I smiled at her and she smiled back.

“You do have time for Troy’s mother, Doctor.”

“Of course,” I said.

Weider turned to the other two people. “Thanks for bringing her.”

“Anytime,” said the man. He was in his late twenties, solidly built, with thick, wavy dark hair that reminded me of an overripe artichoke. Broad, pleasant face, meaty shoulders, a wrestler’s flaring neck. He wore a corduroy suit the color of peanut butter, black boots, a navy blue shirt with long collar points, and a baby blue tie.

His white-gold wedding band was speckled with tiny blue stones and matched the one on the hand of the woman next to him.

She was around his age, slightly heavy, and extremely pretty with long, teased hair bleached nearly white and swept back at the sides. A white linen dress flared under a soft pink cardigan. A thin silver chain and crucifix circled her neck. Her skin was bronze and flawless.

The man stepped forward and blocked her face from view. “Drew Daney, sir.” Thick fingers but a gentle grip.

Sydney Weider said, “Doctor, these are some supporters of Troy.”

That made it sound as if the kid were running for office. Maybe the analogy wasn’t that far off: This was going to be a campaign.

Drew Daney said, “This is my wife, Cherish.”

The blond woman said, “I can’t see anything, honey.” Drew Daney retreated and Cherish Daney’s smile came into view.

“Troy’s supporters,” I said.

“Spiritual advisers,” said Cherish Daney.

“Ministers?”

“Not yet,” said Drew. “We’re theology students, at Fulton Seminary. Doctor, thanks so much for being there for Troy. He needs all the support he can get.”

I said, “Are you ministering to Rand Duchay as well?”

“We will if we’re asked. Wherever we’re needed— ”

Sydney Weider said “Let’s get going” and gripped Jane Hannabee harder. Hannabee winced and started to shake. Maternal anguish or some sort of dope jones? I told myself that was wrongheaded thinking. Give her a chance.

Cherish Daney said, “We’d better get going to see Troy.”

Her husband looked at his sports watch. “Oh, boy, we’d better.”

Cherish moved toward Jane Hannabee, as if to embrace the woman, but changed her mind and gave a small wave and said, “God bless you, Jane. Be well.”

Hannabee hung her head.

Drew Daney said, “Good to meet you, Doctor. Good luck.”

The two of them walked off toward the jail’s electric gate, keeping up a brisk pace, arm in arm.

Sydney Weider watched them for a few seconds, expressionless, then she turned to me. “Getting another interview room in the jail is going to be a hassle. How about I let you guys talk in my car?”

* * *