I was already nodding to myself. “It makes sense.”

“It would have looked something like that. Exactly like that? Who knows? Only Barbara can tell us for certain. But she won’t. I don’t know if she even can. In time, maybe…”

“What about Ezra’s car?”

“Stolen, probably. Barbara would have wanted the body discovered in due course so that the will could be put into probate. The car would have eventually drawn some kind of attention, so she left it there. She kept Ezra’s office keys in order to enter your office at night to try to retrieve the tapes. The car keys were probably in the car, an invitation to whoever stole it.” Mills showed her teeth in a brief smile. “It must have killed her-these past eighteen months-knowing that all that money was in reach if only someone would find the body.”

“There’s still one thing I don’t understand.”

“What’s that?” Mills asked.

“If Barbara was in this for the money, why did she try to kill me? She can’t inherit if I’m dead. So why didn’t she take the money and jewelry from the safe and just leave? Why put herself at risk by sticking around if she had nothing to gain?”

For the first time, Mills looked genuinely pained, and she stared at her folded hands for a very long time.

“Detective?” I’d never seen her this hesitant. Finally, she looked up, and there were shadows in her eyes.

“It’s true what you told me, isn’t it? You never read your father’s will.”

“The only time I saw it was when you showed it to me.”

She nodded and looked back down at her hands.

“What?” I asked.

“Barbara did convince Ezra to increase the amount of money left to you in trust. She was telling the truth when she told you that. Here’s what she didn’t tell you: There was an unusual clause in the will. It must have been Barbara’s idea. According to Clarence Hambly, your father had it inserted into the will about six months before he died. This would have been after they started sleeping together, Ezra and Barbara. But Ezra changed his mind. Hambly says that he intended to have the clause removed. Maybe he understood what an incentive it could be.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think your father came to sense just how dangerous your wife could be. I don’t know this, Work, but I feel it. I think at the end he understood. He saw that it put you at risk. Your father asked Hambly to draw up new documents; they had scheduled a meeting so that he could sign them. Barbara killed him before he could make the change official.”

“What did it say, this clause?”

I heard Mills’s breath, and when she looked up, she was the most human I’d ever seen her. Her voice was flat, but I saw that this hurt her. “In the event of your death, the fifteen million would go into trust for any offspring you had. Barbara would be the executor of that trust and would have almost unlimited discretion in how to use the money.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, but then I did. “Barbara’s pregnant,” I said.

Mills could barely look at me. “She was pregnant, Work. She miscarried yesterday.”

CHAPTER 35

Douglas stopped by once; he hung in the door until I saw him, then offered a smile that played more like a grimace. The skin was loose beneath his eyes and under his chin. He looked like hell. He tried to apologize, and explained that it was just his job, nothing personal; but he shied from my eyes, and, unlike Mills, he didn’t mean a word he said. He’d sunk his teeth into me and liked the taste of it. I’d seen it in court, and in the way he smiled when the bailiffs put the cuffs back on me. Any regret was born of embarrassment, and the knowledge that another election was just around the corner. For even in Rowan County, no voter liked a fool, and the papers had crucified him. He told me that he wouldn’t prosecute me for attempting to destroy evidence, then looked away and said that, nonetheless, it was his duty to report my behavior to the state bar. We both knew that such a report would result in my eventual disbarment. But the thought of that didn’t bother me in the least, and he looked surprised when I told him not to worry about it. When he attempted another smile, I suggested he have a nice day, then told him to get the fuck out of my hospital room.

I had other visitors, too: lawyers, neighbors, even some old friends from school, all of whom were probably just curious. They all said the same things, and they all rang false with me. I knew who had believed in me, and a few flowery words would never make me forget those who had not. But I did what I had to do. I thanked them for the visit and wished them a happy life. Dr. Stokes was a different story. He stopped by several times, and we talked about small things. He told me stories of my mother, and of things I’d done as a child. He was good for me, and I felt a little stronger after each conversation. On his last visit, I held out my hand and told him that he had a friend for life. He gave me a smile, told me that he’d never doubted it, and insisted that the next drink was on him; then he shook my hand gently but solemnly, and there seemed to be a light upon him as he walked from the room.

Jean and Alex came by on the day before I was released. They were packed and ready to leave.

“Where?” I asked.

“Up north. Vermont, maybe.”

I looked at Alex, who returned my gaze with the same unswerving strength as always. Yet this time there was no animosity, and I knew that Jean had not lied to me. When the time was right, I would be welcome.

“Take care of her,” I said.

She put out her hand and I shook it. “I always will,” she said.

I looked back to Jean. “Send me your address,” I told her. “I’ll have some money for you once I sell the house and building.”

“I wish you would reconsider. We don’t want anything of his.”

“It won’t be from him. It will be from me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I want you to have it,” I said. “Use it well. Build a life.”

“It’s a lot of money.”

I shrugged. “I owe you more than money, Jean. This is the least I can do.”

Jean looked at me then, looked so deeply that I could not hide the emptiness I felt, the reverberation of utter aloneness. Nor could I hide the guilt that rose within me every time I looked at her. Eventually, I had to turn away.

I heard her voice, and there was something new in it. Strength, maybe? A clarity of her own? “Will you give us a minute, Alex?”

“Sure,” Alex said. “Take care, Work.” And then we were alone behind the closed hospital door. Jean pulled up a chair and sat beside me.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said.

“I do.”

“For what?”

I marveled that she could even ask the question. “For everything, Jean. For not protecting you better. For not being a better brother.” My words fell into the narrow place between us. My hands twitched beneath the thin sheet, and I tried again because I wanted her to understand. “For not having faith in you. For letting Ezra treat you the way he did.”

Then she laughed, and the sound of it hurt me; those words had not come without cost. “Are you serious?” she asked.

“I’m serious.”

The smile fell from her face. She settled back into her chair and studied me with overly moist eyes. But she wasn’t on the verge of tears, far from it. “Let me ask you a question,” she said.

“Okay.”

“And I want you to think about it before you answer.”

“All right.”

“Why do you think he brought you into the practice?”

“What?”

“Why did he encourage you to go to law school? Why did he give you a job?”

I did like she’d asked. I thought about it before I answered. “I don’t know,” I finally said. “I’ve never thought about it before.”

“Okay, another question. Was there a time when your relationship with him changed? And I’m talking about a long time ago.”