Elder had been gazing out over the river, but Quentin turned toward what was left of the foundations of the old plant. “You know, when I was a boy, I used to sell pecans to this place. We’d sneak onto people’s land and pick up what we could before they chased us off. Then come sell them here.”

“Nobody ever arrested you?”

“I got bit by a couple of dogs, but no cops got me.”

“What a loss that would have been to the legal profession.”

Quentin laughed at Elder’s sarcasm.

“What are we doing out here, Quentin?” the judge asked. “This is improper as hell.”

Quentin then took a folded piece of paper from beneath the comforter on his lap. He unfolded the paper and held it out to Judge Elder. “Joe, this is a photocopy of one page taken from a ledger kept in the early 1960s by Albert Norris. You remember him, don’t you?”

“Of course. Albert used to give me jellybeans when I walked by his store as a kid. What the hell is this about, Quentin? Ancient history?”

“Just look at the page.”

Elder regarded the paper as though it might bite him. As a judge, he knew that a document could be as dangerous as a venomous snake. After leaning down and squinting in the dark, he took the page and moved closer to the streetlamp on the edge of the bluff.

“You see the names on the third line?”

Elder didn’t answer at first, but Quentin could see that his hand was shaking.

“Are you trying to blackmail me, Quentin?”

“You know better than that. It’s just something I thought you should be aware of.”

“You have the original?”

“No. There are several ledgers, but they’re not in my possession. You’re looking at a copy of the only page with those two names on it. But the rest of the story is on the following page.”

“Who has the originals?”

“I’d rather not say. He can be trusted, though.”

“I don’t know any mortal who fits that description.”

“The man who possesses those ledgers could have turned the towns on both sides of this river upside down any time during the last forty-one years, but he never has. He hasn’t exposed a single person named in them.”

“He must be a saint to fight that temptation.”

“Close to it, Joe.”

“White or black?”

“Black.”

Elder nodded. “I repeat my question. Why are you showing me this?”

“Joe . . . to be frank, I’ve sensed some bias from the bench during this trial. I’m not alone in that, but I doubt the general public perceives it. And I was puzzled by it myself, until I read this entry in that ledger.”

“What do you think it means?”

“Come on, brother. I watched you when you read those names. You weren’t surprised at all.”