“They mighta been.”
“Let me ask you, Grady. You saddle up with the posse?”
Winge’s Adam’s apple bobbed. A moment passed. “I’m a different man now.”
“You’re a prince,” Slidell said. “How about some names?”
“There was a guy named J.D. Another called Buster. Maybe an E-Man. That’s all I remember.”
“Good start. Real names? Last names?”
“J. D. Danner. That’s the only one I ever caught.”
Slidell wiggled his fingers in a “give me more” gesture.
“J.D. was the boss,” Winge offered.
“What’s that mean?”
“He said what to do.”
“What did J.D. say to do?”
Winge dropped his chin and clasped the cross suspended from his neck. I could see dandruff coating the swath of shiny scalp bisecting his hair.
Noting the man’s discomfort, I raised a silencing hand. Slidell sighed but yielded.
“Mr. Winge, we think something bad might have happened to Cale and Cindi.”
Winge raised his eyes to mine.
“Did the Patriot Posse have a political agenda?” I asked.
“What’s that mean?”
“When you met, what did you talk about?”
“Hating black people, Jews, people in Washington. Blaming our problems on everybody but our own selves.”
“Did you ever consider violence?”
Winge’s eyes took on a guarded look. He didn’t answer.
“Did you ever discuss blowing things up? Setting fires? Planting poison?”
“No way.”
“Do you know where we can find J. D. Danner?”
“No.”
“Do you still see him at the Double Shot?”
Winge shook his head. “I took Jesus into my heart.” His head dipped as his lips spoke the name. “The Lord don’t approve of liquor. When I cast out Satan, I quit going to bars.”
“Mr. Winge, do you think Cindi and Cale left on their own?”
The massive shoulders rose, then fell.
“Do you think J.D. and his posse had anything to do with their disappearance?”
Winge overshook his head. “No, ma’am. I don’t.”
Again I switched course.
“In your statement, you said Cale and Cindi got into a car.”
“A ’sixty-five Petty-blue Mustang with a lime-green decal on the passenger-side windshield.”
“Had you seen the car before?”
“No. But that was one sweet ride. And that color. I met Richard Petty a couple of times. Primo racer. Cool dude.”
“Can you describe the driver?”
“Nothing special. Medium height, dark hair. Not real tall, not real short. I suppose he could have been black.”
Out of ideas, I posed the same question I’d posed to Williams and Randall. “What do you think happened to Cale and Cindi?”
“I pray to the sweet Lord Jesus their souls found peace.”
“PRICK JUST WASTED AN HOUR OF MY LIFE.”
“The time wasn’t wasted.”
Slidell and I were back in the Taurus. He was whacking the AC so hard I was sure he’d break one of the levers.
“Maybe Danner still drinks at the Double Shot.”
