The rain had started before dawn.

By eight in the morning, the highway was a ribbon of wet asphalt stretching beneath a sky the color of old steel. Cars moved cautiously through the mist, their headlights glowing like distant candles.

Seventy-year-old Samuel Carter kept both hands on the steering wheel of his faded blue sedan.

He was not in a hurry.

After thirty-seven years of working investigations for the state, Samuel had learned that rushing rarely improved anything. Rushing made people overlook details. Rushing made people angry. Rushing made people say things they regretted.

He had retired six years earlier, but his habits had never completely disappeared.

He still checked his mirrors every few minutes.

He still noticed license plates.

He still remembered faces.

And he still drove as if every mile of road might eventually become evidence.

Today, however, he wasn't working.

He was simply going to see his daughter.

Claire had called him three nights earlier.

"Are you really coming Saturday?" she'd asked.

"If you still want me there."

"Dad."

"What?"

"I've asked you that question for two years."

Samuel smiled.

"Then I suppose I'm overdue."

Claire was thirty-six and had recently bought a small house outside the town of Bellweather. It needed work—more work than she had originally expected.

The roof leaked.

The kitchen floor had begun to sag.

One of the bedroom windows wouldn't close.

And the old furnace had finally given up.

Samuel had promised to help pay for the repairs.

In the glove compartment was an envelope containing several thousand dollars in cashier's checks and cash. Claire had insisted she could manage without his help.

Samuel knew better.

A father didn't stop being a father because his daughter turned thirty-six.

He reached for the radio.

Nothing but static.

He turned it off.

A few miles ahead, a blue highway sign appeared through the rain.

BELLWEATHER — 42 MILES.

Samuel smiled.

He was closer than he thought.

Then he saw the lights.

Red.

Blue.

Flashing behind him.

Samuel glanced at the rearview mirror.

A sheriff's cruiser.

He checked his speed.

Fifty-eight in a sixty-five.

He had done nothing wrong.

Still, he pulled onto the shoulder.

The cruiser stopped behind him.

Samuel waited.

The rain tapped against his windshield.

A moment later, the driver's door of the cruiser opened.

A young deputy stepped out.

He was perhaps thirty years old, broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and a dark rain jacket.

He approached Samuel's window.

Samuel lowered it.

"Morning, officer."

The deputy didn't answer.

"License and registration."

Samuel handed them over.

The deputy looked at the license.

Then at Samuel.

Then back at the license.

"Where are you headed?"

"Bellweather."

"Why?"

"Visiting my daughter."

"Name?"

"Claire Carter."

The deputy stared at him.

"Claire Carter?"

"Yes."

"She lives in Bellweather?"

"Outside town."

The deputy handed the license back.

"Step out of the vehicle."

Samuel looked at him.

"Is there a problem?"

"I said step out."

Samuel opened the door.

He stepped into the rain.

The deputy moved closer.

"Keep your hands where I can see them."

Samuel raised them slightly.

"Of course."

Another deputy had emerged from the cruiser.

This one was older.

Maybe forty-five.

He stood several feet away, watching.

Samuel recognized the look immediately.

Not suspicion.

Something worse.

Enjoyment.

The older deputy walked toward them.

"What have we got?"

"Driver was going twenty over," the younger man said.

Samuel frowned.

"No, I wasn't."

The older deputy smiled.

"Didn't ask you."

Samuel said nothing.

The younger deputy began searching the car.

He opened the trunk.

He looked beneath the driver's seat.

He opened the glove compartment.

Then he found the envelope.

He pulled it out.

Samuel's expression changed.

"That's personal."

The deputy opened it.

Inside were cash and documents.

"How much?"

Samuel didn't answer.

The younger deputy counted.