“You could probably call Sheriff Byrd to let you in,” he suggests.

“I’d rather not do that.”

“No, sir, I didn’t figure.”

So even the janitors know there’s bad blood between Billy Byrd and my family.

“If you really want to get in, there is a way. But you’ve got to climb up onto the roof from the fire escape. It’s pretty dangerous.”

“No, no. I was about to head home. Haven’t we met before?”

The janitor smiles without making eye contact. “You’ve said hello to me a couple times. I’m Noel Shelton.”

The name sounds familiar. “I knew a man with your last name,” I think aloud. “He helped me find some files a few years ago. Important files. They helped me on a civil rights case.”

White teeth show in the darkness. “That was my brother, Leon. The Del Payton case, right?”

“That’s right! Does Leon still work here?”

“No, sir. Leon done passed. Three years ago, now.”

Though it’s night, the shadow of mortality falls over us. “I’m sorry. He was a good man.”

“Yes, sir. And . . . I know it’s none of my business, but please tell Dr. Cage to hold his head high tomorrow.”

This takes me by surprise. “You know about his case?”

“Shoot, everybody ’round here know.”

“What do you think about it, Noel?”

The custodian shrugs, his gaze focused over my shoulder, on the sheriff’s department. “I can’t speak for nobody else. But I know this: when Leon was sick, he like to broke the family with doctor bills. Lab bills, X-ray bills, surgeon bills, anesthesia bills, the home health. After he died, we had people calling ten times a day, and collectors coming from the hospital in Jackson. It was terrible. Me and my two sisters paid and paid, but we couldn’t begin to cover it all.”

It’s an old American story. “I’m sorry, Noel.”

“You got nothing to be sorry about. The onliest bill I knew I wanted to pay was your daddy’s, ’cause he took such good care of Leon at the end. But we paid the pushiest people first, you know? Had to. We went to see Dr. Cage at his office, to ask for some time, ’cause of the load and all. You know what he said?”

I suspect I know the answer, but I shake my head.

“Doc took his bill and studied on it for a minute. Then he folded it up and dropped it in the trash can. He said, ‘Your brother was a fine man, Mr. Shelton. Ya’ll git on home now. Don’t worry ’bout that bill no more.’”

My throat tightens, preventing me from replying.