“Snake was always going to come after you, Penn. You killed his nephew. And I killed Frank—his brother. I don’t know how much Snake knows about Frank’s death, but he knew who’d killed Forrest. In Snake’s eyes, that’s a blood debt. Until he’s dead, you’re living on borrowed time. That’s why Walt shadowed you for so long. He was waiting for Snake to raise his head.”

“Tom,” Quentin says quietly, “don’t ever speak of this again. And pray to God that Billy Byrd hasn’t bugged this cubicle.”

“But back at the prison,” I murmur, unable to get past the idea that Dad used me to bait Snake Knox, “you—”

“I told you what you needed to hear.” Dad’s eyes flash with emotion. “And you actually turned Will Devine, by God. Today we almost broke the Double Eagles for good. From the inside out. That’s always been the only way to get them in court.”

I grimace and look away, unsure of what I’m feeling. “This trial isn’t really about getting you acquitted, is it? It never was.”

Dad holds up his hands. “Let’s not talk about the trial.”

“Quentin,” I ask, “could I see you outside for a minute?”

I step outside, and thirty seconds later, Quentin carefully backs his chair out of the cubicle. The sheriff’s department seems eerily empty, but I know why. Nearly every available man is combing the county, searching for VK members. Not even a wingnut like Billy Byrd can allow biker gangs to shoot up his town and hope to get reelected.

“Did you tell him about the tapes?” I ask Quentin.

He nods. “Right before you got here.”

“And?”

“Tom claims he knows nothing about that second tape.”

“The Dumpster tape?”

Quentin nods.

This takes me aback. “Do you believe him?”

The old lawyer closes his eyes as though in prayer. “No. His lips denied it, but in his eyes . . . I saw the ledge, Penn. And Tom’s damned close to it.”

A wave of nausea rolls through my gut. “What’s below the ledge?”

“Hell, I think.”

“Then we have to go back in there and break him down. We can’t go back into court tomorrow not knowing what might be on that tape. And he absolutely cannot take the stand.”

“You can’t change his mind, Penn. People have died on this road already, and he hasn’t given an inch.”

“You’re right. And that’s not rational.”

“Or it’s supremely rational.” Quentin tilts his head, pondering the possibility. “Inhumanly rational.”

“That makes no sense. Quentin, Dad has spent months refusing to tell me anything about the night Viola died. Now he wants to get up in front of the whole town and tell everything?”