What he looked like now, sitting behind his desk, was a farmer. The top of his forehead, where it disappeared into the dyed hair, was lighter than the rest of his face. A farmer or an Okeechobee fishing guide dressed for town in a short-sleeve white shirt and red patterned tie. He even had the cracker sound of those boys from the country. Old Bob Isom Gibbs, known as “Big” to his buddies. He sat with his hands behind his head, leaning back in his chair. From deep in the office sofa facing the desk, all Kathy could see of the judge were his raised arms, elbows sticking out, and his head, his hair shining in fluorescent light. On the wall behind him were framed photos of the judge posing with several different men holding strings of bass and what looked like speckled perch. No doubt taken at a fishing camp on the lake. In another picture the judge was standing in an airboat holding a two-foot alligator in each hand, by the tail.

“Don’t feel sorry for him, he was due,” Bob Gibbs said, “being a Crowe. You’ve heard the expression ‘Born to raise hell’? That’s young Mr. Crowe’s belief. Mine’s ‘Hard time makes the boy the man.’ He’ll come out of jail therapy with a brand-new attitude, or else we’ll send him back, won’t we?”

“I thought you might hold him in contempt,” Kathy said, “when he threatened you.”

“Was that a threat? What’d he say, he’s gonna get me? Sis, that’s nothing, that’s water off my back. You going with anybody?”

She had to take a moment to realize what he meant.

“Not anyone special.”

“You date police officers?”

“I have, yes.”

“Lawyers?”

“Once in a while.”

“Married ones?”

“I won’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I just won’t.”

“You want to have some dinner this evening?”

She said, “Judge, you’re married, aren’t you?”

He kept staring at her before he said, “You are too, aren’t you? Or I mean you were. Why didn’t I think of that?”