“Tom has been a godsend,” Doris continues. “But I have to tell you this: Quentin can’t handle a murder trial. Not a case he’d be as personally invested in as this one. If they lost, and your father went to jail, it would kill Quentin. He can certainly give you advice, but please don’t ask him to handle the trial.”

“I hope there won’t be a trial, Doris. But Dad’s already been indicted. It happened only a couple of hours after his initial appearance, and I think Shad’s going to try to have his bail revoked.”

“Hmm. That sounds fishy.”

“It is. Joe Elder is the judge, at least for now. And unless I’m mistaken, Joe clerked for Quentin back in the day. I’m hoping Quentin can help me get the charges reduced, if not dismissed altogether.”

“I hope that’s possible. You’re right about Joe Elder working for Quentin. I’ve met him several times socially. He’s a fair man. I have your phone numbers, Penn. We’ll get back to you after Quentin’s awake and up to speed.”

“Thank you, Doris. I mean it.”

“I know.”

And then she’s gone.

A cold emptiness settles in my chest as Doris’s voice echoes in my mind: Quentin can’t handle a murder trial.

I run through a mental short list of the most gifted defense attorneys I faced during my courtroom career, and even jot down a couple of names. But in the last analysis, not one measures up to Quentin Avery. And yet … all that talent and experience is contained in a body that is falling apart. The parallels with my father are downright eerie.

“It’s after five,” Rose says over the intercom. “Do you need me for anything else?”

“Go home, Rose. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Should I lock the door?”

“No, I’ll be right behind you, and I’ve got files to carry. Tomorrow is my meeting with the selectmen about the Forks of the Road proposal, right?”

“I’m afraid so.”

The political controversy that surrounds this racially charged project would be enough to sink me under normal circumstances, but right now it seems only a peripheral annoyance. That said, I’ll have to spend at least an hour tonight prepping for tomorrow’s meeting. I’m gathering up the relevant files when the door to my office opens. I jerk my head up, half expecting to see the angry face of Lincoln Turner, but instead I find the kind eyes of Jewel Washington watching me.

“Jewel! What are you doing here?”

“Sorry to sneak up on you. I was waiting for Rose to leave.”

“What’s going on?”