“Me,” Sack said, running a hand through his thick red hair and smacking his lips, which glistened from recently applied ChapStick. He was of average height but in good shape for a man in his fifties, and his physical stature was enhanced by the custom-made clothes he typically wore. Today, he had on a light gray sports jacket, white shirt, burgundy tie, and black pants. As he approached the metal desk and took one of the plastic chairs across from Helen, she noticed a smattering of freckles on his nose. He crossed his legs and smiled at Helen. “It wouldn’t be right for someone who works for you to prosecute you for murder.”

“Why him?” Helen asked, looking past Sack to Hank, who had leaned his athletic frame against the cinder block wall.

“Like he said, Judge Page made the appointment, General,” Hank said. “I had nothing to do with it. I’m assuming because of his prior experience as a prosecutor.”

“Fifteen years,” Sack chimed in, looking down at the concrete floor and gritting his teeth. “And though I know this will be hard, try to remember, Sheriff Springfield, that for purposes of this case, I’m the General in this room. Got it?”

Even in the dimly lit cell, Helen could see Hank’s face reddening. The sheriff didn’t answer the question.

“Page hates my guts,” Helen rasped, wishing she had a glass of water. “Always has, the lazy bastard. The only reason he appointed you is because he knows it’ll piss me off. It has nothing to do with your experience. You were a mediocre prosecutor, and that’s why I fired you.” She paused and glared at Sack. “I guess your placement could have something to do with all of that family money you’ve filtered into Page’s war chest over the years.”

Now it was Sack whose face blushed as red as his hair. “Well . . . whatever the reason. I’m the one who will be prosecuting you for your ex-husband’s murder.” He licked his lips. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Helen rolled her eyes and plopped down in her chair. “I’ve already told Hank that I won’t be talking. I’ll wait for my attorney.”

“And who might that be?” Sack asked. “Dick Selby?” He snickered. “Old Lou Horn? I’m sure you’ll probably have all the defense lawyers in town lining up to represent their old friend, General Lewis.”

Helen didn’t answer. Instead she peered at Hank. “How about getting this asshole out of my sight?”

Hank pushed himself off the wall. He was about to say something to Sack when the swooshing sound of the sliding door cut him off. A deputy who couldn’t be much over twenty years old stepped into the cell, his eyes wide. “Sheriff, there’s a man out here who says he’s General Lewis’s lawyer.”

Helen felt her stomach tighten.