“I’m here to get your side of things,” Klay said.

“That right?” Botha licked his lower lip in a way that drew his cheeks in so far Klay wondered if he was missing his bottom teeth. Maybe he was. Klay hadn’t noticed before.

“I’m a big man in here. Privileges,” Botha said and nodded toward his feet. He wore hiking boots. “No prison shoes.” He gestured to his clothes. “No fucking jumpsuit.” He looked over Klay’s shoulder at Jacob in case Jacob was thinking of making him wear a fucking jumpsuit. Klay turned, too. Jacob didn’t appear to be thinking about Botha’s clothing. He was studying a magazine.

Botha rolled an orange across the table. “For you,” he said.

Klay watched the orange roll toward him. It stopped beside his notebook.

Botha waited, but Klay did not touch the fruit. “You want to know about me? Okay. I made good money mining. Did you know that? Not really mining, but stealing from diamond mines. I like animals,” he said, “which is what gave me the idea for it.” He sucked his lower lip and launched into his story. “I met a black boy on the gravel ramp. He sees some big diamonds coming through. Big as this.” Botha indicated the end of his thumb. “So, I asked him, what do the gates look like? The building? How many guards? Where do they stand? Does he know any of the guards? Tell me the schedules . . . what . . . what . . . what . . .

“The boy says it’s wrapped tight. They x-ray coming out and they metal-detect both ways. He tells me he can’t even get out a window. They’re little windows in the hallway, like on a ship, too small to climb out. I been on some big yachts. Big. Adnan Khashoggi hunted with me on the Kimber, did you know that?”

“Didn’t know that,” Klay said and tapped his pen. His notebook was open in front of him. At the top of the page he’d written Botha’s name, the date, and the interview location. The page was blank.

“That’s right, counselor. Russians. Putin. Some big Americans. Names you would know.”

“Like who?”

Botha studied Klay. “Yeah, but I was telling a story. I told the boy, open one of the hallway windows. Not open it, just unlatch it. That’s all he had to do.” Botha began peeling his orange. He did it slowly, chipping off pieces while he talked. “I’m telling you so you know how my mind works.”

Klay gestured with his hands. “Please.”

Botha continued. He said he drove out to the young mineworker’s house with some men and some lumber and had them build a pigeon coop behind the mineworker’s house. Then he bought a flock of homing pigeons.