Agent Landers regarded Dillard as a self-righteous prick who spent his life defending the scumbags Landers was trying to put away. As far as Landers was concerned, Dillard was as bad as the people he represented. When Landers heard Dillard had been hired to represent Angel Christian, he almost puked.

He hated the thought of having to deal with Dillard through discovery and through a trial. But when Landers heard Dillards sister had been arrested, it cheered him up. He immediately called the jail and found out she hadnt made bond. Then he called the jail administrator and asked her to move Dillards sister into the same cell block as Angel Christian. The administrator said it would be no problem, so Landers waited a couple of days and then went down to pay Miss Dillard a little visit.

He had the guards bring her to an interrogation room. Her shoulders were rounded and slumped and her eyes were blank. Still, she was definitely good-looking enough to fuck. And wouldnt that have been sweet, laying the wood to Dillards sister?

She sat there like a stone, not looking at Landers.

He thought hed wait her out and let her talk first, but after a few minutes it was obvious she wasnt going to say a word.

"Youre Joe Dillards sister," Landers finally said.

"What about it?" she said without looking up.

"I hear he had you locked up."

She didnt respond. Landers watched her closely, trying to see whether she was silently agreeing with him.

"You havent asked who I am, Miss Dillard."

"I dont care who you are."

"You should. Im the man who could get you out of here."

She looked up for the first time. "And why would you do that?"

"I need some help. You need some help. You help me, Ill help you. Simple as that. I can offer you two things: a ticket out of jail and a chance to get back at your brother. Should I keep talking?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I dont trust lawyers."

"Im not a lawyer. Im an agent with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation."

"I trust cops even less than I trust lawyers."

"Suit yourself. Im sure I can find somebody else up there in the cell block who wants to get out of here. I just thought you might like a shot at your brother." Landers got up from the chair, walked to the door, and acted like he was about to push the button to call the guard.

"Wait," she said. "What do you want from me?"

"Like I said, I need a little help."

"What kind of help?"

Landers sat back down at the table. "Information.

I need information. Your brother is defending a murderer named Angel Christian. Shes in your cell block. Have you met her?"

"I keep to myself."

"Heres my problem. I dont know anything about her. I need to be able to check her out, you know what I mean? For starters, Angel Christian isnt her real name. I need to know what her name is. I need to know where shes from. I need to know where she went to school, whether shes ever had a drivers license in another name, whether shes ever been in trouble before, who her parents are, that kind of thing, and if she happens to bring up the murder, I wouldnt mind hearing about it. Do you think you might be willing to help me out with that?"

It was as though the Christian girl didnt exist. The only person who knew anything about her was Julie Hayes, and all Hayes knew was that shed picked her up at the Greyhound bus terminal in Dallas back in February. Hayes said the girl wouldnt tell her what her name was, so Hayes gave her the name Angel Christian on the bus. She thought it was funny. Landers desperately needed to come up with something. Hell, for all he knew, Angel might be a serial killer. But she wouldnt talk to him, the Barlowe woman wouldnt talk to him, and the people theyd interviewed at the strip club hadnt helped at all.

"So you want me to snitch for you?" Dillards sister said.

"You can call it whatever you want. What I call it is providing substantial assistance to a law enforcement officer in a murder investigation."

"And what do I get in return?"

"People who provide substantial assistance in murder investigations often receive substantial reductions in their sentences. Like time served."

"Whats your name?" she said. Landers didnt like the tone or the look on her face.

"My name is Landers. Special Agent Phillip Landers."

She started laughing.

"Whats so goddamned funny?" Landers said.

"I heard my brother talking to his wife about you after he got hired on his big murder case. He said youre the biggest liar on the planet. He said youll lie on the witness stand, plant evidence, frame people, and God knows what else. He said youre one of those cops wholl do anything to win a case."

"Your brothers a fucking asshole."

"My brother may be an asshole, but hes an honest asshole," she said. "I dont think I care to get involved with someone like you. Besides, Im not a snitch."

Stupid little bitch. Landers was offering her a way out, and she had to go all sanctimonious. He wanted to ask her if being a drug-addicted, thieving little whore was better than being a snitch, but he didnt want to kill the possibility that she might be willing to help him later. He swallowed his pride and smiled.

"Fine," he said. "It was nice to meet you. If you change your mind, just give me a call."

