After Gus died, Ronnie asked her whether he could keep doing what hed been doing. Erlene thought about all the money Gus had made and said, "Sure, sugar. Id be a fool to make you stop." Ronnie paid Erlene every night, cash, like clockwork. Ronnie had turned out to be a real good boy, and Erlene kind of felt like she was at least partly responsible.

"Tell you what," Erlene said. "How about you just go ahead and do whatever you think Gus would have told you to do. I dont even have to know about it."

"Sounds good to me."

"Thats wonderful," Erlene said, "and speaking of dealing with bad people, I have another little problem Im going to need you to help me with."

There was a certain girl needed tending to, and Ronnie was the right man for the job.

July 1 10:10 a.m.

The Tate woman wrote to Maynard Bush out of the blue. Maynard figured killers must get her hot. He didnt have nothing better to do, so Maynard wrote back. He wasnt real good at writing, but what the fuck?

He knew enough to get by. She wrote again and he wrote again and before Maynard knew it, theyre writing to each other every few days.

Maynard laid it on thick as jelly on a biscuit.

Played her like a goddamned banjo. At first he was just fucking off, but then he got a bright idea. He didnt know if it would work, but it was sure as shit worth the try.

First thing Maynard did was talk his dumbass lawyer, Joe Dillard, into fixing it so the Tate woman could visit him. Then he started working on her. He shoveled so much shit on her she damned near turned brown. He told her he was lonesome and that he needed a friend. It was a lie. Maynard didnt have friends and didnt want none. They always just ended up pissing him off, and then they ended up dead. To Maynard, killing a human being wasnt any different than killing a dog or a rabbit.

When he told Bonnie Tate he needed a friend, Maynard could see it damned near broke her heart, so he just kept pouring it on. He told Bonnie how when he was a boy his mama was a drug addict and his daddy got hauled off to prison. It was about the only thing Maynard told Bonnie that was true. He told her he went to bed hungry every night, which was bullshit. He told her he didnt have no shoes that fit. Another lie, good enough to make her cry.

When she cried, it made Maynard think of how he used to make his baby cousin cry. When the girls mother turned her back, Maynard would pinch the little bitch up under her arm as hard as he could and shed wail like an ambulance passing in the night.

Maynard never did get caught. He was too damned smart and quick.

Four days before Maynards trial was supposed to start, he made sure Bonnie came to visit. It was time to take his shot.

"Youre my only visitor, you know," Maynard said as he gazed across the table at the plump, homely brunette. "Youre the only person I trust." He watched her close. She was eating it up.

"I want to thank you for everything youve done for me, Bonnie," Maynard said. "You gave me hope when there wasnt none left." Maynard had to concentrate as hard as he could to keep from gagging.

Hed told a couple of his buddies at the jail that Bonnie Tate was ugly enough to make a freight train take a dirt road.

"I think about you all the time, Bonnie. I dream about you every night. I think maybe I love you."

She looked at him and he could see tears forming in her eyes. It was working.

"Do you think maybe you love me, too, Bonnie?"

She nodded. "I think maybe I do, Maynard."

"If I was to ever get out of this place, would you stay with me, Bonnie? Please say youd stay with me.

Itd mean so much to me."

"I reckon Id stay with you."

"Bonnie, I need to ask you something. Its real important, and you cant breathe a word of it. Can I trust you?"

"You know you can trust me, Maynard."

"If I was to tell you I know a way out of here, would you help me? Would you, Bonnie? Its the only chance Ive got. Theyll kill me if you dont help me."

It didnt take her long to say yes.

"Okay then," Maynard said. "You listen real close now. You gotta do exactly what I say."

July 2 9:05 a.m.

I walked into Judge Glasss courtroom a little after nine and took a seat in the back behind a column where the judge couldnt see me. Sarah and her appointed attorney had worked out an agreement with the assistant district attorney, and she was about to enter a plea. To my relief, there were no reporters in the jury box.

Id lost a lot of sleep thinking"and worrying"

about Sarah. As time passed, Id gotten over the anger. I still thought Sarah needed to pay for what shed done, but I knew prison time wouldnt do her any good. Id never seen prison time do anyone any good.

