Helen glared across the courtroom at him. Gooseflesh had broken out on her arms and the back of her neck, and her heart was pounding in her chest. She was dumbfounded, but shock was beginning to give way to white-hot anger. “You wouldn’t dare,” Helen finally said, speaking through clenched teeth. “You promised. You swore that you would never speak of that to anybody. We both did.” She gazed down at the hardwood floor and bit her lip, trying to stem the tears she felt forming in the corners of her eyes.

I won’t cry, she told herself. I will not let this son of a bitch make me cry.

She was still peering at the floor a few seconds later when her ex-husband’s black loafers came into view. He had walked back to her and now was only a foot away. When Butch spoke again, his voice was soft but firm.

“I know what I said, Helen, but desperate times call for desperate measures. This is a conservative county. How do you think the community will feel about what you did? With Sack’s family and business connections, the only thing keeping you ahead in the polls is the common folk. You’ve always owned the grass roots of this county, and for good reason. You’re a hard-boiled prosecutor and a former cop. And your record is pristine.” He licked his lips. “But how do you think your supporters at the First Baptist Church will feel about what you did in December of ’77? Think they’ll still take up a collection for you and come out to the polls in droves? How about the men at the Elks Lodge that you’ve had curled around your finger for years? What about the deputies in the sheriff’s office that all worship you?”

She finally raised her eyes. “And if I dismiss the charges against Zannick?”

He ran a finger over his closed mouth and flung an imaginary key over his shoulder. “My lips are sealed.”

“You’re blackmailing me. I ought to arrest you.”

“You won’t,” Butch whispered. “If you haven’t dismissed by the time opening statements begin tomorrow, I’m going to tell Sack everything. You hear me? And I’ve also drafted a press release for the Pulaski Citizen and all the local radio and TV stations, which I’ll distribute the second you begin your opening.” He paused. “Is prosecuting Zannick worth losing your whole career?”

He took several steps backward, squinting at her the entire time. Then he pivoted and headed for the gate. When he reached it, her voice stopped him.

“Frederick Alan Renfroe!” During their marriage, when Butch had thoroughly pissed her off, Helen would snap off his full name as if it were the final straw. The last warning whistle, so to speak.

He turned his head. “I’m sorry, Helen. I really am, but I have no choice.”