Landers handed her a card and walked out the door. Hed wait and come back in a few weeks, maybe a month. If he was lucky shed be sentenced by then, looking at a trip to the womens penitentiary in Nashville. Landers had been down there a couple of times. It was a miserable fucking place. Maybe when the prospect of going to the penitentiary turned into a reality, Dillards sister would change her mind.

June 13 1:00 p.m.

Erlene Barlowe hated to do it to Virgil; he was such a sweetie. But Erlene had made an uncharacteristic mistake the night the preacher was killed"shed let her emotions overcome her good sense and shed put her beloved Angel in an impossible position. Erlenes mistake had ultimately resulted in Angels arrest, and now she was determined to do something that might begin to set things right.

Erlene had called Virgil and asked him to come out and meet her at the club at one oclock in the afternoon. She could tell by his voice that he was a little apprehensive, but she assured him she just needed a teeny little favor.

He showed up right on time. Virgil Watterson was a homely sort of man, kind of short, and the hair in his gray wig stuck up in different directions. Erlene had never asked him why, but he always wore a bow tie and suspenders when he came to the club, at least until one of the girls took them off. Erlene had a collection of the bow ties Virgil had left behind.

Virgil was real well off"Gus told Erlene that Virgil owned six McDonalds restaurants and a whole bunch of real estate. Hed been coming to the club for years, but since he was married and a deacon in his church and a high-class businessman and all, Erlene and Gus had always made the VIP room available for him and let him come and go through the back door. Sometimes he brought a friend or business associate with him, but usually he just came by himself. He always wanted at least two girls to keep him company and he always paid in cash. He was a good customer and a sweet little old man. Wouldnt hurt a flea, though he did have some sexual tendencies that ran a little to the strange side.

The VIP lounge was a fairly large room with its own bar and dance floor. Off to one side were three small rooms Erlene called bull pens. If a gentleman wanted even more privacy, he was welcome to take a lady, or two or three, off into one of the bull pens and conduct whatever business he needed to conduct.

Gus always called the video recording system he installed in the VIP bull pens his little insurance policy. He didnt tape everything that went on in there, but he taped enough to be able to do a little trading if the need ever arose. He had tapes of judges and lawyers and doctors and police chiefs and preachers and businessmen and politicians. All the tapes were arranged in alphabetical order and kept in a fireproof safe in a mini-warehouse on the outskirts of the city.

Virgil just happened to be one of the people Gus had taped several times, and Virgil was such a meek little man that Erlene thought he was perfect for what she needed done.

It was just the two of them in the club, and Erlene led Virgil down the hallway in the back to the girls dressing room. There was a small lounge for the girls with a television back there, one of those televisions that had a video player built into it. The tape Erlene wanted to show Virgil was already in the machine.

She pulled a chair up for him in front of the television.

"Now you just sit your cute little self down right here," Erlene said. "Ive got something special I want to show you."

Virgil sat down and Erlene sat down next to him.

She put one hand hand on his knee and pointed the remote at the television with the other.

The screen lit up and there was Virgil, naked, sucking his thumb and talking dirty to a couple of the girls. Erlene kept patting Virgils knee as they watched him do some things he probably found a tad embarrassing. After a couple of minutes, he asked her to turn it off. Then he turned to her with the most pitiful look on his face Erlene had ever seen.

"I cant believe youd do this to me, Erlene," Virgil said. "After all these years and all the money Ive put in your pocket, I just cant believe it."

"Do what, honey?" Erlene said. "Im not doing a thing to you."

"Then what was the purpose of showing that to me?"

"I just need a little favor, sweetie. Thats all. And if youll do me just this one little favor, I swear on Guss grave Ill give you every tape Gus ever made of you."

Erlene watched Virgil carefully as she laid out the proposal. He was reluctant at first, but the more Erlene talked, and the more she rubbed the inside of Virgils thigh, the more he seemed to relax. Finally, he agreed to do what Erlene needed done.

He was such a sweetie.

June 15 6:00 a.m.

On the morning my daughters last dance recital was scheduled, I was sitting at the breakfast table reading the paper when Caroline wandered into the kitchen rubbing her eyes.

"I need to tell you about something," she said. I put the paper down.

"Sounds bad."

"Im not sure. I saw a silver truck yesterday afternoon, like the one you said almost ran over you. It drove by the house twice. Then when I went to the grocery store later, I came outside and it was parked right beside me in the lot, but I couldnt see the driver through the tint."

"Why didnt you tell me yesterday?"

