“Thirty years ago maybe. If the sheriff had found out about it, you would have been fired.”

“I know. I never thought I’d have to use it. I’d almost forgotten it was there.”

“What did you do then?”

“I could tell he was dead, or close to it. The Taurus was already wiped clean, and I’d taken the numbers off it a long time ago. I climbed back down there, fit his hand around it, got his prints on it. Then I went back up to the cruiser and called it in, found the keys and opened the trunk, saw the bag there. That’s when you came along.”

“You should have told me the truth. You owed it to me.”

“And if I had? Told you I’d used a throwdown, planted evidence? What would you have done?”

“I don’t know.”

“Kept it to yourself?”

“I don’t know.”

“I do. You wouldn’t have. You’re too good a deputy for that. You would have told Elwood or the sheriff. If not that night, then the next day, when you thought about it some more. I know you, Sara. You would have, and you know it.”

“Maybe it would have been better off that way.”

“Better off? He was black, Sara, and I’m white. You think I would have gotten a fair hearing, shooting an unarmed black man? FDLE would have been involved, the state attorney, the governor before it was over. Every minister in Libertyville would have been screaming for my head.”

“You would have been cleared. They would have understood.”

“You’re dreaming. I would have been fired, at least. Criminal charges, more than likely. Maybe prison. And how do you think I’d make out there?”

“There had to be another way.”

“Burned that bridge, Sara. There’s no other way. Not now.”

She watched a semi rumble past, raising dust.

“How long have you known about the gun?” he said.

“Since yesterday.”

“You tell anyone about it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She looked at him. “Why do you think?”

He looked out the windshield.

“If you want all this to go away, you need to face some things,” she said. “You need to start telling the truth.”

“It has gone away. At least that’s what they’re telling me.” He looked at her. “The only one that can say different is you.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes, felt her anger, her momentum, slipping away. Somehow she’d lost the advantage, could feel it, knew he felt it, too.

“There were guns in the trunk, Sara. You saw them. He was no college kid.”

“He was unarmed.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry you got involved in all this. Sorry you had to be there. I never meant for any of this to happen. You have to believe that.”

“I’m not sure what I believe anymore.”

“What’s that mean?”

She shook her head, watched cars go past.

“You know me better than anyone, Sara. What I had with you I never had with anyone else. Probably never will again.”

“Don’t.”

“It’s true. Whether you want to believe it or not.”

“That’s got nothing to do with this.”

“It doesn’t? I’ve told you everything, Sara. And only you. You want me in Raiford? Get out your phone, call the sheriff. I’ll be in custody before the hour’s over. Is that what you want?”

She didn’t answer.

“Or maybe you’re wearing a wire,” he said, “and that’s what this is all about.”

She started the engine.

“You should get back,” she said. “Lee-Anne will be waiting for you.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough, Sara.”

“It’ll have to be.”

He looked at her. “I can imagine the way you feel,” he said. “The position I put you in.”

“Can you?”

“If I could go back and change what happened that night, I would. But I can’t bring him back. My going to prison won’t change that. I can’t undo what was done. No one can.”

“You’re right about that. Go on, get out.”

“What?”

“It’s only about a mile back. You can walk it.”

“I’m wearing sandals.”

“I know.” She looked at him. “Go on.”

He opened the door, met her eyes for a moment, then climbed down.

“Tell me something,” she said.

“What?”

“Have you ever told me the truth? Ever?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“About anything?”

They looked at each other for a moment. Then he shut the door.

“Billy.”

He turned to face her through the open window.

“If I ever see you around my house again,” she said. “If you come around me or Danny or anyone I know outside duty hours…”

“You’ll shoot me?”

She looked at him.

“I would never hurt you, Sara. You know that. Never could, never will. Danny either. But I’m wondering if you feel the same way.”

After a moment, he turned and started for the highway. In the rearview she saw him standing on the shoulder, waiting for a break in traffic.

She took out her cell, opened it, scrolled to Sheriff Hammond’s home number. Her thumb lingered over the SEND button.

In the mirror, she saw Billy cross the highway to the opposite shoulder, start to walk along the grass there, heading home.

She closed the phone, tossed it on the passenger seat. Then she shifted into drive, pulled out of the lot.

For lunch, she made cold chicken sandwiches, reheated mashed potatoes. She took Danny’s temperature while he sat at the table. When the thermometer beeped, he took it from his mouth, held it out to her. Ninety-nine point two. She felt his forehead.

“You feel all right?” she said.

“I’m okay. Just tired.”

She gave him a baby Motrin to chew, poured him another glass of grape juice. After they ate, JoBeth cleared the table, and Sara went into the bathroom, closed the door, and ran the shower.

When the room filled with steam, she undressed and climbed into the too-hot stream, wincing at first. She closed her eyes, turned her face into the spray. Her hand was sore, the first two knuckles slightly swollen. She flexed her hand, eased some of the stiffness out, remembered what Billy has said.

I can’t undo what was done. No one can.

They’d closed the case, made their findings public. Reopening it would mean trouble for everyone. Charges for Billy, prison likely. It would cost the sheriff his job, his pension. Maybe her job as well. Once the state was involved, it would be too late for damage control. It would be about scalps.

She sat in the tub, let the water wash over her and swirl down the drain, taking the morning with it. She pushed her hair back with both hands, closed her eyes.

If she did nothing, said nothing, it all ended right here. Right now. Their lives would go on.

All you have to do is nothing. What could be easier than that?

Morgan woke tangled in sodden sheets. Bright light was coming in around the curtain edges. The nightstand clock told him it was three. He’d slept almost eleven hours.

Pushing the sheets away, he sat naked on the edge of the bed. His joints ached and his throat was swollen, his forehead warm to the touch. He realized he was shaking.

When he had the energy, he made his way into the bathroom, stood under the hot shower until the trembling stopped. Then he toweled dry, put the toilet seat down and sat there, head in his hands. You have to get up, he thought. You have to keep moving.

After a while, he went back into the room and got dressed. He stripped the sheets from the bed and pushed them into a pillowcase, along with the clothes from last night. He’d take them to the laundry room later, wash away the stale metallic smell that seemed to linger on everything he touched.

He opened the door, looked out. The sky was cloudless, the sun flashing off the Monte Carlo’s windshield. He’d left the Toyota beside a collapsed barn off a rural road two towns away, out of sight, then walked to where he’d parked his car and driven back.

Birds chattered in the trees, and he could hear the rush of the creek. Far above, a plane left a white contrail across the sky.