“He’s a liar,” Batista said.

“Maybe,” Joe agreed. “But you were the one caught with the shotgun.”

Batista sneered, but his face had completely drained of color.

“You know what first got me to thinking that something was hinky with you?” Joe said, sitting back. “It’s when you had Underwood announce that reward. It was a desperation move, and it especially didn’t make sense to me that a glory-hungry political hack like you would pass up an opportunity to get his name in the papers. But you didn’t want Pam or Butch to recognize you as John Pate and put things together, right? Your only shot to save yourself was to get them both out of the picture before they figured the scheme out. And now look at you.”

Joe stood and shook his head. “You destroyed a family and five people died, one by your hand. You abused your power in the worst possible way. As far as I’m concerned, nothing that happens now is bad enough for you.”

“My lawyer . . .” Batista said, but didn’t finish his thought.

—

AFTER CLOSING THE DOOR of the interrogation room, Joe leaned into Reed’s office.

“That help?” he asked.

“I’m going to crucify that piece of shit,” Dulcie seethed.

“That’s my girl,” Joe said.

To Reed: “Please tell Butch what happened. He’ll want to start pumping iron for when he runs into Batista in prison.”

Reed barked a laugh.

“Man,” Joe said with a heavy sigh, “I think I’m talked out.”

—

NEVERTHELESS, HE CALLED Marybeth from his pickup in the lot of the county building. “It’s done,” he said.

“Thank God. I’ll tell Pam.”

“Is Hannah still there?”

“She’s hanging out with Lucy like usual and staying for dinner again.”

“You’re a saint.”

He could envision Marybeth rolling her eyes at that. She said, “One more mouth to feed. No big deal.”

“Keep her there,” Joe said. “I need to talk with her.”

“Joe,” Marybeth said, concern in her voice, “what’s this about? I don’t like the sound of this.”

“I can’t tell you yet.”

“Did Butch relay a message? They won’t let Hannah in to see him, you know. They say she isn’t old enough for visiting hours. So I’m guessing he wants to tell her something through you. Am I right?”

Joe closed his eyes. What he was about to do felt like the toughest thing he’d ever done. He wished Marybeth was there cheering him on instead of making it harder. But she didn’t know.

He said, “Just keep her there, please.”

37

WHEN JOE ENTERED HIS HOUSE, HANNAH ROBERSON looked up from the board game she was playing with Lucy with fear in her eyes. Lucy looked puzzled as she turned her head from her friend to Joe.

“Hannah,” Joe said, “do you want to take a walk?”

She nodded and gathered herself up.

“Dad—what’s going on?” Lucy asked.

“It’s okay,” Hannah said to Lucy. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Dad,” Lucy said, annoyed.

Marybeth intervened from the kitchen. “Lucy, your dad needs to talk to Hannah.”

Joe gave Marybeth a look of appreciation, and Marybeth arched her eyebrows in a gesture asking him what was going on.

Joe held up a single finger to Hannah, indicating she should wait for a moment, then took Marybeth aside in the kitchen. He leaned close to his wife and said, “That girl is going to need our help. She’s going to need your help, Marybeth.”

Then he told her.

In reaction, Marybeth’s eyes got big and filled instantly with moisture as if twin tear duct valves had been opened. She covered her mouth with both of her hands.

She whispered, “My God . . .”

Joe said, “I’m hoping you can work with her. You’ve told me caring for horses and riding can be therapeutic. Maybe that will help her.”

“It might help some,” Marybeth said, “but this might be too big to overcome.”

Joe said, “We thought April’s problems were too big to overcome, but look at her now. You’ve worked miracles with her.”

Marybeth looked back at Joe with doubt in her eyes.

—

NATE WAS IN THE FIELD behind their house with Sheridan, looping a pigeon wing lure through the air on a string. Sheridan’s kestrel was in the smoky sky, circling, then diving at the lure. Joe heard Sheridan cry with glee, then Nate’s deep laugh.

Hannah followed him through the backyard gate and Joe closed it behind them.

“This way,” he said, gesturing toward the road.

She followed as if her feet were weighted down, as if she was making her trip to the gallows.

—

“THIS ISN’T EASY for either of us,” Joe said to her.

She nodded, her eyes large and frightened.

Joe said, “You know that your father will go to prison, maybe for the rest of his life. You know that, right?”

She nodded. “I hate it.”

“Hannah,” Joe said, “I found the .22 rifle in the trunk of your car. You really need to get rid of it somewhere no one will ever find it.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t move or speak.

“The forensics team knows the agents were killed by .22 slugs. They assume they came from your dad’s .223, but they may figure it out at some point.”

Because she seemed frozen in place, Joe reached back and grasped her arm gently and guided her on.

He said, “You and Butch were target-shooting when those agents showed up, weren’t you?”

“It was just me,” she said, in a tone barely above a whisper. “Dad was doing something with the tractor.”

Her voice trembled with sobs as she told Joe how happy she’d been that her dad was finally back, and how he smiled when she told him she’d like to go with him that afternoon to their property.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Joe said.

She said, “The younger man got out of the car first and started walking toward my dad. He had a gun. When I looked over at Dad’s face, I saw he didn’t know what was going on. Dad looked scared and angry, and I thought that man was going to hurt him. I had the .22 in my hands and . . . I just shot him. When he fell down, the older man started to reach into his jacket and I shot him. Dad yelled at me to stop, but it was too late. I still can’t believe I did it.

“I didn’t think,” she said, crying. “I just started pulling the trigger. I didn’t want to kill them. I just wanted to make them go away.”

“They didn’t identify themselves?” Joe asked.

“No. All they said was, ‘Are you Butch Roberson?’”

Joe pulled her into him and let her cry.

“My dad was finally back with us and he was happy again,” she sobbed. “I wanted him to stay and for everything to be normal. But when those men showed up and I saw that look on my dad’s face . . .”

She was clutching him and crying and Joe didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Afterward,” Joe said, “the two of you drove out to Big Stream Ranch and you dropped Butch off and took his pickup home. Then you got in your own car and drove it here. Do I have that right?”

“He didn’t want me to get in trouble,” she said, her voice muffled in Joe’s shirt. “He made me promise I’d never tell anyone. He said he wanted me to have a second chance.”

“Does your mother know?”

“Oh God, no,” she cried. “Please, oh God, don’t tell her.”

Joe stroked her back.

“Are you going to take me to jail?” she asked.

“No. Your dad made me promise him I wouldn’t when I figured it out. He’s already confessed and he’s not going to take it back. I just told Marybeth. She’s agreed to try and help you deal with this, but you need to promise me you’ll try and that you’ll listen to her.”

“I promise,” Hannah said. “What about Lucy? She’s my best friend.”

“That’ll be up to you,” Joe said, wishing he had Marybeth’s counsel on how best to answer that question.