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car, and slipped into the little graveyard. Tucked away in a dusty corner, he found the grave he was looking for.

Alejandro de Meléndez y Ruiz

1832–1926

His own grave, in a way, and already sixty years old. There were flowers on the grave, though, and Alex knew who had put them there. Old María Torres, still honoring her grandfather’s memory. Alex reached down and picked one of the flowers, breathing in its fragrance. Then, taking the flower with him, he went back to the car.

In the Square, he stepped over the chain around the tree, and stood for a long time under the spreading branches. Alejandro’s memories were strong again, and Alex let them spread through his mind.

Once more he saw his father’s body swinging limply from the hempen noose knotted around his neck, and felt the unfamiliar sensation of tears dampening his cheeks. He took the flower from Alejandro’s grave and laid it gently on the ground above his father’s grave. Then he turned away, knowing he’d seen the great oak tree for the last time.

Lisa and Carol Cochran were still sitting in the friendly brightness of the kitchen when they heard the car pull up outside, and a door slam. Carol hesitated, then pulled the drawn shades just far enough back to allow her to peer out into the street. A car she didn’t recognize sat by the curb, and it was too dark to see who had gotten out of it. She dropped the shade back into position, and went to the stove, where she nervously poured herself yet another cup of coffee. As soon as Jim had left the house, she had given up any idea of sleeping that night.

“Who was it, Mom?” Lisa whispered, and Carol forced a grin that held much more confidence than she was feeling.

“It’s no one. I’ve never seen the car before, and I don’t think anyone’s in it. Whoever it was must have gone across the street.” But even as she spoke, she had the uncanny feeling that she was wrong, and that whoever had arrived in the car was still outside.

At that moment, the doorbell rang, its normally friendly chime taking on an ominous tone.

“What shall we do?” Lisa asked, her voice barely audible.

“Nothing,” Carol whispered back. “We’ll just sit here, and whoever it is will go away.”

The doorbell sounded again, and Lisa seemed to shrink away from the sound.

“He’ll go away,” Carol repeated. “If we don’t answer it, he’ll go away.”

And then, as the bell rang for the third time, there was a pounding of feet on the stairs, and through the dining room Carol could see Kim, apparently having leapt from the third step, catching herself before crashing headlong into the door. Knowing what was about to happen, she rose to her feet. “Kim!”

But it was too late. Over her own cry, she heard Kim’s exuberant voice demanding to know who was outside before she opened the door.

“Don’t open it, Kim,” she cried, but Kim only turned to give her an exasperated glare.

“Don’t be dumb, Mommy,” Kim called. “It’s only Alex.” She reached up and turned the knob, then pulled the door open wide.

Carrying the shotgun in his right hand, Alex stepped into the Cochrans’ foyer.

“How long we going to sit here?” Jackson asked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, then cupped his hand over his lighter as a brief flame illuminated the dark interior of the car they had parked fifty feet up the hill from the Lonsdales’.

“As long as it takes,” Finnerty growled, shifting in the seat in a vain attempt to ease the cramps in his legs. He’d been up too many hours, and exhaustion was beginning to take its toll.

“What makes you so sure the kid’s going to come back here at all?”

Finnerty shrugged stiffly. “Instincts. He doesn’t really have any place else to go. Besides, why shouldn’t he come back here?”

Jackson glanced across at his partner, and took a deep drag on his cigarette, hoping perhaps the smoke might drive away the sleepiness that was threatening to overwhelm him. “Seems to me that if I were in his shoes, this is the last place I’d come. I think I’d be heading for Mexico right about now.”

“Except for one thing,” Finnerty growled. “According to the kid’s dad, the kid couldn’t have done anything, remember?”

“You believe that shit?”

“We saw Alex Lonsdale the night he wrecked himself, remember? By rights, that kid should have been dead. Jesus, Tom, half his head was caved