I voiced none of these concerns, of course. And despite the danger, Annie made it clear that she had no intention of leaving her home, especially while “Papa” was about to be tried for murder. Mia took her own counsel for some time before answering. Then she grasped my daughter’s hand and said that Annie needed her, and she had no intention of abandoning her job. Since Mia is only twenty, I wasn’t about to leave it at that. But when Kaiser arrived, he surprised me—and also Mia’s mother—by telling us that the safest option, without question, was for Annie and Mia to remain where they were.

“You see, Mrs. Burke,” Kaiser explained, “as unpleasant as the thought is, by working with this family for the past three months, Mia has already made herself a target. If she were to go home to your house, for example, what protection would she have? Here, she’s got former Navy SEALS guarding her around the clock. Plus police patrols and some FBI protection. Even if she went back to Boston, she wouldn’t be nearly as safe as she is here.”

Meredith Burke began to sob quietly. Her daughter took her hand and squeezed it. “We’ll be okay, Mom, really. Keisha had no protection this morning. But they guard us like the royal family.”

“But when will this end?” asked her mother. “When Dr. Cage’s trial is over? Or will it just go on?”

“If I have anything to do with it,” Kaiser said, “the danger will end before the trial does. Jury selection begins Monday—four days from now—and the trial proper will be under way by Tuesday. Between you and me, I believe Dr. Cage’s trial is going to function like a baited trap. Snake Knox is the source of all this violence, and one way or another the trial is going to bring him to us. Once we have Snake, we’ll roll up the rest without any problem.”

Kaiser’s plan sounded good, in theory. It was the execution I doubted. But I didn’t raise my doubts then. What I wanted was to get Annie and Mia safely and peacefully into bed.

After I’d accomplished that, I went down to my basement office and paced the floor for a while. On some level, I’d been expecting retaliation for my visit to the Kuntry Kafé—a drive-by shooting or Sheriff Billy Byrd’s deputies pounding on the door with an arrest warrant. But either Earl Tarver had decided not to report what I’d done, or my friend Sheriff Walker Dennis had encouraged him not to make a fuss, because by ten p.m. nothing had happened. At eleven Tim Weathers texted me that everything outside was quiet.