“Not right now,” Mooney said, “but I’ll make room for you if you can wait a couple of weeks. I was planning to fire Jack Moseley as soon as I could find someone to replace him.”

“Jesus, Lee, I don’t want to cost anybody their job.”

“Moseley’s a drunk. Shows up late for work half the time, doesn’t cover his cases, pinches the secretaries on the ass. Last month he disappeared for three days. We found him holed up at the Foxx Motel with a gallon of vodka and an empty sack of cocaine.”

“I don’t remember reading about that in the paper,” I said.

Mooney winked. “Sometimes what the people don’t know won’t hurt them. I would’ve fired him months ago if I’d had another warm body. The job’s yours if you want it.”

“Exactly what would I be doing?”

“I’ve been thinking about that ever since you called. The best use for you would be to work the violent felonies, the worst ones. Murders, aggravated rapes, armed robberies. Dangerous offenders only.”

I let out a low whistle. “Some job description.”

“You really want to do something that makes you feel good? Here’s your chance. You can make sure dangerous people wind up in jail, where they belong. I’ll keep your caseload as light as I can so you can do it right.”

“I guess it’ll include death penalty cases,” I said. I’d spent a great deal of my legal career trying to ensure that the state didn’t kill people. If I took this job, I knew I’d soon be making some difficult choices.

“We haven’t had a death penalty case since Deacon left the office,” Mooney said. “What’s the point? The state’s only executed one person in forty years, and there’s nobody in Nashville raising hell about it. I guess the legislature wants to have the death penalty in Tennessee but not have to worry about enforcing it.”

“It’ll change soon,” I said. “We have a tendency to be bloodthirsty.”