Stagg reached for another peppermint and unwrapped the candy, popping it on his tongue and grinning as he sucked on it. “You still don’t like me much,” Stagg said. “Do you? After all me and you been through together. All them trials and travails and you still hold a grudge. I’ll tell you what the pastor in here tells us. Repay no one evil for evil, but give thought to do what is honorable in the sight of all.”

“Son of a bitch,” Quinn said. “You kept those negatives. Didn’t you?”

Stagg kept on sucking on the peppermint. “Why, of course not. Vardaman wanted them,” he said. “He insisted on it. Burned them up as soon as he got ’em.”

Quinn leaned forward, closer to the table. Stagg grinned, his eyes twinkling.

“But no one told me not to print some more pictures off of ’em.”

“Where are the pictures?”

“Come on now, son,” he said. “Like I said, you’re moving too damn fast. If we was on a date, I wouldn’t even get a peck on the cheek. You’d go right for the ole cooter. It’s gonna take time for you and the federal folks to unwind all this shit. And before I lift another goddamn finger, I want my lawyer here and the federal prosecutor from Oxford who fucked me a hundred ways from Sunday. Yes, sir. I want his cocky, smiling ass on his knees and his mouth open wide before I share my hidey-hole with him. That’s my goddamn trump card. My ace in the hole.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Quinn said.

Stagg didn’t move, looking away from Quinn as if he was in deep thought over the matters they’d just discussed. “I heard Skylar’s face done looked like ground chuck when the trooper was done teaching her a lesson. You know what? I don’t think he meant to kill her. Man like that, born with that kind of defect brain, just like that pro ball player . . . Old boy just couldn’t help himself.”

Quinn stood but didn’t offer his hand. “I’ll be in touch.”

“You do that, son.” Stagg kept on grinning, lifting his pointed chin and sucking on a fresh mint. His old skin looked like a leather shaving strop. “Your uncle wasn’t strong enough to handle the Mississippi way. You and I both know that’s what killed him. I’ll help you. But you better know it won’t matter a pot of mule piss. The truth don’t matter no more. Better square that in your mind, Sheriff. Vardaman’s people say they want to turn back the clock? If they do that, you better start building gallows on the town square.”

*   *   *