I dropped the stick and threw myself at him. I managed to get my forearm beneath his chin and climbed onto his back. I got him into a strong choke hold and squeezed as hard as I could. I felt him kicking as I wrapped my legs around his torso and pulled him backwards on top of me.

He tried to reach back to claw my face, but the more he struggled, the tighter I squeezed. After fifteen seconds or so, his strength began to wane.

"Good thing I can swim," I said quietly into his ear.

At the sound of my voice, he stiffened.

"You see how easy this was?" I said, letting up just a little. "If you ever come near me or anyone in my family again, I swear to God Ill kill you. Theyll never find your body."

I tightened my grip on him again, and he passed out in less than thirty seconds. As soon as I felt him go limp, I let go and started patting him down. The front of his pajamas was soaked, and I smelled urine.

To my relief and surprise, my little ruse had worked better than Id hoped. He didnt even have a gun. I moved over to where Id dropped my stick, picked it up, and then crawled back on top of him.

He opened his eyes about a minute later to find me straddling him. Id pinned his shoulders to the ground with my knees and had the hickory stick pressed firmly against his throat. He stared at me with the same intense hatred Id seen at the courthouse.

"Consider me your living, breathing restraining order," I said. "Dont ever come near me or my family again. Do you understand?"

He began to breathe heavily and his blue eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of his head.

He was like a volcano, about to explode with fury.

"You took my daddy from me!" he yelled.

What? Took your daddy? The strange comment surprised me.

"Bullshit," I said. "I didnt do a damned thing to your daddy."

"You told people he went to that terrible place!

You told people he was drowning in sin! I heard you in the courtroom."

"I told people the truth. Your father took money from a revival and spent it at a strip club."

"Liar! Blasphemer!" He tried to rise but I shoved down hard on the stick, cutting off his breath. He froze again, and a sudden realization came to me.

The look on his face, the outlandish comment, the pain in his voice, told me Id shattered a powerful image, the image of a father held by a son. What was it Diane had said? " He idolized his daddy. " The words Id spoken in court had apparently opened a gaping wound in his soul, and the wound was festering.

I kept the pressure on with the stick and leaned closer to him.

"Your daddy wasnt the man you thought he was," I said. "Thats not my fault. I didnt take him away from you"he did that all by himself. You remember what I said. If you come anywhere near me again, youll be joining your daddy. Ill shoot you on sight."

His eyes narrowed and bored into me. "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death," he said, "I shall fear no evil""

"Shut your fucking mouth!" The words came out of me with such force that I sprayed him with spit.

I grabbed his chin with my left hand, rolled his head to the side, and pressed the stick down hard on his carotid artery. Fifteen seconds later, he was unconscious again. For a moment, I envisioned myself smashing his head to a pulp with the stick. If you kill him, you wont have to worry about him anymore. But I couldnt do it. I stood up, turned around, and took off running.

A half hour later, driving along in the dark silence, the anger and bravado Id felt earlier started to subside. In my mind, I envisioned Juniors head exploding as I beat him with the stick and relived the fleeting feeling of satisfaction the fantasy had given me. I smelled the urine and felt his labored breath on my face. I began to shake, and before long I was trembling so badly I had to pull to the side of the road.

What the hell had I just done? Id gone to a mans home in the middle of the night, attacked him, threatened him, and even fantasized about killing him.

But he tried to kill you.

That doesnt matter and you know it. Youre not a goddamned vigilante. How many people have you defended who did something stupid and violent because they thought it was right? Youre rationalizing.

I thought about the look in his eyes while I was straddling him. My intention had been to scare him so badly that hed leave me and my family alone, but that look"that angry, pained, insane look"told me Id failed. He wasnt afraid of me. He either hated me too much to be afraid or he was just too crazy to care. As I tried to control the trembling, I looked at myself in the rearview mirror.

"Caroline was right," I said aloud. "Youre as crazy as he is."

June 23 9:20 a.m.

Agent Landerss head was pounding, his back and shoulders aching. The little college cheerleader hed laid hold of last night must have been more athletic than he thought. Not that he remembered much about her. He drank almost a fifth of Jim Beam.

Landers was sitting at his desk going through a box of physical evidence from the Angel Christian case. He had to meet with Joe Dillard later. Dillard had a right to inspect the physical evidence. Landers wouldnt go to Dillards office and Dillard wouldnt come to his, so they were going to meet in a conference room at the courthouse in the afternoon.

Landers was worried about the case. Deacon Baker had indicted the Christian girl without much evidence, hoping shed either confess or roll on Erlene Barlowe. She hadnt done either one, and now Dillard was representing her. Dillard was a prick, but he knew how to try a case. Landers knew there was a good possibility that they might lose, and to make things even worse, Judge Green had scheduled the trial a couple of weeks before the August election. If Deacon lost this case, he could very well find his ass on the outside looking in the day after the election.

