The love nest wasn't a bad place for a nap after all. It was a long narrow room with dust and spiderwebs and one light hanging in the center of the vaulted ceiling. The lone window had been painted sometime in the last century and overlooked the square. The bed was an iron antique with no sheets or blankets, and he tried not to think about Harry Rex and his misadventures on that very mattress. Instead, he thought of the old house at Maple Run and the glorious way it went into history. By the time the roof collapsed, half of Clanton was there. Ray had sat alone, on the low limb of a sycamore across the street, hidden from all, trying in vain to pull cherished memories from a wonderful childhood that simply had not happened. When the flames were shooting from every window, he had not thought of the cash or the Judge's desk or his mother's dining room table, but only of old General Forrest glaring down with those fierce eyes.

Three hours of sleep, and he was awake by eight. The temperature was rising rapidly in the den of iniquity, and heavy steps were coming his way.

Harry Rex swung the door open and turned on the light. "Wake up, felon," he growled. "They want you down at the jail."

Ray swung his feet to the floor. "My escape was fair and square." He had lost Elmer and Haney in the crowd and simply left with Harry Rex.

"Did you tell them they could search your car?"

"I did."

"That was a dumb-ass thing to do. What kinda lawyer are you?" He pulled a wooden folding chair from the wall and sat down near the bed.

"There was nothing to hide."

"You're stupid, you know that? They searched the car and found nothing."

"That's what I expected."

"No clothes, no overnight bag, no luggage, no toothbrush, no evidence whatsoever that you were simply leaving town and going home, per your official story."

"I did not burn the house down, Harry Rex."

"Well, you're an excellent suspect. You flee in the middle of the night, no clothes, no nothing, you drive away like a bat outta hell. Old lady Larrimore down the street sees you in your funny little car go flyin' by, then about ten minutes later here come the fire trucks. You're caught by the dumbest deputy in the state doin' ninety-eight, drivin' like hell to get away from here. Defend yourself."

"I didn't torch it."

"Why did you leave at two-thirty?"

"Someone threw a rock through the dining room window. I got scared."

"You had a gun."

"I didn't want to use it. I'd rather run away than shoot somebody."

"You've been up North too long."

"I don't live up North."

"How'd you get cut up like that?"

"The brick broke the window, you see, and when I checked it out, I got cut."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"I panicked. I wanted to go home, so I left."

"And ten minutes later somebody soaks the place with gasoline and throws a match."

"I don't know what they did."

"I'd convict you."

"No, you're my lawyer."

"No, I'm the lawyer for the estate, which by the way just lost its only asset."

"There's fire insurance."

"Yeah, but you can't get it."

"Why not?"

"Because if you file a claim, then they'll investigate you for arson. If you say you didn't do it, then I believe you. But I'm not sure anybody else will. If you go after the insurance, then those boys will come after you with a vengeance."

"I didn't torch it."

"Great, then who did?"

"Whoever threw the brick."

"And who might that be?"

"I have no idea. Maybe some guy who got the bad end of a divorce."

"Brilliant. And he waits nine years to get revenge on the Judge, who, by the way, is dead. I will not be in the courtroom when you offer that to the jury."

"I don't know, Harry Rex. I swear I didn't do it. Forget the insurance money."

"It's not that easy. Only half is yours, the other half belongs to Forrest. He can file a claim for the insurance coverage."

Ray breathed deeply and scratched his stubble. "Help me here, okay?"

"The sheriff's downstairs, with one of his investigators. They'll ask some questions. Answer slowly, tell the truth, blah, blah. I'll be there, so let's go slow."

"He's here?"

"In my conference room. I asked him to come over so we can do this now. I really think you need to get out of town."

"I was trying."

"The reckless driving and the gun charge will be put off for a few months. Give me some time to work the docket. You got bigger problems right now."

"I did not torch the house, Harry Rex."

"Of course you didn't."

They left the room and started down the unsteady steps to the second floor. "Who's the sheriff?" Ray asked, over his shoulder.

"Guy named Sawyer."

"Good guy?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You close to him?"

"I did his son's divorce."

The conference room was a wonderful mess of thick law books thrown about on shelves and credenzas and the long table itself. The impression was given that Harry Rex spent hours in tedious research. He did not.

Sawyer was not the least bit polite, nor was his assistant, a nervous little Italian named Sandroni. Italians were rare in northeast Mississippi, and during the tense introductions Ray detected a Delta accent. The two were all business, with Sandroni taking careful notes while Sawyer sipped steaming coffee from a paper cup and watched every move Ray made.

The fire call was made by Mrs. Larrimore at two thirty-four, approximately ten to fifteen minutes after she'd seen Ray's car leave Fourth Street in a hurry. Elmer Conway radioed at two thirty-six that he was in pursuit of some idiot doing a hundred miles an hour down in The Bottoms. Since it was established that Ray was driving very fast, Sandroni spent a long time nailing down his route, his estimated speeds, traffic lights, anything to slow him down at that hour of the morning.

Once Ray's exit route was determined, Sawyer radioed a deputy, who was sitting in front of the rubble at Maple Run, and told him to drive the exact course at the same estimated speeds and to stop out in The Bottoms where Elmer was once again waiting.

Twelve minutes later, the deputy called back and said he was with Elmer.

So in less than twelve minutes, Sandroni said as he began his recap, "Someone - and we're assuming this someone was not already in the house, aren't we, Mr. Atlee? - entered with what evidently was a large supply of gasoline and soaked the place thoroughly, so thoroughly that the fire captain said he'd never smelled such a strong odor of gas, then threw a match or maybe two, because the fire captain was almost certain the fire had more than one point of origin, and once the matches were thrown this unknown arsonist fled into the night. Right, Mr. Atlee?"

"I don't know what the arsonist did," Ray said.

"But the times are accurate?"

"If you say so."

"I say so."

"Move along," Harry Rex growled from the end of the table.

Motive was next. The house was insured for $380,000, including contents. According to the Realtor, who'd already been consulted, he'd been writing up an offer to purchase it for $175,000.

"That's a nice gap, isn't it, Mr. Atlee?" Sandroni inquired.

"It is."

"Have you notified your insurance company?" Sandroni asked.

"No, I thought I'd wait until their offices open," Ray responded. "Believe it or not, some folks don't work on Saturday."

"Hell, the fire truck's still there," Harry Rex added helpfully. "We got six months to file a claim."

Sandroni's cheeks turned crimson but he held his tongue. Moving right along, he studied his notes and said, "Let's talk about other suspects."

Ray didn't like the use of the word "other." He told the story about the brick through the window, or at least most of the story. And the phone call, warning him to leave immediately. "Check the phone records," he challenged them. And for good measure, he threw in the earlier adventures with some demented soul rattling windows the night the Judge died.

"Y'all had enough," Harry Rex said after thirty minutes. In other words, my client will answer no more questions.

"When are you leaving town?" asked Sawyer.

"I've been trying to leave for the past six hours," Ray replied.

"Real soon," said Harry Rex.

"We may have some more questions."

"I'll come back whenever I'm needed," Ray said.

Harry Rex shoved them out the front door, and when he returned to the conference room he said, "I think you're a lyin' son-ofabitch."