jerseys of various NCSU basketball players hung from
the rafters. Down below us, red-garbed hockey players
warmed up on the gleaming white ice.
Don’t ask me who the Hurricanes played that night. I
don’t have a clue. But a couple of minutes into play, the
Canes scored the first goal and the whole building went
crazy. Cal and every other kid in the place jumped to
their feet and waved their hockey sticks. Men high-fived,
women hugged and screamed, horns blared, and the
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near-capacity crowd roared maniacal cheers of triumph,
while flashing colored lights chased themselves around
the rim of our section in eye-dazzling brilliance.
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C H A P T E R
3
Dwight Bryant
Friday Night, February 24
% Even before he turned onto Ward Dairy Road,
Dwight could see flashing lights in the distance.
When he got there, state troopers were directing
homeward-bound commuter traffic through a single lane
around the scene, so he turned on his own flashers behind
the grille of his truck, slowed to a crawl as he approached,
and flipped down the sun visor to show the card that iden-
tified him as an officer of the Colleton County Sheriff’s
Department. Activity seemed to be centered directly in
front of Bethel Baptist, between the entrance and exit
driveways that circled the churchyard. He started to power
down his window, but the troopers recognized him and
immediately shunted him into the first drive. He parked
and pulled on the new wool gloves Deborah had given
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him for Christmas, grabbed his flashlight, and walked over
toward the others.
Most of the county roads had wide shoulders and
this one was no exception. Even with the yellow tape
that delineated the crime scene, there would have
been enough room for two cars to pass had there not
been so many official vehicles gathered around like a
flock of buzzards there for the kill, as his father-in-
law would say.
