or was it all just happenstance, as in there was this cabin, and Clancy and Beau knew about it, and just used it?”

Savich sighed, recognizing an excellent performance when he saw it, and didn’t say anything.

Katie said, “Miles, do you know anyone local? Anyone at all?”

“No, I don’t. Like I told you last night, I’ve never been in this part of Tennessee before in my life.”

“Okay, so I thought the next step was to connect up Beau and Clancy to a local. It was no big shock to find out that neither of them came from around here, and so, no convenient relatives popped up. But they were both lifelong criminals, in and out of prison, and I just knew to my bones that’s the answer. Clancy or Beau met someone in prison and that someone is from around here or has friends or relatives here. I found out from NCIC that Beau was at Ossining, so I gave them a call to see if they’d ever had a Clancy in their fine facility.

“Ossining got back to me just a little while ago, and sure enough, Clancy Edens had enjoyed their hospitality until about eight months ago—conspiracy to commit kidnapping. It turns out one of the kidnappers got cold feet and ratted out his friends.

“They faxed me his photo, and he’s our boy. I had copies Xeroxed and plastered all over town. Problem is, I just haven’t found any connection between Clancy Edens and someone local.”

Savich smiled. “You’ve got a good brain, Katie. No reason to wait. Sherlock, hand me MAX. Let me see what he can find out.”

Once the modem was plugged in, Savich booted up MAX. While they waited, Miles told Katie about MAX, sometimes known as MAXINE, the laptop he used to access the data-mining software he’d worked on for years. “Bottom line is that either MAX or MAXINE could probably find out what kind of deodorant the president smears in his armpits if it’s on a database somewhere. He’s even better with computers than I am,” Miles added, “and that bums me, it really does.”

“Be quiet, Miles,” Savich said, not looking up. “You can do everything else better. I wouldn’t know a night guidance system from a bowling ball.”

Sherlock said, “I remember you took Dillon down to the mat a couple of weeks ago.”

Savich looked up. “That was an accident, Sherlock. I must have been dehydrated or something.”

Katie smiled as she said, “Sam, I can see you’re fretting. I don’t want you to worry about Fatso. We’ll get him, no doubt in my mind. We’ve got his photo nailed up everywhere and special flyers are being printed up as I speak. But do you know what? Your uncle Dillon is going to find out why they brought you here real soon.”

“He’s got a big stomach, Uncle Dillon,” Sam said as he settled in on his father’s lap.

“I know, Sam,” Katie said. “His belly nearly fills up the photo we’ve got out there.”

Miles said, “Keely, this is the only chair. You want to climb up here, too?”

Keely didn’t hesitate to climb up on his other leg. Miles said, “They’re still so excited they can’t think straight or talk about anything else. Okay, kiddos, just lean on me and listen for a while, okay?”

Sherlock said, “Sam, I meant to tell you, you look cool. I really like those jeans and your Titans sweatshirt. I wonder what all your Redskins friends are going to say when they see it. Are those Nikes I see on your big feet?”

Katie said as Sam preened, “Mary Lynn Rector—believe it or not her father’s the local Presbyterian minister—brought them over about seven o’clock this morning. She’d heard Sam didn’t have anything except my sweats, said it was Sunday and even Kmart didn’t open until ten. As for Miles, at least his clothes are clean, no new ones yet for him.”