Danner gave me a pitying look. "Entry level. A Bandolero car is built like a miniature stock car, with a tube frame and a sheet-metal cage. The driver enters through the roof. I guess you could say it falls somewhere between a kart and a car."

I must have looked lost.

"Like a kart, a Bandolero car has left-foot braking and a centrifugal clutch, so there's no gearshifting to worry about. The whole idea is simplicity and economy. Just one hundred and fifty parts make up the whole package."

"How fast do theses cars go?"

"Upwards of seventy miles per hour. But they accelerate relatively slowly."

"They're for kids?"

"Most Bandolero drivers are from eight to sixteen years old, but there's no rule against older folks."

"They race on real tracks?"

"One-quarter-, three-eighths-, and four-tenths-mile ovals, some road courses, some dirt tracks. There are three divisions. Cindi Gamble raced Beginner Bandit."

I was glad Katy hadn't learned about this when she was a kid. She'd have loved roaring around at seventy miles per hour.

But I was off topic.

"Did Cindi seem committed to Lovette?" I asked.

"I'd say so."

"Where did they meet?"

"Concord Speedway, out in Midland. That's where she and Lovette spent most of their time."

"How did Lovette treat her?"

"Fair enough."

"What does that mean?"

"They came from different worlds. Cindi was a high school kid from the burbs. Lovette's mother was a dead junkie, and his father was a truck farmer. Cale wanted to race as much as Cindi did, but his folks weren't footing the bill."

"Did Lovette resent Gamble because her parents were supporting her financially?"

I got another shrug.

"Did Cindi have potential?"

"Oh, yeah. She was good. Won her share of races." Danner wagged his head. "Gal probably could have made it."

"How did you come to know Craig Bogan and Kitty Lovette?" I asked.

"In those days I went to the track now and then."

Danner glanced at his watch. Which resembled a ship's barometer.

"I hope this has been helpful. But the purpose of my visit was to reiterate what I said back in 'ninety-eight. The Patriot Posse had nothing to do with whatever became of those kids."

Danner pulled a brochure from the pocket of his Tommy Bahamas and held it out. I repositioned the bag and took it.

The thing had been printed on a home computer. A cheerful logo topped the front page, an eagle holding the American flag in its beak. Above the eagle were the words LOYALIST MOVEMENT.

Below the eagle was the phrase: DO THE RIGHT THING. Below that was a photograph showing young men standing in very straight lines. Each wore camouflage fatigues and held a rifle on his shoulder.

"I head an organization that represents almost four thousand citizens in twelve states," Danner said. "Every one is a patriot."

Every one is white and male, I thought, glancing at the faces.

"We have nothing to hide, Dr. Brennan. Didn't then. Don't now. We're proud of what we do."

"Which is?"

"We protect this country from those who would destroy it."

With that, Danner turned and walked to his car.

THAT NIGHT BROUGHT ANOTHER STORM. AS USUAL, BIRDIE RODE it out in the crook of my knee.

Tuesday morning dawned gray and soggy. Outside the kitchen window, the brick in my garden looked dark with moisture. Mist coated the spiderwebs draping the ivy and ferns.

Slidell phoned at eight. The Coca-Cola 600 was fast approaching, and issues with Stupak's car required Gamble's presence in the pit. We'd meet him at the Speedway.

By nine we were in the Taurus, rolling toward Concord. Before picking me up, Slidell had hit a Bojangles'. The air was thick with the smell of biscuits and sausage.

As he drove one-handed, I described my encounter with J. D. Danner. Slidell said he'd check out the Loyalist Movement. He'd already located Lovette's father. CB Botanicals sold flora from a Weddington property once deeded to Katherine Lovette.

Since it was Tuesday and between races, the scene at the Speedway was much calmer than on the previous Thursday. Though tents and trailers still packed the campgrounds, few fans were in evidence. I guessed a lot of moms were hitting the outlet malls, and a lot of dads were sleeping off hangovers.

