Flash and Bones by Kathy Reichs

man’s other striking feature was his stillness. Winge sat with fingers laced, eyes down, perfectly motionless.
    Slidell and I approached. “Grady Winge?”
    When Winge glanced up, Slidell badged him.
    Winge looked at the shield but said nothing.
    Slidell and I sat in the plastic chairs facing Winge.
    “You know why we’re here.” Slidell laid it out as statement, not question.
    Winge said nothing.
    “I see you’re a Dale Earnhardt fan.” I gestured at the cap.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “He was the best.” I wasn’t really sure.
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Cindi Gamble and Cale Lovette disappeared from this Speedway on October 14, 1998.” Slidell was in no mood for small talk.
    “According to the file, you were the last person to see them that day.”
    Again Winge offered nothing.
    “You stated that Gamble and Lovette argued with a man around six that evening. The three then drove off.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Did you recognize the man?”
    “I’d seen him around.”
    “Are you sure the couple was Gamble and Lovette?”
    A moment passed. Then, “I’m sure it was Lovette.”
    “How’s that?”
    “Lovette worked here.”
    “You ever see Lovette outside of the track?”
    Winge shrugged. “I mighta.”
    “And where was that?”
    “A place called the Double Shot.”
    “The Double Shot Tap in Mooresville?”
    I figured Slidell knew the name from Rinaldi’s notes.
    “I had my trailer up by the lake, so I’d catch a beer there now and again.”
    “Lovette was a regular?”
    “He’d drink with his buddies.”
    “Militia types.”
    Winge said nothing.
    “Well?” Gruff.
    “Well what?”
    “Give me an answer.”
    “Give me a question.”
    “Don’t screw with me, asshole.”
    “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