Shed agreed to plead guilty to two counts of felony theft, to accept the minimum sentence of three years on each count, and to forgo a probation hearing. The two three-year sentences were to run concurrently. Under Tennessee law, shed be eligible for parole after serving ten months, and I had every intention of speaking on her behalf at her first parole hearing. Because of the overcrowding in the state penitentiary system, inmates who were sentenced to less than three years served their time in the county jails. That meant Sarah wouldnt be shipped off to the womens prison in Nashville but would stay in the Washington County Detention Center. Id be able to visit and try again to patch things up. I should have already gone down to see her, but I was afraid wed just end up in the same old place.

Judge Glass was his usual cantankerous self, barking at defense attorneys and sniping at defendants.

A woman in the audience had forgotten to turn her cell phone off, and when it rang, Glass ordered her to the front and castigated her so fiercely that she was reduced to tears.

He called Sarahs case twenty minutes after I sat down, and a bailiff brought her in. She looked small and frail in the baggy jumpsuit, and I thought the handcuffs and shackles were totally unnecessary. She shuffled to the podium and stood looking at the floor.

"State of Tennessee versus Sarah Dillard," Judge Glass said. He looked at Lisa Mayes, the assistant district attorney. "Is this Mr. Dillards sister?"

"She is, Your Honor."

I hoped Glass wouldnt use his dislike for me as a reason to reject the plea agreement and give Sarah a harsher sentence. I scooted down in my seat.

"What did she do this time?" Glass said.

"She stole Mr. Dillards daughters car and a necklace that belonged to Mr. Dillards wife," Mayes said.

"She traded the necklace for cocaine and wrecked the car."

"So shes an indiscriminate thief," Glass said. "She steals from everybody in the family. Howd she get the keys to the car? She break in?"

"No, Your Honor. As I understand it, she had recently been released from jail and Mr. Dillard had taken her in. He was trying to help her. This is how she repaid him."

I was hoping Glass would just go through the motions and not ask any questions. It was a run-of-themill plea. He took hundreds of them every year.

"This judgment form says she was charged with two Class C felonies," Glass said. "I read her presentence report last night. Shes been stealing and drugging for almost twenty years. Why are you agreeing to concurrent sentences?"

"We agreed at the victims request, Your Honor.

We do it all the time."

"You mean to tell me Mr. Dillard requested that she only serve three years for this? After everything else shes done?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where is he?"

"Hes probably in court somewhere."

"Well, get him down here. I want to talk to him."

I stood, my face hot, and walked towards the front.

"Im here, Judge."

"Well, well, Mr. Dillard, glad you could join us, especially since youve been so successful at manipulating the system."

"I havent manipulated anything," I said. Lisa Mayes seemed surprised to see me. Sarah looked at me hopefully. I stopped just to the right of the defense table. "Im just not asking for blood, Judge.

This is her first felony."

"Its her first felony conviction," Judge Glass said.

"Shes been charged with felonies three times in the past, but theyve all been reduced to misdemeanors.

I suppose you didnt have anything to do with that, either"did you, Mr. Dillard?"

"Are you accusing me of something?"

"Youre damned right I am. Im accusing you of manipulating the legal system to gain favorable treatment for a member of your family."

"And you wouldnt do the same?"

"Watch your mouth, sir. Im not in any mood to put up with any disrespect from you."

"This district attorney, the public defender, and my sister have apparently come to an agreement they think is fair," I said. "I didnt have anything to do with it. The only thing I told Miss Mayes was that I wasnt going to insist on the maximum punishment.

Shell serve almost a year as it is."

"Let me ask you a question, Mr. Dillard," Judge Glass said. "If this young lady was a complete stranger to you and shed stolen your daughters car and an expensive piece of jewelry that belonged to your wife, would you be in here asking me to accept a minimum sentence? Especially with her list of priors? Tell the truth for a change."

"Shes not a complete stranger, so the question is meaningless," I said. "And I always tell the truth in this courtroom. You just dont like to hear it sometimes."

"Watch your tone, Mr. Dillard. Youre on the verge of a contempt citation." His voice was beginning to tremble, a sure sign that his anger was about to overcome his reason.

"My tone is no different than yours, Judge," I said.

"Is this hearing about accepting a plea from my sister? Or is it about something else? Because if its about some personal animosity you hold towards me, perhaps you should consider recusing yourself from this case and let her enter her plea in front of an impartial judge."

Glass was a bully, and like all bullies, he became angry and confused when people stood up to him.