Wayne Gamble met us outside the Smith Tower and drove us by car to the Sprint Cup garage area. His face looked sallow. The console sole between us held Pepto-Bismol and a mound of wadded tissues. Empty water bottles lay on the floor at my feet.

Great. Microbes coming my way. Without being obvious, I kept my head turned toward the window.

Gamble's fellow crew members were busy with the #59 Chevy, so we settled in the empty lounge in Stupak's hauler. Gamble slumped on the built-in sofa as if his muscles were linguine.

After introducing himself, Slidell recounted our conversation with Lynn Nolan. Then he got straight to the point. "Nolan thinks Lovette was knocking your sister around."

A flush blossomed in the hollow at the base of Gamble's throat.

"She thinks Lovette killed her."

The flush spread up Gamble's jaw and across his face. Still he said nothing.

"Nolan saw bruising on Cindi's arms. You ever notice anything along those lines?"

"Oh, Jesus." Gamble shot to his feet. "Oh, Jesus."

"That mean no?"

"I'd have killed the guy."

Seeing Gamble's agitation, I spoke in a tone I hoped would be calming. "Did Cindi change her habits that summer and fall? Alter her normal routine?"

"How would I know?" Gamble threw up both hands. "She was sixteen. I was twelve. We traveled in different galaxies." He began pacing.

"How about her demeanor? How did she act?" I asked.

"Scared of her own shadow."

I gestured for him to continue.

"She was always looking around, you know? Like she was afraid someone was following her. And sometimes she'd bust my balls for no reason. That wasn't like her."

"Go on."

Gamble stopped. To gauge our reactions? "Looking back, I always suspected she might have kicked Lovette to the curb."

"What makes you think that?"

"A couple weeks before she vanished, Cindi told our mother she'd lost her keys and asked to have all the locks changed at home."

"And?"

"She hadn't lost her keys. I saw them in her backpack. Why would she make up a story like that?"

"Why do you think?" I asked.

"I think she dumped Lovette, and it pissed him off. That's what was making her jumpy. She was afraid he'd come for her. She invented the key thing to be sure the house was secure."

Gamble resumed pacing, moving like a caged animal in the small space.

"Sit down," Slidell said.

Unable to stand still, Gamble ignored him.

"You report all this to the cops back then?" Slidell.

"I told some big guy."

"Galimore?"

Gamble shrugged. "Beats me. I was a kid. I learned later that Galimore was on the task force. I don't know the guy, but I hear he works security here."

"Did the cops follow up?"

"Who knows?"

"How about the FBI?"

"I keep telling you. I was a kid. And my parents weren't on anyone's speed dial."

Footsteps clanged up metal stairs, then a door opened at the far end of the hauler. A jumpsuited man leaned in. He was sweating and breathing hard. "We've got a problem exiting turn three. The right-rear pressure needs tweaking."

"Gimme five," Gamble snapped.

"Stupak's going apeshit."

"Five!"

The man withdrew.

"Did you discuss Cindi's nervousness with your folks?" I asked.

"You think they sought my middle school views on my high school sister's mood swings?"

Point taken.

"Your parents have passed on, that right?" Slidell asked.

Gamble nodded. "Mom blew an aneurysm in 2005. Two years later Dad was killed in a hit-and-run on the road outside our house. That was fucked up. He'd walked that stretch every day for ten years."

Slidell's mobile sounded. Without looking, he reached to his belt and clicked the silencer.

"What do you know about J. D. Danner?" Slidell changed direction.

"Never heard of him. Who is he?"

"Guy ran the Patriot Posse."

Gamble's forearm muscles flexed as his fingers curled into fists. "I'm going to find the bastards who did this."

"Just calm down. You know anything about Danner and his cronies?"

"Look. I keep telling you. I was twelve. I was mostly focused on not getting zits."

"Your folks ever talk about it?"

A frown creased Gamble's forehead. Which looked clammy despite the AC.

"I may have heard the name during one of their screaming matches with Cindi."

"What was said?"

Gamble gave a tight shake of his head. "There was a lot of fighting going on that summer. I used video games to tune it out. All I know is the scenes were always about Lovette."