“Is that why you came down here?” she asked, edging closer to him and catching another gust of mouthwash and George Dickel. “To rehash old grudges?”

“No,” he rasped.

“Why then?”

He leaned forward and whispered into her ear. “Dismiss the charges against Zannick.” He paused. “Please . . . do it for me.”

“No,” she said. “That entitled prick is guilty of raping Amanda Burks, and my job under the laws of the State of—”

“To hell with your job,” Butch snapped, lashing out with an open palm at one of the jury chairs. “Everything is always about your job, General.” When he spoke her title, spittle flew from his mouth, and his face flushed almost as red as his eyes. “The victim may have been only fifteen years old, but her mother is the easiest lay in Giles County, and based on what I’ve heard from the high school, little Mandy is following in Momma’s footsteps. If that girl is a victim, then I’m a teetotaling priest.”

Helen felt heat behind her eyes. “Whether Mandy Burks was sexually promiscuous or not has no relevance to the case, and I won’t allow Lou to put her character on trial or play any victim-blaming games.”

Butch sighed and then he smiled, but there was only sadness in his eyes. He walked toward the gate with his patented uneven stride. When he reached it, he spoke without turning around. “You’re up for reelection in November, right?”

Helen felt her stomach tighten. She didn’t answer the question.

“Someone finally has the balls to run against the General,” Butch said, his voice rising to the rafters of the courtroom. He turned to face her. “Sack Glover was in my law school class. Did you know that?”

Helen did, but she held her tongue. She sensed that the point of this little charade was about to be made.

“Yeah, old Sack was never much of a student. And mediocre is probably the best description of him as a lawyer. You know that better than me.” He paused. “But one thing I’ll say about old Sack. He’s a persistent bastard. Ever since he declared his intent to run against you, he’s been burning up my cell phone trying to get me to disclose any dirt I might have on you. Were you aware of that?”

Helen wasn’t, but the information didn’t surprise her. She didn’t respond.

“I have some dirt,” he said, and Helen felt a cold tingle run up her arms. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Butch—”

“Remember what you did your third year of law school?” he interrupted, rubbing his chin in mock thought. “I think it was around December or so of 1977, wasn’t it? If that ever went public . . .” He trailed off and whistled. “It’d be the atomic bomb to your campaign and career.”