Hannon runs a hand over his slicked-back, salt-and-pepper hair.

  “Hoo, boy. That’s quite a theory, partner.”

  “You got a better one?”

  “We got two young parents, of modest means, no criminal records, living in the middle of nowhere, minding their own business. Who sends a hit man after them?”

  Lott knows his partner has a point. But for now, it’s the only hypothesis he’s got. He turns back to face the house. Grasping for some kind of sense.

  “I don’t know what the hell we have. I just know that the son of a bitch is still out there. And we gotta catch him.”

  Chapter 22

  February 1, 2012

  Walking up to the front door of this quaint rural home, TBI special agent Mike Hannon says to his partner, Special Agent Scott Lott, “Ain’t I always tellin’ you to stop and smell the roses?”

  Hannon gestures to the lush flower garden that takes up much of the front yard. Lott smiles flatly. He usually appreciates his partner’s attempts at humor. But this morning, he’s in no laughing mood. It’s going on thirty hours since Billy Payne and Billie Jean Hayworth were murdered, and they’re no closer to finding the killer.

  After spending some time digging into the victims’ lives, however, the agents did discover some kind of ongoing feud they seemed to be having with an estranged friend named Jenelle Potter. By all accounts, Jenelle is an odd one, sheltered and self-involved, with limited intellectual faculties. It seems highly unlikely that she could’ve had anything to do with Payne’s and Hayworth’s military-style executions, but with the investigation short on leads, Jenelle and her parents, Barbara and Marvin “Buddy” Potter, seem as good a place to start as any.

  The agents are greeted at the door by a burly man in his sixties wearing a camouflage Marine Corps cap and a holstered sidearm and combat knife. They’re accustomed to seeing folks open-carry weapons in public, especially in rural parts of the state. But it’s not every day they see someone packing heat inside their own home.

  “Marvin Potter? Special Agents Hannon and Lott, Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. We’re hopin’ to ask you, your wife, and daughter a couple questions about the murders of Billy Payne and Billie Jean Hayworth.”

  Buddy levels a suspicious look at the agents, but he betrays chillingly little emotion. “Heard about it on the news last night. Y’all think we’re part of that?”

  “We know Jenelle had some issues with the victims over the years,” Hannon replies. “We’re hoping to rule your family out.”

  Buddy mutters, “Everybody always points a finger at us for somethin’.” But he moves aside and motions for the agents to enter.

  Soon Lott and Hannon are seated in the living room across from Jenelle, Buddy, and Barbara.

  “It’s real sad. And scary,” Barbara says of the crimes. “You just don’t think something like that would happen here.”

  “How well did y’all know the victims?” asks Hannon.

  “Not well at all,” Barbara answers. “We’d see ’em in town sometimes. Say hello. But that’s it.”

  “What about you, Jenelle?” asks Lott. He can’t help but take note of this grown woman’s awkward childlike demeanor, and her constant nervous fidgeting.

  “Um, I used to be friends with Billy, I guess. But not anymore. Not for a while.”

  “As I understand it, you two weren’t simply no longer friends,” Lott presses. “Y’all had become more like enemies.”

  Jenelle looks at her parents, who nod reassuringly.

  “That’s because…one day, out of nowhere, they all just…turned against me.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Excuse my language, but they have been harassing the living crap out of me!”

  Barbara puts her arm around her daughter to help keep her calm.

  “Sayin’ all kinds of awful things online about me,” Jenelle continues. “Coming by the house sometimes, too. Late at night. Throwin’ rocks and stuff. Tryin’ to scare me.”

  “Why would they do all that?” Hannon asks.

  Jenelle shrugs. “It came out to be a jealousy thing. They said I was too pretty.”

  Lott and Hannon share a subtle look. Jealousy? That seems…far-fetched.

  Jenelle continues, “They said I wasn’t from here, so I was never gonna be accepted. I feel bad about the situation because I didn’t want no harm on them. I never wished them harm.”

