Darzell ground out the cigarette, and leaned close. “You’re of a mind that Vietnam changed your brother, and you’re right, it changed us all. If you want to understand how, then you go fight the fucking war. And if it’s Jason’s stories you want, then you should talk to him.”

“Son, please…”

“Take it easy, Pops. We’re just talking this through.” His stare had grown hard, and his back was flat against the back of the booth.

“Listen, Darzell.” Becky reached for his hand, and what I saw in her face was real understanding and true compassion, as if the war, for her, had never been made so personal. “We’re trying to help. That’s all.”

“And you think he knows who killed this girl?”

“We do.”

“And that there is your problem.” Darzell withdrew his hand, but was gentle about it. “The man likes his secrets. That’s not on me.”

“It’s on me,” I said. “He’s doing it for me.”

“Why?”

“He’s protecting me, I think. Bad people, he told me. Inside the prison, or outside, I don’t know. He said they’d hurt me to get to him.”

“You don’t know much,” Darzell said.

“I know the DA wants to execute the man who saved your life.”

Becky said, “Please, Darzell.”

But Darzell kept his eyes on mine.

“One brother died in the war,” I told him. “Jason is all I have left. That means I am in the shit.”

Unsmiling, Darzell drummed his fingers. Eventually, he looked at his father, who nodded. “It’s the right thing, son.”

“All right,” Darzell said. “I’ll tell you what I know. It’ll take a while, and I need to do it in my own way. So don’t interrupt. Don’t ask questions. We can circle back later, but this isn’t something I want to do.” Darzell settled into the decision, not happy about it but willing enough to loosen up as he lit a second cigarette. “Jason is a hero, all right, and any marine that knows his story will tell you the same. Two full tours and most of a third. But it ended badly. Military prison, dishonorable discharge. That’s all most people see, so I’m going to start there, and then we’ll go back for the rest of it. Cool?”

“Very.”

Darzell nodded, satisfied. “You ever hear of My Lai?”

“You mean the massacre?”

“The slaughter, yeah.”