“Of course I did. Because I knew exactly what was going on. That’s another irony of this screwed-up case. Byrd’s deputies probably destroyed or replaced Caucasian hairs that might have turned out to match Snake or Sonny, but by doing so, they inadvertently protected Peggy. I wasn’t about to let you open that can of worms. The FBI might have gone in there and found a dozen more gray hairs from your mother’s head.”

For the first time in a while, I feel like laughing, at the thought of my father exploiting Billy Byrd’s corruption to protect my mother. But Dad isn’t smiling.

“Of course, I couldn’t be sure that Snake hadn’t told Byrd everything,” he goes on. “That was one more thing I had to sweat. Did Billy Byrd have Peggy’s hair sitting over there in an envelope, ready to drop into the case file on command from Snake if it looked like I was going to be acquitted?”

“Christ. But they didn’t do that. They thought they had you. And once things began turning your way, it was too late to drag Mom into it.”

Dad’s eyes settle on me with disturbing intensity. “Was it?”

“What are you saying?”

“If I’d been acquitted, couldn’t someone else have been charged with Viola’s murder?”

I feel as though my father just sucked the gravity from the entire building and I might float up off the chair. “Are you saying you changed your plea because they threatened to charge Mom with Viola’s death?”

He looks back at me without answering for several seconds. Then he says, “No. I was afraid of that, sure, but that wasn’t my reason.”

Again we’ve come to the question of why he changed his plea to guilty. This time I don’t steer away from it. “Shad got to you with that parable of his, didn’t he? That’s what triggered your change of plea.”

Dad acknowledges this with a single nod. Then he says, “What do you think about Shad’s theory that everything I did for black people over the years was motivated by guilt?”

“I don’t think it matters. They needed help, and you helped them. Few others did.”

He doesn’t look convinced.

“Didn’t you start all that long before you knew Viola?”

“A couple of years before, I guess. It’s hard to remember now.”

“So forget it.”

He doesn’t look like he’s going to stop second-guessing himself anytime soon, and in prison there’s not much else for a man to do.

“Dad, I need to ask you two questions. And I need you to answer them. No matter how much you think it might hurt me.”

“All right. You’re entitled, after the hell I put you through these past months.”