He certainly had the power to put me in jail, but I knew I hadnt done anything to deserve it. If he ordered them to arrest me, Id just embarrass him in front of the court of appeals.

"Dont flatter yourself," he said. "I save my personal animosity for important people. Youre certainly not in that category."

"Good. Then lets get on with it," I said.

"Im not accepting this plea as is," Glass said. "She can plead to two consecutive three-year sentences, or she can plead to concurrent six-year sentences, or she can go to trial. Shes not walking out of my courtroom with less than six years."

"Why?" I said. That simple, three-letter word was the one I knew judges hated the most. Most of them didnt feel like they had to explain themselves. They were judges, after all. They wore a robe, and the robe gave them the power to do pretty much whatever they pleased.

"Why, Mr. Dillard? Why? Because I say so. Because your sister is the scum of the earth. She wont work, she doesnt pay taxes, she sucks up drugs like a vacuum cleaner, and shes a thief. Shes a drain on society, and she belongs in jail. If you didnt want her to go to jail, you shouldnt have reported her crimes to the police. You did call the police, didnt you?"

As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. When I picked up the phone, I knew I was putting Sarah at risk of a long jail term. Hell, Id wanted her to go to jail. But my anger had subsided, and Id convinced myself that what shed agreed to was more than enough.

"Whats the matter, Mr. Dillard?" Glass said. "Cat got your tongue?"

"This is between you and the district attorney and her lawyer," I said. "Im leaving."

"Have a nice day," Glass said.

I turned and walked out the door, angry and embarrassed. I called Lisa Mayes an hour later. She said the public defender had taken Sarah into the back and explained that if she went to trial and was convicted, Judge Glass could, and probably would, sentence her to twelve years in prison.

"She agreed to the six," Mayes said. "But the judge went into his routine again about you calling the police. Shes angry at him, but shes really pissed off at you."

July 5 8:20 a.m.

I was sitting with Thomas Walker II, an assistant district attorney named Fred Julian, and a couple of bailiffs in the judges office in Mountain City, getting ready to go to trial with Maynard Bush. The bailiffs were Darren and David Bowers, a pair of cheerful, inseparable identical twins in their late fifties. Every time I saw them, they were laughing. After graduating from high school in Mountain City in the late sixties and thinking theyd be drafted, Darren and David enlisted in the army so they could stay together. Darren, in his brown deputys uniform, was telling a war story. David, also in uniform, was sitting across the room, red-faced.

"Were in this little bitty brothel in Saigon," Darren was saying. His accent made Jeff Foxworthy sound like a city slicker. "Been out in the bush damned near a month. Hornier than three-peckered billy goats, both of us. Davies drunkern Cooter Brown, and he staggers up to this ol Vietnamese madame and puts his hands on his hips like John Wayne and says, How much fer a fuckie suckie thar, Miss Slanty Eyes?

"Now, I reckon that ol girl she knew a little more English than Davie figgered she did, cause she give him a look thatd peel chrome off a bumper. Then she smiles at him all nice and says, You beaucoup big boy? Davie didnt know what shes a-talkin about at first, but then she points down at his pecker and she says, Show me. You big boy? "

Darren was giggling. He started to talk and then stopped and giggled some more. The memory was almost too much for him to take.

"So Davie, he goes, Ahh, so you want to take a gander at old G.I. Johnson, huh? You reckon it might be too big for your girls? So Davie, he . . . he "

Darren broke down again. He was laughing so hard tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"Davie, he just drops his fly and pulls his pecker out right there for everybody to see. And that madame, she looks down at it and then she looks back up at Davies face all serious, and I swear on my mamas grave, this is what she says to him. She says, Normal price for fuckie suckie ten dollah. But for little guy like you, I take five. "

Darren slapped his leg and roared. Laughter was bouncing off the walls as Judge Rollins walked in.

Rollins was a no-nonsense guy who traveled the Second Judicial Circuit. He didnt bother to ask what all the commotion was about.

"Go get him," he said to the Bowers twins. "Lets get started."

Darren and David got up to go fetch Maynard Bush. He was being held in the old Johnson County jail, which was about a hundred feet behind the courthouse, across a small lawn.

The judge sat down behind his desk and we started talking about some of the issues that would come up in the trial. After about ten minutes, I heard what had to be gunshots.