As soon as I close the door, he leans over and raps on the window. Then he lowers it and says, “If court resumes before the money’s been transferred, old Quentin better steer well clear of the track he’s been on.”

This is his confession: Quentin has him by the balls, and he senses a knife is being sharpened.

“You know, I’ve actually felt sorry for you during this whole process. But I see now that you’ve got no honor at all.”

“You don’t see shit,” Lincoln grumbles. “And you don’t know shit. Especially about me. And you never will.”

“I know you’d tell any lie in the world to get money and revenge. I don’t care what the DNA test said . . . you’re not my father’s son.”

His white teeth slowly disappear, and his eyes take on a lethal cast. “That’s where you’re dead wrong. I’m his true son—not you. You’re what he wishes he could have been. That’s one thing you’ll learn for sure before I leave this town.” Lincoln laughs with harsh pleasure, then yanks the gearshift. “Nice doing business with you, Mayor.”

As his truck rumbles away, I enter the bank, count to ten, then exit onto Commerce Street and sprint toward City Hall.

Chapter 53

By the time I reach City Hall, I’ve learned from Doris Avery that she and Quentin are back down at Edelweiss. With the traffic around the courthouse still snarled from TV trucks, I decide to run the five blocks to the river. I draw a lot of looks from people on the street; they’re not used to seeing their mayor pound the pavement in a sport coat and tie. But then most of them remember that my father is on trial for murder and figure it must make sense at some level.

I’m soaked with sweat when I near the back of the chalet, approaching it from Washington Street, just as I did two days ago. Once again I trot through my neighbor’s backyard and steal through the rear gate of the fence that borders my property.

Looking up, I cry out in surprise and nearly collide with a man trying to exit through the same gate. At first I assume it’s a trespassing reporter, but then I see that it’s John Kaiser. Kaiser looks at me rather sheepishly, an expression I’ve never seen on his face.

“John? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I needed to talk to Avery.”

Kaiser talking to Quentin? “What about? Will Devine?”

“I can’t tell you. And you know I don’t say that easily.”

I take hold of his upper arm. “You’re kidding, right? This case means my father’s life. What would you hold back from me?”