He slowed the Porsche again, looking for street numbers. Will checked each mailbox, comparing the addresses to the directions. Halfway down the street, he found what he was looking for. Frank’s house was a one-story cottage, but there was nothing quaint or cottagey about it. An air of sadness hung over the place like a dark cloud. The gutters sagged. The windows were dirty. The garden gnome was surprising, but the empty bottles of Dewar’s by the trashcan were not.

The screen door opened as Will got out of his car. Lionel Harris laughed at him, obviously enjoying the surprise.

“Good morning,” he said. “I heard y’all went for a swim last night.”

Will smiled, though he felt the cold sweat come back like a sudden rain. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind of Sara standing on top of that rock. “I’m a little surprised to see you here, Mr. Harris.”

“Just dropping off a casserole.”

Will’s confusion must have been obvious. The old man patted him on the back. “Never underestimate the power of a shared history.”

Will nodded, though he still didn’t understand.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Lionel gripped his cane as he walked down the porch steps. Will watched him walk into the street. A neighbor waved him over and he stopped for a chat.

“Frank’s waiting for you.”

Will turned around. There was a woman standing at the door. She was older, with stooped shoulders and unnaturally red hair. Her makeup was caked on in the same style that her daughter preferred. Will saw the finger of a bruise under the woman’s eye. The bridge of her nose was swollen. Someone had punched her recently, and very hard.

“I’m Maxine.” She pushed open the screen door for him. “He’s waiting for you.”

As depressing as Frank’s house was on the outside, the inside was far worse. The walls and ceiling had yellowed from years of cigarette smoke. The wall-to-wall carpet was clean but worn. The furniture looked like it had come from a 1950s model home.

“Back here.” Maxine gestured for him to follow her down the hall. Opposite the kitchen was a small bedroom that had been turned into a cluttered office. At the back of the house was a dingy bath with avocado green tile. Frank was lying in a hospital bed in the last room. The shades were all drawn but the sunlight glowed behind them. The room was dank and sweaty. Oxygen tubes were clipped to Frank’s nose but his breathing was still labored. His skin was yellow. His eyes were clouded.

There was a chair by the bed. Will sat down without having to be told.

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Maxine told them. “You’uns let me know if you need anything.”

Will turned in surprise, but she’d already left the room. He turned his attention back to Frank. “Julie Smith?”

The older man’s deep baritone had been reduced to a low tremble. “I had her call Sara.”

Will had assumed something like this had happened. “You already knew Tommy had killed himself before Sara got there.”

“I thought …” Frank closed his eyes. His chest slowly rose and fell. “I thought it would be better if Sara found him. That there would be fewer questions.”

It could have easily worked out that way. Sara knew Nick Shelton. She could have unwittingly smoothed things over. “Why did you have Maxine say that Allison had a boyfriend?”

One shoulder went up. “It’s always the boyfriend.”

Will guessed that was true enough, but Frank had lied so many times over the last few days that Will didn’t know whether the man was capable of being honest. Lionel Harris had a point about change. Not many people could pull it off. There had to be something awfully bad or awfully good to compel a person to turn their lives around. It was obvious to Will that Frank was past any life-changing revelations. Even without the oxygen tank, he smelled sick, like his body was already rotting. Will knew that there came a point in every person’s life when it was too late to change anything. All you could do was wait for death to make you inconsequential.

Frank winced as he tried to get more comfortable in the bed.

“Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head, though he was obviously in pain. “How’s Lena?”

“The infection’s bad, but they think she’ll pull through.”

“Tell her I’m sorry,” Frank said. “Tell her I’m sorry about everything.”

“All right,” Will promised, though if he had his way he would never talk to the woman again. He didn’t think Lena Adams was all bad, but there was just enough of her that was tainted that left a bad taste in Will’s mouth. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

Frank stared openly at Will. His eyes watered. “You got kids?”

Will shook his head.

“Darla was always rebellious, pushing me, pushing Maxine.” He stopped to catch his breath. “She disappeared on us when she was seventeen. I didn’t even know she was back in town until I saw her outside the clinic.” He coughed. Fine specks of blood dotted the bedsheet. “She was taking a cigarette break.”

“Why did she call the police on Tommy?” The act seemed risky considering her criminal enterprises.

“I don’t know if she was trying to scare Tommy or punish me.” Frank reached for the glass of water on his bedside table. Will helped him, holding the straw so he could drink. Frank swallowed, the noise painfully loud in the tiny room. He sat back with a slow groan.

Will asked, “What did you do when you read the incident report about Tommy’s dog?”

“I went to the clinic and asked her what the hell she was doing.”

“Darla’s name wasn’t in the report.”

Frank didn’t answer.

Will was sick of pulling teeth. “You’ve done thousands of interviews, Chief Wallace. You know what questions I’m going to ask. You’ve probably already got a list in your head.” He paused, waiting for Frank to make this easy. After a full minute, Will realized nothing was ever going to be easy with this man. He asked, “What did Darla say when you confronted her?”

“She told me she was being blackmailed.”

“About the drug trial?”

“It wasn’t just the two kids she was lying about. It was a lot of them. She had a system going—getting them to double up on the rolls so it looked like more kids were in the study, then they’d split the checks when they came in.”

“Were they all blackmailing her?”

“Just Jason and Allison.”

“She told you their names?”

“No.”

Will studied him, trying again to figure out if he was lying. It was an exercise in futility. “What did Darla tell you about the blackmailers?”

“She thought she could pay them off, get them off her back. One of them was graduating soon. She thought if she gave them enough money they’d go away.”

“How much did she ask you for?”

“Ten thousand dollars. I didn’t have it. Even if I did, I wouldn’t’a given it to her. I spent so much money bailing her out so many times. I couldn’t throw away more.”

Will noticed the man had not considered a second option, which was arresting his daughter and sending her to prison for her crimes.