Kaiser ignores my gesture and walks up to us. “Look, there’s another angle to this that could help you guys out. There’ll be some powerful factions in the Bureau who’ll fight letting this capability become public in this way. Even if the tapes are successfully restored, the director, the attorney general, or even the president might refuse to authorize their release for use in a public trial. The precedent could have a lot of unintended consequences.”

I consider the politics for a few seconds, then go with my instinct. “John . . . I have a feeling we’ve passed the tipping point. Those tapes are coming back to us, like a karmic punishment.”

Kaiser looks like he’s genuinely torn between his duty and his personal desires. “I have to be frank with you. I want Tom to be acquitted. But if those tapes are restored and authorized for release tomorrow, there’s no way I can slow them down. Too many people involved.”

“We know that.” My voice is tight with frustration. “If you get any kind of progress report tonight, please give me a call.”

He gives me an empathetic nod.

“Thank you,” Quentin says. “Now you’d better get moving. I have a feeling your own people are watching you.”

“I’m afraid you’re right. Thanks to Shadrach Johnson.”

Kaiser pushes through the door and trots across the street to the brick monolith that houses the sheriff’s department and jail.

“Quentin,” I say, watching Kaiser enter the ACSO building, “when I was eighteen, Dad was sued for malpractice. The case dragged on forever. He was finally exonerated, but the months of tension almost killed him. It was the cross-examination that did it.”

“I know about that.” Quentin reaches out and squeezes my wrist. “Go home, Penn. Take care of Peggy and Annie. They shouldn’t have seen what they did today.”

As I go through the door, I look back and focus on the white shock of hair, the shelled-pecan skin, the owl’s eyes. “Quentin, do you know what really happened in that house that night?”

This time, when he looks back at me, I know that he doesn’t. Not any more than Walt Garrity did when he called his wife one lonely night three months ago.

“My God, you’re flying blind. You can’t let Shad get at him, Quentin, no matter what. Shad will tear him to pieces.”

Quentin nods with something near to anguish. “Tell me this, brother. How am I supposed to stop him?”

Chapter 59

The irrevocable events of our lives happen in seconds, sometimes fractions of seconds. A teenager leaps from the wrong rock and breaks his neck in shallow water. A single cell mutates, evades immune surveillance, races down the road to cancer. You pull distractedly into an intersection and wind up paralyzed. A young girl forgets to text a bodyguard and gets acid thrown in her face. A man settles into a witness chair . . .