into the roots of the tomato plants by the coulee. She was in the row, on her hands and knees, and the rump of her pink shorts was covered with dirt.
She raised up on her knees and smiled.
'Did you eat yet?' she asked.
'I stopped in Lafayette.'
'What were you doing over there?'
'I went to Opelousas to run down a lead on that '57 lynching.'
'I thought the sheriff had said-'
'He did. He didn't take well to my pursuing it.'
I sat down at the redwood picnic table under the mimosa tree. On the table were a pad of lined notebook paper and three city library books on Texas and southern history.
'What's this?' I said.
'Some books I checked out. I found out some interesting things.'
She got up from the row of tomato plants, brushing her hands, and sat down across from me. Her hair was damp on her forehead and flecked with grains of dirt. She picked up the note pad and began thumbing back pages. Then she set it down and looked at me uncertainly.
'You know how dreams work?' she said. 'I mean, how dates and people and places shift in and out of a mental picture that you wake up with in the morning? The picture seems to have no origin in your experience, but at the same time you're almost sure you lived it, you know what I mean?'
'Yeah, I guess.'
'I looked up some of the things that, well, maybe you believe you saw out there in the mist.'
I drank out of my iced tea and looked down the sloping lawn at the duck pond and the bright, humid haze on my neighbor's sugarcane.
'You see, Dave, according to these books, John Bell Hood never had a command in Louisiana,' she said. 'He fought at Gettysburg and in Tennessee and Georgia.'
'He was all through this country, Boots.'
'He lived here but he didn't fight here. You see, what's interesting, Dave, is that part of your information is correct but the rest you created from associations. Look here-'
She turned the notebook around so I could see the notes she had taken. 'You're right, he commanded the Texas Brigade,' she said. 'It was a famous cavalry outfit. But look here at this date. When you asked the general what the date was, he told you it was April 21, 1865, right?'
'Right.'
'April 21 is Texas Independence Day, the day the battle of San Jacinto was fought between the Mexican army and the Texans in 1836. Don't you see, your mind mixed up two historical periods. Nothing happened out in that mist, Dave.'
'Maybe not,' I said. 'Wait here a minute, will you?'
I walked to the front of the house, where my boat trailer was still parked, pulled back the tarp, which was dented with pools of rainwater, reached down inside the bow of the boat, and returned to the backyard.
'What is it?'
'Nothing.'
'Why'd you go out front?'
'I was going to show you some junk I found out in the marsh.'
'What junk?'
'Probably some stuff left by an old lumber crew. It's not important.'
Her face was puzzled, then her eyes cleared and she put her hand on top of mine.
'You want to go inside?' she said.
'Where's Alf?'
'Playing over at Poteet's house.'
'Sure, let's go inside.'
'I'm kind of dirty.'
She waited for me to say something but I didn't. I stared at my iced-tea glass.
'What is it, babe?' she said.
'Maybe it's time to start letting go of the department.'
'Let go how?'
'Hang it up.'
'Is that what you want?'
'Not really.'
'Then why not wait awhile? Don't make decisions when you're feeling down, cher.'
'I think I've already been cut loose, Boots. They look at me like I have lobotomy stitches across my forehead.'
'Maybe you read it wrong, Dave. Maybe they want to help but they just don't know how.'
I didn't answer. Later, after we had made love in the warm afternoon gloom of our bedroom, I rose from the softness of her body and sat listlessly on the side of the bed. A moment later I felt her nails tick lightly on my back.
'Ask the sheriff if he wants your resignation,' she said.
'It won't solve the problem.'
'Why won't it? Let them see how well they'll do without you.'
'You don't understand. I'm convinced Kelly Drummond's killer was after me. It's got something to do with that dead black man. That's the only thing that makes sense.'
'Why?'
'We've gotten virtually nowhere in trying to find this serial killer or psychopath or whatever he is. So why would he want to come after me? But the lynched black man is another matter. I'm the only one making noise about it. That's the connection. Why doesn't the sheriff see that?'
I felt her nails trace my vertebrae.
'You want to believe that all people are good, Dave,' she said. 'When your friends don't act the way they should, you feel all this anger and then it turns inward on you.'
'I'm going to take down that guy, Boots. Even if I have to do it outside the department.'
It was quiet for a long time. Then I felt her weight shift on the mattress and I thought she was getting up to get dressed. Instead, she rose to her knees, pressed her body hard against my back, and pulled my head against her breasts.
'I'll always love you, Dave,' she said. 'I don't care if you're a cop or a commercial fisherman or if you hunt down this bastard and kill him, I'll always love you for the man you are.'
How do you respond to a statement like that?
The phone call came at 9:30 that night. I answered it in the kitchen.
'You're a hard man to catch,' she said.
'Who's this?'
'The lady who's been trying to catch you, sugar.'
'How about giving me a name?'
'It's Amber. Who else, darlin'?' Her voice sounded sleepy, indolent, in slow motion.
'Ah, the lady of the mysterious phone messages.'
'You don't remember me? Don't hurt my feelings.'
'No, I'm sorry, I don't recall who you are. What can I do for you?'
'It's me that's going to do you a big favor, darlin'. It's because I like you. It's because I remember you from New Orleans a long time ago.'
'I appreciate all this, but how about we cut to it?'
'I'm gonna give you the guy you want, sweetheart.'
'Which guy are we talking about?'
'He's a nasty ole pimp and he's been doin' some nasty things to his little girls.'