  “Of course you didn’t, dear,” Barbara says, patting her daughter’s back.

  Lott scratches his goatee. “Have you ever posted anything negative on the internet about them? Ever put on the internet that you wished they were dead?”

  Jenelle vigorously shakes her head. “The only thing I had ever posted was ‘Please leave me alone!’ They were in my account. They hacked in.”

  Hannon is flipping through his notepad. He stops on a page and says, “Tell us about Jamie Curd. We understand he was caught up in this dispute as well?”

  “He’s Billy’s cousin,” Jenelle answers.

  Lott adds, “He’s also your boyfriend. Is that right?”

  Buddy interjects, “Absolutely not. Jenelle doesn’t date. Jamie’s just a friend.”

  “A family friend,” Barbara clarifies. “And not even a very close one.”

  Lott notices Jenelle open her mouth as if to say something, but she stays silent.

  “But he’s aware,” Hannon says, “of the problems y’all had been having with the victims? That they were bullying Jenelle online, intimidating her here at home?”

  Barbara replies, “I have no idea what Jamie did or didn’t know about—”

  “I was asking Jenelle, Mrs. Potter.”

  “Um…yeah. He knew a little bit. I told him some. We’re…friends,” Jenelle says.

  “And whose side would he take?” Lott asks. “Theirs, I assume? They’re family.”

  “No, he’d always take mine,” Jenelle insists, “’cause I never did nothin’ wrong!”

  The agents start to wrap up their interview. Before they leave, Lott notices a wooden display case on the mantel containing various military medals and ribbons.

  “Thank you all for your time,” he says. “And Mr. Potter, thank you for your service. That’s some impressive chest candy over there. You saw some real combat.”

  “I was just doin’ my duty. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Guessin’ you got to be a pretty good shot during the war?”

  Buddy holds Lott’s gaze for an uncomfortably long time.

  “Average,” he says.

  Lott stares right back. And smirks.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re bein’ modest?”

  Chapter 23

  A few days later

  Mr. Curd? Right this way.”

  Special Agents Scott Lott and Mike Hannon greet Jamie Curd in the lobby of the Johnson County Sheriff’s Department headquarters, a low-slung building made of beige sandstone with gray and white trim.

  Because the building doesn’t have a dedicated interrogation room, the agents lead Jamie into the private office of the chief deputy, who’s letting them use it for the duration of their investigation. Instead of a metal seat at an austere table under a bare lightbulb, Jamie—wearing a dark-blue jacket, a black baseball cap, dark sunglasses, and mud-speckled brown boots—eases into a plush leather armchair against the wall. Lott and Hannon take seats on either side.

  Surrounding him.

  “Thanks again for comin’ down,” Lott says, as easygoing as can be. “We really appreciate your help.”

  “You bet,” answers Jamie, already looking uneasy in his seat.

  “Before we get started,” Hannon says, “we want to tell you three things. First, see that camera up there? This interview is being videotaped. Second, this is your one and only chance to be completely honest with us. Ain’t gonna do yourself any favors if you lie. The truth will come out, and it’ll only hurt you later. Even if you did nothing else wrong, lyin’ to the police is still a crime. Do you understand, Mr. Curd?”

  Jamie nods stiffly, then says, “What’s the third thing?”

  “Our condolences on your cousin’s passing.”

  “Oh.” Jamie looks down at the linoleum floor. “Uh, thanks.”

  “We understand you two were close?” Lott asks.

  “Used to be. Not so much lately.”

  Hannon says, “Would that have anything to do with all the bad blood between your cousin Billy, his fiancée, and Jenelle Potter?”

  “Uh…no. It don’t. Billy told me that there’d been some emails or stuff posted. I don’t have Facebook. I don’t know nothin’ about it.”

  “Did your girlfriend ever tell you what was goin’ on?”

  “Think she mighta mentioned it. Once or twice.”

