Chapter 1

The Sheriff turned off the paved road onto a long gravel drive. Sitting beside him in the passenger seat of his SUV was FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Walter Goings. The Sheriff slowed the car as they approached the house where a man sat on the front porch.

“Now when we get out you let me do the talking, Emmitt Jackson don’t take kindly to strangers.”

“No problem, I understand. My accent alone makes dealing with a lot of these locals difficult.”

The Sheriff stopped the vehicle and looked at his passenger, “Damn New Yorker, probably a Yankee fan!” was what he was thinking but said nothing as they exited the vehicle.

They watched as the man on the porch leaned forward, spit a stream of tobacco juice out into the front yard as he quietly picked up a double barrelled shotgun that had been leaning against the porch railing. He sat back down in his chair with the shotgun laying across his lap.

“He’s got a gun,” the agent said as he reached under his coat for his pistol. The Sheriff quickly grabbed his hand and said under his breath, “Stand down, let me handle this.”

“But he’s...”

“It ain’t him you got to worry about. It’s his kin, the ones you ain’t seeing. I imagine they all got rifles pointed at us right about now.”

The agent dropped his hand to his side and began looking around as the Sheriff directed his attention back to the man sitting calmly on the porch. “Now Emmitt tell everybody to calm down. We ain’t here to worry about that patch of weed you got planted back behind your barn. We’re here to ask you to help us find a missing boy.”

“Speak your piece,” the man said after again spitting off the porch.

“Yesterday a family was camping along the Coldwater River. Last night their 7-year-old son either walked in his sleep or wandered off to take a piss, anyway he’s lost and the family asked us to find him. Since my department is short of men, I called the FBI and asked for their help. This here is Agent Goings.”

“Since you got the fucking Federal government helping, what do you need me for?”

“I need to borrow your dogs. The state agreed to send us some but it is going to be tomorrow before they get here. That boy is a diabetic, he needs his medicine.”

The man spat his tobacco juice again then yelled, “Ellie Mae, get out here!”

The front door opened, and a girl stepped out onto the porch.

“Go get Biscuit and Skillet out of the pen and bring them up...”

“Biscuit’s in heat. Started this morning.”

“Then bring Skillet. Put your rubber boots on. It’s swampy up there.”