"Jesus! Really?" Landers hadnt noticed with all the blood. He looked between the whales legs and there was nothing but a mess of dark red goo. Whoever cut it off had to work for it. Landers figured it had been quite a while since the whale had seen his own dick.

"And get this," Brown said. "Some woman called the sheriffs department this morning. She lives out by Pickens Bridge, and her cat brought her a little gift. Turned out to be a human penis. Probably belongs to this guy."

His logic was astounding. "Any idea how long hes been dead?" Landers said.

"Hes cold and stiff. Id say more than eight hours."

"Security cameras?"

"Just at the front desk. Nothing in the parking lot or anywhere else."

A patrol officer knocked and walked in. He was carrying an eight-by-ten photo of the dead guy. He handed it to Brown, who handed it to Landers.

"Are you here to help or are you just sightseeing?"

Brown said.

"Your wish is my command, at least until the case officially gets dropped in my lap."

Brown gave him an eat-shit look. "Why dont you take this down to the Purple Pig and ask around?"

"Done," Landers said. "Anything else?"

"I dont think so. Ive got people running down the woman who was on duty last night, canvassing the rooms, and working the Newport angle. You say forensics is on the way. I think weve got it under control for now."

"Cool. Im off to the Pig."

Landers walked down the steps and past the patrol guys and got into his car. He recognized a reporter from the Johnson City paper loitering outside the entrance. Her name was Sylvia something. She wasnt gorgeous, but she wasnt hideous, so Landers got back out of the car and went over to shoot the shit with her for a couple of minutes. He leaked her a little tidbit about the missing dick, thinking it might be worth a blow job somewhere down the line.

As he made his way south down Roan Street, Landers kept glancing at the photo of the dead preacher. He had reddish hair, semi-decent features, and wide sideburns that ran to the bottom of his ear lobes, a la Elvis Presley. Not a bad-looking dude, but damn sure not in the same league as Landers.

"Whatd you do to get yourself killed, Rev?" Landers said to the photo as he turned into the parking lot at the Purple Pig. "Dip the old wick in a vat of bad wax?"

April 12 10:20 a.m.

Caroline Dillard, wearing a sharp, dark blue Calvin Klein knockoff suit, took a deep breath, straightened her back, and strode up to the reception area. Behind the bulletproof window sat a dour, pudgy, middle-aged man with a dark widows peak crew cut and a jaw full of tobacco. He was seated, wearing a black pullover shirt with a stitched badge on the chest.

Beneath the badge, also stitched, were the words "Washington County Corrections." As Caroline approached, he spit brown tobacco juice into a paper cup.

Caroline picked up the sign-in sheet and smiled.

"I need to see inmate number 7740," she said. No one at the Washington County Detention Center seemed to have a name. Everything was tracked by number.

The officer leered. "Got an ID, pretty lady?"

"My name is Caroline Dillard," she said. It was only Carolines third visit to the detention center, and she hadnt encountered this particular officer on either of the other two occasions. She reached into her purse, pulled out a drivers license, and slid it into the metal tray at the bottom of the window.

"You a lawyer?" he said.

"Im a paralegal for Joe Dillard."

"You his wife?"

"I am."

"Youre too pretty to be married to him."

Caroline sighed. "If youll check the approved list, youll find my name."

The officer opened a spiral notebook next to him and took his time searching the pages.

"I can smell you through the window," he said.

"You smell good."

"Ill be sure to tell your boss you like the way I smell." Caroline looked at the name stitched opposite his badge. "Officer Cagle? The sheriff comes to our house every year for a Christmas party. He and I have gotten to be pretty good friends." It was a lie.

The sheriff had never set foot in Carolines home, but her words seemed to have the desired effect.

Officer Cagle looked down and slid the ID back through the window.

"You know the way to the attorneys room, maam?"

Caroline nodded and smiled.

"Ill buzz you through."

Caroline quickly made her way through the maze of gates and steel doors. She was a little anxious about the visit, because she never knew what kind of mood the inmate she was about to see would be in. The woman had been in jail for nine months, by far the longest stretch shed ever done. Shed lifted her own mothers checkbook, forged a check, and used the money to buy cocaine. Carolines husband, Joe, had represented her. Hed talked the prosecutor into reducing the charge from a felony to a misdemeanor, but because of the womans long history of problems with the law, in exchange for the reduction the prosecutor had insisted that she forgo probation and agree to serve her sentence in the county jail.

Five minutes after Caroline sat down in the attorneys room, a female guard opened the door and stepped back to let the inmate inside. There were no handcuffs, waist chains, or shackles. The inmate wasnt dangerous. There was no risk of escape, because she was getting out in a few hours. She smiled slightly and nodded when she saw Caroline.

Caroline rose from her seat and opened her arms.

"How are you?" she said.

"Im fine," the woman said, guardedly returning the hug.

"You look great."

"You look pretty goddamned pretty yourself."

They both sat down and Caroline smiled at her sister-in-law, Sarah Dillard.