  “So you knew there was some real tension there. Some real problems.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Lott asks, “And you consider Jenelle to be your girlfriend, correct?”

  Jamie nods.

  “You love each other?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything you wouldn’t do for her if she asked?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Let’s say…some people were messin’ with her. Harassing her. Real bad. Bullying her online. Saying terrible things. Even comin’ by her house at night. What if you saw how upset it made her and she begged you to make it stop? What then?”

  “Uh…I don’t know.”

  Hannon presses him, “You don’t know? Sure you do.”

  “I…I guess I’d call the—”

  “Come on. You’d do what any real man would do. You’d take care of it yourself.”

  Jamie frowns. Squirms. Doesn’t answer.

  “Look here,” Lott says. “It’s our job to ask tough questions.” He leans forward in his chair “Did you kill Billy or Billie Jean?”

  “No,” Jamie answers. Quickly and firmly.

  “Did you participate or know they were gonna be killed before they were killed?”

  “No,” Jamie says again—this time, a tiny bit slower and less confidently.

  “Who pulled the trigger?” Lott asks. “We’re not looking to crucify anybody. We’re looking for the truth.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Jamie, I think you do.”

  “I told you. I don’t.”

  Hannon takes over, trying a different tack.

  “Think about Tyler. Are you the type of man who would shoot a woman, probably begging for her life, with a baby in her arms?”

  “No.”

  “No, you couldn’t do that. But you know who did, don’t you? Yes, you do.”

  “And before you answer,” says Lott, leaning forward again and lowering his voice, ominously, “let me tell you this. Your eyes are a window to your soul. I can see your soul. And I’ve been looking right into your soul.”

  Jamie seems thrown by those words—but still maintains his innocence.

  Lott sighs. He takes a moment to size Jamie up and regroup.

  “Tell me about Buddy Potter.”

  Instantly, the fidgety Jamie freezes. Which tells Lott he’s onto something.

  “What do you wanna know?” Jamie finally asks.

  “What’s that relationship like? Him a military man, you datin’ his only daughter.”

  Jamie starts to nervously twist his fingers together.

  “It’s…all right. We get along.”

  “Bet he’d do anything to protect her,” Lott continues. “And I mean anything. All that training he got in the Marine Corps? He ain’t a man you want to mess with, if you know what I mean.”

  Jamie shifts again in his seat. Hannon seizes the moment.

  “Did you and Buddy kill Billy and Billie Jean?”

  Jamie’s hand-rubbing has intensified. “No.”

  “But you know more than you’re tellin’ us. Time to come clean here.”

  After a few seconds, almost imperceptibly, Jamie nods.

  “Who shot ’em?” Hannon asks. “Who had the gun?”

  Jamie hunches forward in anguish.

  “He did,” he mumbles.

  “He who? Buddy?”

  Jamie draws a long, pained breath.

  “Yes.”

  Lott and Hannon exchange proud, gratified looks.

  They just cracked this case wide open.

  Chapter 24

  Jamie Curd picks up the receiver and slowly dials a number he knows by heart.

  The phone feels oddly heavy in his hand, but at the same time, he feels a crushing weight has been lifted off his chest.

  These past few days since the murders, he’s been an absolute mess. While Buddy strolled out of the Payne house that morning as casually as if he’d been dropping off a casserole, Jamie had barely made it fifty paces back across the field before buckling over and throwing up. He’s been trembling like a blade of bluegrass ever since. Unable to sleep. Unable to eat. Unable to get the sounds of those screams, and those gunshots, out of his head.

  Of course, Jamie still believes their deaths were justified. Billy and Billie Jean weren’t just making Jenelle Potter’s existence miserable—according to a source deep inside the intelligence community, the two of them were actively plotting to kill her. Jamie might have played a part in ending two lives, but it was done to save another—the life of the woman he loves, no less. That’s about as justified as any double homicide could ever be, even if the act itself is still agony to live with.