Landers didnt give a damn about Deacon, but hed been around long enough to know that shit flows downhill. If the case was lost, Deacon would immediately start looking around for someone to blame. Since Landers was the case agent, Deacon would look in his direction first. Deacon would tell anyone whod listen that it was Landerss fault, that Landers had been sloppy or that Landers had talked Deacon into indicting Angel without enough evidence for a conviction. If that happened, Landers knew he could kiss his chances at a promotion goodbye when his boss finally retired.

Landers had just picked up the photograph of Angel with the bruise on her face when the secretary buzzed.

"Theres a man on the phone says he has information about the Tester murder," she said.

Landers punched the flashing button.

"Who is this?"

"My name is Virgil Watterson. I have some information you may be able to use."

"What information is that?"

"My understanding is that a body part was found out near Pickens Bridge?"

A crank call. Some pervert wanting to talk about the dead preachers dick.

"Thats right. What about it?"

"I crossed the bridge the night of the murder, around one in the morning. When I got onto the bridge, I noticed there was a car stopped right in the middle. As I got closer, I saw a woman standing outside the car near the railing. She could have thrown something in the water."

What the fuck? A witness? Where had this guy been?

"Did you get a look at her?"

"Sure did. Her car was facing me in the other lane and she was walking back towards it. Caught her full in my headlights. Middle-aged woman, wearing some kind of animal-print jacket and the tightest pants I ever saw. Bright red hair."

Erlene Barlowe. It had to be her. Landers started scratching notes on a pad. "Would you recognize her if you saw her again?"

"Probably."

"What about the car? You get a look at it?"

"Yes, sir. The bridge is narrow so I had to slow way down to get past her. It was a Corvette. A nice one."

"Get a plate number?"

"No. Sorry."

"What about the color?"

"It was dark out there, but Im pretty sure it was red."

"Was anyone else with her on the bridge?"

"I didnt see a soul."

"Anyone else in the car?"

"Not that I saw."

"Whyd you wait so long to call and tell us about this, Mr. . . . did you say your name is Watterson?"

"Yes. Virgil Watterson. Im afraid its a little embarrassing."

"Embarrassing?"

"I wouldnt want this to get out."

"Wouldnt want what to get out?"

The mans voice got quieter, as though he was trying to keep someone nearby from hearing what he was saying.

"Its my wife, you see. Im a married man."

"So?"

"Id been on a business trip and came back a little early. I was on my way to someones house."

"Whos house?"

"Id rather not say."

The light came on in Landerss mind.

"So you came back early from your trip and were going to visit someone besides your wife?"

"Thats possible."

"And you didnt go home until the next day?"

"Thats right."

"And then you heard about the murder and put two and two together?"

"Exactly."

"I understand," Landers said. "So why have you suddenly changed your mind? Why are you coming forward now?"

"I cant stop thinking about it. I dream about that woman on the bridge every night. Im afraid you may have arrested the wrong person. My conscience just cant bear it."

Landers sat back and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. A steady pressure was beginning to build just beneath his temples.

"Is there anything else you want to tell me, Mr.

Watterson?"

"Not that I can think of."

"Would you be willing to give me a written statement if I need one?"

"I guess I could if I have to."

"Would you be willing to testify in court?"

"Id rather not."

Landers wrote down Wattersons address and phone number and told him hed be back in touch.

If Watterson was telling the truth, Erlene Barlowe could well have tossed Reverend Testers dick into the lake. Maybe even the murder weapon. Landers wrote himself a note to have the sheriffs department drag the lake under the bridge again. Theyd already done it once, after the cat found the reverends dick, but they hadnt come up with anything.

Since Watterson said the woman on the bridge was alone, either Angel Christian had still been at the club or Erlene had taken her home. Either way, it probably took Angel out of the picture so far as the murder was concerned. Deacon Baker"that stupid fuck. Landers told him he was pulling the trigger too early. He told him the case was thin. Now it looked like Watterson might be right"they arrested the wrong fucking person.

Landers sat there trying to decide what to do. He could go out and take a written statement from Watterson and add it to the district attorneys file, but if he did that, Dillard would be entitled to a copy of the statement and Deacon would accuse Landers of sabotaging the case. Payback would be a bitch. Landers figured the better option would be to tell Deacon about Wattersons call and force him to decide what to do. Landers had a pretty good idea what Deacon would say. He wasnt one to openly admit a mistake.

Landers called Deacons office, and for once, he was in. Landers told him about Watterson and the woman on the bridge.

"Doesnt sound like a very reliable witness to me,"

Deacon said. Landers knew it. He knew Deacon would say something like that.

"You know what this means, dont you?" Landers said. "If Erlene Barlowe was standing in the middle of the bridge that night and she was alone, we probably arrested the wrong person."

"I dont recall any of the Barlowe womans DNA being found on the victim," Deacon said, "and it had to be dark out there. No way this guy could make a positive ID."

"You didnt hear his description. It was her."

"So? What do you want me to do, Phil? You want me to publicly announce that we charged the wrong person with first-degree murder? What do I say?

Oops? Gee, were sorry? Six weeks before an election? Youre out of your damned mind."