If anyone stopped him, he’d flash the badge and go on his way. He had a map on the seat beside him, and the Willow Flowage was way up there, just south of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Looked like a five-hour drive at best, and that was counting on forgiving traffic and no delays. He should have left last night. As soon as Frank had hung up the phone, Grady should have been in the car. Hopefully it wouldn’t matter. Hopefully Atkins was already out there. He’d be giving Frank hell, of course, but that didn’t matter so long as he was getting Frank off the lake and out of Devin Matteson’s path. With any luck they’d have Matteson’s wife and her boyfriend, the prison guard, in custody by noon, and by the time Matteson did arrive it would be over, nothing left but the shouting. His phone rang just before nine, and he answered expecting Atkins and hoping for good news. It was someone from the Bureau, but not Atkins. “Good news,” Jim Saul said, “you won’t have to worry about picking up any speeding tickets in Miami.
