“My mother always believed his story, and after a while that really drove a wedge between us. You and I, we went after grave robbers, right? What he did wasn’t much better—stealing from a dead man. And then I wondered, is that the reason why he befriended all those old clients? How many times had he done this before? How much money meant for charities or gifts had he pocketed himself? And if he had…what had he spent the money on? I didn’t want to know any of these answers. As soon as I could, I transferred to law school in Boston, working in a restaurant to pay for it. The first month or so that he was in prison, I would call him, we would talk. But I would be sitting in class and thinking about the trust he’d broken with his clients, with his family. It made me feel sick, speaking to him now. And he knew it. We were close, I was following in his shoes. He had my mother, of course. She would never turn her back on him. But I think losing me, his shadow, the daughter who came in for butterscotch candies and thought he could do no wrong…I think knowing he’d lost my respect might have hurt him most of all.

“They found him dead in his cell one morning ten months into his sentence. He had soaked one of his shirts in toilet water to add strength and hanged himself from the top bedrail while his cellmate slept. Another shock. I would never have guessed that he was even capable of that. But he had demons—the psychological kind, not the kind you seem to deal with—that I never knew about. And when his public veneer, the family lawyer, trustworthy and true…once that was gone, he couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear that people saw the greed, the glutton, the immoral thief, within.

“That’s not a weakness, see? That’s an education. Spoiled me for the law, that’s for sure. I got my degree, but I had already decided I wanted to apply to the FBI. Law and order.” She chuckled bitterly. “And now that’s over with, too. What’s left?”

“Maybe not,” said Blackwood.

She rubbed her temples, refusing to be distracted by hope. “No,” she said. “Time to pivot again. Time for yet another fresh start.”

“Hello,” sang a new voice, a nurse appearing at the open door. “Oh, look. You have guests.”

She was talking to Earl Solomon, who lay flat on his bed, one arm stretched limply across his chest.

Odessa moved out of the way so the bed could be wheeled back into place. Solomon’s head was turned to one side, and as they set the brakes on the wheels, Odessa ducked into his line of sight. His eyes were open but unfocused.

“How’s he doing?” she asked.