In the months since the Malvo homicide had been wreaking havoc on Darren’s life and career, this was as close as the DA had come to a direct threat. He tried to soften it by putting a hand on Darren’s shoulder to make him feel at ease, a gesture that was awkward because Darren was a good two inches taller than him, four in his boots, so that neither man seemed entirely comfortable with the balance of power here. “I’m hoping I can count on your cooperation in this deal,” Vaughn said as he started toward his car. “My office will be circling back, going over everything again in detail. There’ll be witnesses we’ll revisit, new ones we’ll want to talk to,” he said, pausing to fish his car keys out of the pocket of his navy slacks and let this next bit land: “Your mother, for one.”

Darren felt a bolt of panic.

He knew he needed to be careful, but still his voice rose in a way that embarrassed him. God help him, he sounded scared, stunned actually. “Bell Callis never met Ronnie Malvo, couldn’t pick him out of a lineup but for the man’s picture being in the paper. My mother doesn’t know him from Adam.”

“But she knows you.” Vaughn was eyeing Darren over the top of the driver’s-side door. That smirk had unpacked its bags and settled in for a stay. Darren saw now the cocksure pleasure on his face, the look of a man who was up by a few hundred and holding a winning hand. “You’ve been spending a lot of time out to her place lately. Least, that’s what deputies around here have been telling me.”

“Can’t imagine what you think that means,” Darren said.

“Maybe it don’t mean nothing…and maybe it do.”

“Have you spoken to her?” Darren said, regretting the words as soon as they fell out of his mouth like loose teeth. He felt a loss of control that shamed and then terrified him. When he spoke again, it was with anger, righteous and mean. “My mother’s not well,” he said, because on some level it had to be true; it had to explain the whole of his life. “If I find out you’ve been harassing her—”