“To my everlasting amazement,” Quentin says, “Rust Bucket is right. Maybe it’s because we’re a matriarchal society, I don’t know. But it’s true. The jury won’t buy that theory.”

“Wait a second,” Rusty says, “Lincoln Turner is only half black.”

An awkward silence fills the air, but then Quentin scoffs and says, “Next question, Penn.”

“Second candidate: Snake and the Double Eagles. Will the jury believe—without Will Devine’s testimony—that the Double Eagles murdered Viola?”

“I don’t think so,” says Dad. “Not without hard evidence proving that they wanted to kill her. Or threatened to kill her. In this century.”

The audiotape Lincoln tried to sell me flashes into my mind, and I glare at Quentin, but he silences me with a slight shake of his head.

“Won’t the fact that someone just murdered a Double Eagle witness for the defense make the jury think that witness was about to implicate the killer?” I ask. “And that the killer was a Double Eagle? Quentin?”

Quentin looks far from certain. “They might just think an old Klansman was about to break his blood oath, and he got killed for it. That doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with Tom.”

Rusty looks incredulous. “Come on! They triggered that needle just when you asked Devine about Viola. Penn, help me out here.”

“The question,” I say, drilling into Quentin with my eyes, “is did the Double Eagles represent a present-day threat to Viola? Had they threatened her within weeks or even days of her death?”

“Will Devine was about to verify that,” says Quentin.

“Well, he’ll never tell anybody about it now,” Dad says.

“Damn it,” I mutter, still thinking of Lincoln’s audiotape. Unable to contain my frustration, I turn to Quentin. “I’ll bet you wish you’d let me buy that tape from Lincoln now.”

He dismisses me with a wave of his hand.

“What tape?” Rusty asks.

“Forget it,” says Quentin. “Some scam from Lincoln.”

“Maybe it’s worth exploring after all,” Dad says, looking preoccupied.

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Rusty demands.

“Fairy tales,” snaps Quentin.

Before Rusty can push harder, there’s a knock at the door.

“Got to be Kaiser,” I tell them. “Rusty, ask him to give us a second.”

Rusty jumps up with surprising speed, considering his bulk, and I move closer to my father. “I think it’s worth trying to get that tape from Lincoln. I heard it. It would definitely push at least some of the jurors to believe Snake killed Viola.”

“Trust that boy and it’ll bite you on the ass,” Quentin says.

“Uh, Penn,” Rusty calls. “We’ve got deputies out here to pick up your dad.”

As I look up at the door, two ACSO deputies enter my office, their jaws set tight. “Mayor, the jail has just been declared secure. The sheriff ordered us to take your father back to his cell.”