Because Quentin seems so upset, I give his question some real thought. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know how I’ll react until he walks through that door.”

After a while, Quentin says, “Just leave the past alone. If you still blame your father for Caitlin’s death, you’re way behind Tom himself. It damn near killed him when he heard that girl died.”

I fold my hands on the scarred table. “Yeah, well. That’s between him and me.”

Quentin reaches out and catches my sleeve again. “Just remember one thing. We’re all mortal. We all sin. We’re all guilty. That’s why I could never be a prosecutor.”

“Unlike me, you mean.”

“Just don’t be too quick to judge, that’s all I’m saying. Or too harsh.”

He releases my sleeve. “By the way, I want you to know it was me who leaked the DNA test proving Tom’s paternity of Lincoln Turner.”

A sudden numbness comes into my face.

“You know why I did that, right?” he asks.

My answer is automatic, a law student’s reply. “You didn’t want Shad dropping a big revelation on the jury. Goes to motive. If Shad had sprung that during the trial, the effect would have been explosive. You wanted the shock to dissipate during the months of lead-up.”

Quentin gives me a grateful nod, as if I’ve absolved him. “I know the publicity couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“I hope you gave Mom some warning, at least.”

“Tom spoke to Peggy before I let it out.”

“Small mercy.” Suddenly, I’m almost boiling with exasperation. “Do you two really plan to keep up this closemouthed, blood-brothers act all the way to the trial?”

Quentin shrugs. “Tom’s my client. I have to be guided by his wishes. If you can change his mind, I’m happy to have you on the team.”

“Screw it. I’m through trying to convince him to do the right thing. Or anything. I’m here because Annie is at risk—end of story.”

Quentin studies me a few moments with deep sadness in his eyes. Then he says, “I love you, Penn. Don’t ever forget that.”

He touches the joystick on his chair arm, whirs to the door, and knocks twice on it. A corrections officer opens the door and holds it for him to exit.

After Quentin disappears, the officer continues holding the door for a tall, emaciated man with white hair and a beard who shuffles unsteadily into the room, his hollow eyes squinting at me.

My father.

Chapter 5

“You’ve lost weight,” my father says, shuffling to the table where I sit. “A lot of weight.”

“About twenty pounds,” I say awkwardly. “Don’t have any appetite.”

“Me either.”