She shakes her head as if I’m hopelessly insane.

“By sundown tomorrow your father will be indicted for murder, unless he can kill my witnesses. And he’s trying hard, believe me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your father and John Portman tried to kill me last night.”

She shakes her head. “You’re lying.”

“When have you known me to lie, Livy? Ever? Your father killed for money and power in 1968, and he’ll do it now to cover his ass. That’s all he’s ever been about. He’s played every angle and skimmed every deal, from factory locations to backroom adoptions. Everything’s money to him.”

Livy has gone still. “What do you mean, backroom adoptions?”

“Come on. That can’t be news to you. I saw a record of the private adoptions he handled over the years. He did about twenty of them, and yours was one. Jenny’s, I mean. For big money too. Big for those days, anyway.”

She reaches out and touches my arm. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

“You really don’t know? Remember those records you and Leo took out of his office last week? The ones he tried to burn?”

“Yes.”

“There was a scrap of paper in there, a record of income from adoptions. He pocketed thirty-five grand off of yours. One of the highest prices paid for any baby on the list. I guess he wanted top dollar, since the baby came from his gene pool.”

The blood has drained from her face.

“Look at it, if you don’t believe me. I’ve been carrying the list around in my wallet since the day Jenny told me her story. I thought it was a record of our child being given away.”

“Let me see it.”

I pull out my wallet and fish the scrap of yellow paper from the bill compartment. Livy snatches it away and holds it up in the blue glow of the streetlight across the road, trying to read in the dark. Her face is in shadow, but after a few moments the paper starts to quiver in her hand.

“That son of a bitch,” she murmurs. “That son of a bitch.”

“You still think I’m lying?”

“That he would profit from my pain like that . . .”

“I doubt he gave it a second thought. Making money was his habit. Everything that passed through his hands had to turn a profit. You should know that better than anyone.”

She looks up at last, her eyes empty of everything but desire for the truth. These are the eyes I knew in high school. “Do you really believe my father ordered Del Payton’s death?”

“It’s not a question of belief. I know.”

“You can prove it?”

“If my witnesses reach the courtroom alive.”