"I was getting ready for the recital, remember? I was busy all day, and then last night when I came in you were already asleep. I thought about waking you up, but I didnt think it would hurt to wait until this morning. Im sorry."

"Testers son"the one I was telling you about who made that scene at Angels arraignment"owns a silver Dodge truck. It has to be him."

"But why, Joe? Why would he want to bother us?

Youre just a lawyer doing your job."

"You didnt hear him in court that day. Something very strange is going on in that mans head."

"What should we do?"

"There isnt much we can do. If you see him again, call the cops and tell them whats going on. Maybe theyll check him out. And make sure you tell Lilly to be watching for him. Show her a picture of a Dodge truck or something so shell know what to look for."

After I finished the paper, I drove to the gym in Johnson City and worked out for an hour. Then I drove over to Unicoi County to represent Randall Finch, one of my two remaining appointed death penalty cases. Randall was a twenty-five-yearold uneducated redneck whod killed his girlfriends thirteen-month-old son in a drug-induced haze. Randall and his girlfriend had been bingeing on crystal meth and hydrocodone for two days and had finally run out of drugs, so the girlfriend went out to find some more, leaving the child with Randall. While she was gone, the little boy apparently started to cry.

Randall first dealt with him by using him for an ashtray, putting cigarettes out on the bottoms of his feet.

Then, for some reason only Randall could understand, he laid the child on the metal protective rack of a hot kerosene heater, producing a sun-shaped burn that covered his back. Finally, when the baby still wouldnt stop crying, Randall shook him so violently his brain hemorrhaged.

Randalls girlfriend returned to find the carnage and called the police. They arrested her, too.

Randall didnt deny killing the baby; he just said he didnt remember killing the baby. The only defense I could attempt was reduced mental capacity based on intoxication so severe that Randall didnt realize what he was doing, but I knew it wouldnt work.

Once the jury saw the photographs of the cigarette burns and the burn on the tiny boys back, Randall would be lucky to get out of the courtroom without being lynched. When I looked at the photos the first time, I wanted to lynch Randall myself. All Id have needed was a rope and some privacy.

The preliminary hearing had been held two months earlier in a lower court in Erwin, and the evidence was gruesome. Since then, Deacon Baker had spent a great deal of time and energy proclaiming to the local media the fate he had in mind for Randall Finch. It was to be the death penalty, swift and certain.

Deacon, however, hadnt bothered to file his death notice, an absolute requirement in any death penalty case, so I decided to try something sneaky. I told Randall that since the case against him was so strong and since Deacon hadnt filed the notice, Randall should plead guilty at arraignment, his first appearance in the higher criminal court. Nobody had ever tried to pull a stunt like that to my knowledge, and I had no idea what the judge would say. But I knew it would, at the very least, set up an extremely interesting appellate issue. Randall agreed.

The judge was Ivan Glass. I wasnt expecting any warm greetings. Glass had recently developed some kind of infection in his leg and was spending a lot of his time on the bench high on the same kind of painkillers Randall had been taking when he murdered the baby. If Glass was high during the Finch arraignment, I knew Id probably be in for trouble.

The judge called our case around ten. The bailiffs brought Randall to the podium, and Glass glared down at him from the bench.

"So this is the man accused of killing the baby?"

He wasnt slurring his words, and his eyes appeared to be clear.

"Yes, Your Honor," Deacon Baker said. Hed made yet another appearance for the cameras.

"Let the record show that Ive appointed Mr. Dillard to represent him and that Mr. Dillard is present with his client today." Id told Glass after he appointed me that I was planning on retiring and would appreciate it if he wouldnt appoint me to any more cases. Hed snorted and said he looked forward to not having me around. The feeling was mutual.

"Im handing Mr. Dillard a copy of the indictment," Glass said. "Do you waive the formal reading?"

"We do, Judge," I said.

"How does your client plead?"

"He pleads guilty."

"Very well, as far as scheduling Wait a minute.

What did you say, Mr. Dillard?"

"I said Mr. Finch wants to enter a plea of guilty this morning. He doesnt want to contest the charges."

"Ive never heard of such a thing," Judge Glass said. "A guilty plea at arraignment in a death penalty case?"

"This isnt a death penalty case, Judge," I said.

"No notice has been filed."

I saw the lightbulb come on as Judge Glass realized what I was trying to do. To my relief, he seemed amused rather than angry. He turned to the prosecution.

"What do you think about that, Mr. Baker?"

Baker stood, red-faced.