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“Not at first,” Jalbert says. “He took time to think about it, didn’t he? Making sure it was safe.”

Why the lawyer? Is it possible that Coughlin doesn’t want to confess until he’s had his fifteen minutes of fame as the psychic who dreamed where the body was buried? That he wants publicity?

“If that’s what he wants, I’ll see that he gets some,” Jalbert says, and not long after that sleep takes him.

25

For Danny, the week of the 4th of July is the week from hell.

Pat Grady doesn’t show up for work on Monday. Danny asks Jesse if Pat is sick.

“No clue,” Jesse says. “I work with him here, otherwise we don’t hang. Maybe he thought because the 4th is tomorrow, we had today off, too.”

This doesn’t surprise Danny. Jesse Jackson is a young man on his way to somewhere. Pat Grady is a young man on his way to nowhere. Except maybe to the Manitou bars, once he’s old enough to drink. There are quite a few. Danny visited all of them back in the day.

Pat strolls in around ten, starts some story about having to help his dad, and Danny tells him he’s fired.

Pat stares at him, shocked. “You can’t do that!”

Danny says, “I just did.”

Pat gives him an unbelieving look, cheeks flushing, the acne on his forehead flaring. Then he heads for the door. When he gets there, he whirls around and shouts, “Fuck you!”

“Back atcha,” Danny says.

Pat slams out. Danny turns and sees Jesse down by the doors to the gym, rolling a mop bucket. He pauses long enough to give Danny a thumbs-up, which makes Danny grin. Pat leaves the parking lot with the motor of his poor old abused Mustang screaming. He lays forty feet of rubber. That won’t do your tires any good, Danny thinks. But at least Pat Grady is one stone out of his shoe.

When he gets home that evening (Jesse gives him a ride), his truck is parked outside his trailer. There are smears of fingerprint powder all over the cab and a lingering smell like ether, probably from the stuff they use to look for bloodstains. The keys are in the cupholder and his phone is on the passenger seat.

On Tuesday—the Glorious Fourth—Danny sleeps in. While he’s eating a late breakfast he remembers he took his keys but his phone is still in the truck. He gets it, mostly to see if he’s gotten a text from Margie, something with fireworks, maybe. There’s no Happy Fourth from her, and no emails, but he’s got a voicemail from his lawyer, asking Danny to call. Danny has a good idea what that’s about. He wishes Ball a happy holiday. Ball wishes him one right back.

“You’re probably calling about your fee, but they didn’t bring my truck back until yesterday.” He’s wryly aware that he sounds quite a lot like Pat. “I’ll bring a check around to your office this afternoon.”

“That’s not why I called. You made the paper.”

Danny frowns. “What are you talking about? The Belleville paper?”

“Not the Telescope. Plains Truth.”

Danny pushes away his cereal bowl. “You mean that free handout? The one that’s full of coupons? I never bother with it.”

“The very one. Sarah, my assistant, called me about it so I picked one up with my morning doughnut. It’s strictly advertiser-supported so they can give it away free. Those ads must pay pretty well, because you can pick one up at every market, convenience store, feed store, and gas station across four counties. The content—such as it is—features local sports, right-wing editorials, and two or three pages of reader letters, mostly of the rant and rave variety. As far as news goes, they don’t care what they print. Which in the latest issue includes the dead woman’s name.”

“They printed it?”

“Yup, Yvonne Wicker of Oklahoma City. And listen to this: ‘Police received an anonymous tip which led them to the unfortunate young woman’s shallow grave behind an abandoned building in Gunnel, a small town near the Nebraska border. A reliable source tells Plains Truth that the tipster has been identified as Daniel M. Coughlin, currently employed as a janitor at Wilder High School. He is said to be aiding KBI detectives with their hunt for the killer.’?”

Danny is astounded. “Can they do that? Release my name when I haven’t been charged with anything?”

“It’s not accepted newspaper practice, but Plains Truth ain’t really a newspaper, just toilet reading. There’s more. It goes on to say ‘When asked how Mr. Coughlin knew the location of the body, our source was mum.’ It doesn’t tell readers to connect the dots, but it really doesn’t have to, does it?”

“Jalbert,” Danny says. The hand not holding his phone is curled into a fist.

“Let’s say I agree, either him or Davis—”

“Not her, him.”

“—but try proving it. Half a dozen cops in the Manitou station knew; they saw us come in. Plus the one who gave you a ride to the interrogation from your trailer park. Then there’s the people in your trailer park. They could have made a pretty good guess why the cops were there.”