A little after four, David Evans had checked in with his office and was on the road again. A fall haze hung over the area as golden light warmed his drive out to the refuge. He was learning his way around the city, knew that I-75 was his quickest route. He no longer confused the Fowler and Fletcher Avenue exits, even though both had University of South Florida signs on them.
David got some expected resistance at the refuge. A teenager at the gate refused to let him in; then a huge Grizzly Adams type named Steve told him “no” with more authority.
“Please, ask Jared. I was here on Monday, interviewing him. You were laying down the water lines, remember? I’m not asking you to let me in; just let me talk to him.”
Steve thumbed his walkie-talkie. Jared’s voice came through the tinny speaker,