Caroline was always struck by the features her husband and his older sister shared. Both of them had thick dark hair, green eyes, pristine white teeth, and lean, sturdy bodies. Sarahs only visible flaw was a tiny pink scar that cut like a lightning bolt through her left eyebrow, the result of a punch from a drug dealer the last time she was on the street. She had high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a cleft chin. Joe had told Caroline that he and Sarah were often mistaken for twins when they were kids. The comparisons stopped when Joe began to grow to six-footthree and over two hundred pounds. Caroline also marveled at the resilience of Sarahs appearance. She had a fresh beauty that made it hard to believe shed been abusing herself with drugs and alcohol for years.

"I was wondering if youd made a decision on what we talked about last week," Caroline said.

Sarah looked down at the table. "Im not too hot on it if you want to know the truth."

"Why not?"

"Im too old to live with my brother, Caroline. Im too old to be living with you. I appreciate what youre trying to do, but I think Id be better off making my own way."

Caroline looked hard into the green eyes for a long moment. Finally she spoke.

"So youre going to make your own way. Like you have for the past twenty years?"

"Oh, now, that hurt. Please tell me you didnt come all the way down here just to fuck with me."

"I came all the way down here to try to talk some sense into that thick head of yours. If you dont come stay with us, where are you going to go? What are you going to do?"

"I have friends."

"What kind of friends? Dealers and users? You need to stay away from those people."

"Yeah?" The green eyes flashed, but Caroline held her gaze. "What I dont need is a lecture from my brothers wife. Why are you doing this, anyway?

Why isnt Joe here?"

Caroline leaned forward on her elbows. "Im doing this because I care about you. We both care about you. We just want to try to help. And Joe isnt here because he cant stand to see you in this place again.

It tears him up."

"Seeing me in here tears him up? He ought to try living in here for a while. Itd give him some compassion for his clients."

"He has plenty of compassion for his clients, especially you. Hes done everything he could possibly do for you, including sending you money every month."

"Ill be sure to send him a thank-you note when I get out."

"God dammit, Sarah, why do you have to be so cynical? Why cant you believe that somebody could care enough about you to want to help? Thats all it is.

There arent any strings attached."

"No strings? What if I feel like getting high tomorrow night?"

"I said there werent any strings. But there will be rules. If any of us sees one sign of drugs or booze, youre out the door."

Sarah smiled. "And there it is. Well love you, Sarah, unless you do what youve always done. If you do that, we wont love you anymore."

"Well still love you. We just wont help you destroy yourself."

"No thanks." Sarah rose from the chair and moved to the wall to push the button that summoned the guard.

"So thats it? No thanks?"

"Thats it."

"Fine." Caroline got up from her chair and moved to the opposite door. Both women stood in uncomfortable silence, facing away from each other, until the guard appeared.

"The offer stays open," Caroline said as Sarah walked out of the room. "All you have to do is show up."

April 12 11:15 a.m.

Agent Landers knew thered be some added pressure to make an arrest because the dead guy was a preacher.

Not that there wouldnt have been pressure to find out who killed him if hed been a plumber or a bartender.

But preachers still had a special place in the hearts and minds of most upper east Tennesseans. Killing a man of God was an insult to the Almighty Himself.

The Purple Pig was a small, popular burger and beer joint about a mile from East Tennessee State University. It was like one of those English pubs"

same people, sitting in the same places, telling the same old jokes, drinking the same kind of beer.

Landers ate lunch there two or three times a month. Every now and then hed stop in and have a beer after work. He went to high school with the owners, and he knew several of the regulars and the waitresses. Especially the waitresses. Landers had phone numbers for all of them, even the ones who were married. "Skilled with the ladies" was how he referred to himself.

He parked his Ford in the lot, picked up the photo of Tester, and jogged up to the door. He could smell the grease as soon as he got out of the car. The Pig wasnt open for breakfast, but there were cars in the lot. He knew the employees were prepping for the lunch rush, so he knocked on the locked front door.

Patti Gillespie opened it. Patti was a cute little brunette, barely over five feet tall. She and her brother, Sonny, owned the place. Landers had banged Patti once in the girls bathroom during a basketball game back in high school. Hed wanted to know what a small girl felt like.

"I need to talk to you," Landers said, and she led him inside. He plunked down on the first bar stool he came to. The place was dark and smelled of stale cigarette smoke and animal fat. A mirror ran the length of a long wall opposite the bar. Landers checked himself out as Patti walked around the bar and back towards him. He liked what he saw.

"Whats the difference between a sperm cell and a TBI agent?" she said. Patti loved to bust his chops.

"Go ahead, slay me," Landers said. "Whats the difference between a sperm cell and a TBI agent?"

"A sperm cell has a one in a million chance of becoming a human being. Can I get you something to drink?"

"A Pepsi, and I have a photograph I want you to look at. Do you mind?"

"Are you doing real police work?"

"I am."

"Hey, Lottie," Patti called towards the kitchen.

"Special Agent Phillip Landers here is doing real police work in my little old bar. He wants me to help him. What should I do?"

"Deny everything," a voice called back. "Ask for a lawyer."

"She doesnt like you," Patti said. "She says you have a small penis."

"You know better than that," Landers said with a wink.

"I was drunk, dickhead. I dont remember your penis."

Landers slid the photo of Tester onto the bar. "Any chance this guy was in here yesterday evening?"

Patti nodded. "Came in about six, sat right over there in that booth." She pointed behind Landers. "I waited on him. Ordered a cheeseburger and fries.