  Which is why Jamie was so grateful when the detectives interviewing him showed him such mercy. After he shared with them the guilt and pain he was feeling as Buddy’s accomplice, one of them said, “The truth shall set you free.” Jamie had never really understood what that saying meant until then.

  “Jamie? Is that you?” Barbara Potter says as she answers the phone.

  He presses the heavy phone to his ear. “Yeah. Hi, Mrs. Potter.”

  “Chris just emailed, sayin’ you were gettin’ grilled by the police this morning. Is it over? How’d it go?”

  “Fine. Better than fine.”

  “And they just let you go?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful! We’ve been prayin’ our hearts out.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Potter. Um, is Mr. Potter there? Could I talk to him a sec?”

  After some rustling on the line, Buddy Potter gets on. He’s almost chillingly calm.

  “Cops called ya down, did they? What for?”

  “Well, they’re, uh…pointing fingers.”

  “Pointing fingers?” Now Buddy’s voice begins to rise. “They ain’t got no reason to point no fingers at you or nothing!”

  “Well, sure. I know that, sir. But I just, uh…wanted to call and, uh…you got rid of everything from Billy’s, didn’t you?”

  There’s a short but interminable pause before Buddy answers, “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay. That makes me feel better. Thanks, Mr. Potter.”

  The two men hang up. Jamie rubs his face, overcome with relief.

  He eases back in his armchair, then turns to face Special Agents Scott Lott and Mike Hannon, sitting at a nearby desk, both wearing bulky earphones.

  They’ve been listening in on—and recording—his call to the Potters the whole time. In fact, it was their suggestion that he make it.

  “So, I did okay?” Jamie asks.

  “You just got Buddy Potter on tape,” Lott says, “confessing to being with you at the murder scene that night. Mr. Curd, you did a lot more than okay.”

  “And tell me again how doin’ that is gonna help me?”

  Hannon holds up his hands. “What happens next ain’t up to us. It’s the district attorney who’ll decide what he wants to charge you with, and what kinda sentence to ask the judge for if you’re found guilty. But I can tell you, DAs look a lot more favorably on defendants who help out and tell the truth than those who don’t.”

  Jamie bobs his head. Understanding that jail time is almost certainly in his future, but satisfied he did the right thing—both several days ago and today.

  Before the interrogation concludes, Jamie says, “I just got one more question y’all didn’t answer that’s been blowing about the wind.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Is the CIA here?”

  Lott cocks his head. Hannon looks even more confused.

  “CIA? No. Why did you ask about the CIA?”

  “Because he, uh, says he works for ’em.”

  “Who works for ’em?”

  “They call him Chris, but I don’t know if that’s his real name.”

  The agents glance at each other. “What in the hell are you talkin’ about?” asks Lott.

  Now Jamie grows concerned. He figured the Agency and the TBI would be working together on this, but maybe not. He wonders if he’s said too much. If he’s accidentally revealed something top secret. If it could get him into even more trouble.

  “Uh, never mind,” he says, trying to act indifferent. He holds out his wrists. “Now are you gonna arrest me or not?”

  Chapter 25

  February 7, 2012

  Special Agent Scott Lott speaks into his dashboard-mounted walkie-talkie: “All units, target house is five minutes out. Be advised, suspect is ex-military, and known to openly carry at least one firearm. Proceed with extreme caution. No lights, no sirens on approach. Follow my lead. Over.”

  As Lott puts down his radio, his partner, Special Agent Mike Hannon, asks, “You really think sneakin’ up on a guy who did multiple tours in ’Nam is a great idea?”

  “Beats the alternative. We show up guns blazing, I guarantee he’ll do the same.”

  “I meant, we could call ahead. No surprises. Let him know we’re serving a warrant.”

  “So he can flush evidence and barricade himself inside? No thanks.”

  “Come on,” Hannon scoffs. “We’re dealing with a law-and-order good ol’ boy here. He respects the uniform. He’d never even think about—”