“No?” Henry felt his own anger rising. “You could end a whole world of misery just by letting me turn on my tape recorder. You could bring peace and closure to a dozen families, justice to this town, and salvation to your soul. Can’t you find the courage for that, Glenn? With death so close?”

Morehouse’s face darkened. “The things I know wouldn’t bring peace to anybody. Take my word for that.” He lifted a bruised hand, scratched his scaly arm, and turned bloodshot eyes on Henry. In that moment Henry felt that he was looking at a man being consumed by malignant secrets.

“You ever see a man skinned alive?” Morehouse croaked. “You ever seen a Polaroid of it, even?”

Struck dumb, Henry shook his head.

“A man can live for hours afterward, believe it or not. I’d rather be burned at the stake than go that way. I hear the Mexican drug cartels are doin’ it now, as a punishment.” The old man’s eyes were wet. “You can’t imagine what some men can do for pleasure, Henry. I promise you that. They make a hobby out of that kind of sickness.”

Henry clung to his notebook as though it were a lifeline attached to the normal world. “Was that what happened to Pooky Wilson?”

Morehouse didn’t answer; he seemed to have slipped into a trance. “I’ve seen a man crucified, too. Nailed to a cross, just like Jesus. I’ve seen men drowned … every kind of killin’ you can imagine. Some during the war, but not all.” He squinted like a sailor trying to make out some distant shore. “How can a man get into heaven after seeing those things?”

“By confessing his sins,” Henry said. “That’s how.”

“To who?” The cloudy eyes found him for a moment. “You? You can’t absolve me of nothing.”

Henry had never seen a man so filled with despair. “To God, Glenn. Why would you let scum like Brody Royal stand between you and salvation? You think he’s above you? Albert Norris was twice the man Royal is. So are you. At least you feel remorse for what you did.”

Morehouse’s smoldering eyes fixed Henry with bone-deep hatred, but the light of animal curiosity burned there also. “Why is Albert’s case so special to you? That’s about the only operation we’ve talked about, and our time’s almost gone. Were you related to that nigger or something? Did Albert blacksnake your mama, Henry? I know he tuned up a lot of white housewives after he finished with their pianos.” The old man’s eyes glinted with wicked delight. “And your daddy spent a whole lot of time on the road, didn’t he?”