“I figured Rainey could fill me in, since she’s started going to her church.”

No longer feigning even polite interest in her food, my daughter pushes back from the table.

“That’s my dad,” she says to Rainey.

“What’s a person for except for him to use to help win a case? And you’re even fixing dinner for him!”

I raise my eyebrows to warn Sarah she is going a little far. Still, we have had this discussion before. My argument is that defense attorneys aren’t given many weapons, and you have to make do with what is at hand. She says that lawyers like me hurt innocent people in the process and then act as if it couldn’t be helped. Worse, according to Sarah, I seem to be more alive right before a trial and during it than at any other time. I seem to enjoy it too much. She’s right. I do.

Rainey nods, apparently having made peace with her self long ago.

“This way I can exercise a little influence over him,” she says, as if I were not sitting across from her.

“If you’re not willing to help him, he won’t listen at all.”

I roll my eyes and pretend I don’t know what they’re talking about. In fact, not too many months ago I stashed in this very house a witness who needed to disappear for a few hours. She spent the night, and Rainey deposited her at the courthouse to testify the next mo ming

“So tell me about Christian Life,” I say to Rainey, who nods as if she expected me to play dumb.

“Only if you won’t make fun of it,” she demands, her lips pursed, daring me to make some smart remark.

“Why didn’t you ask Chet Bracken?”

Sarah, who has not missed Sunday Mass in months after not going for a couple of years after her mother died, nods in agreement. At least I have a clue as to why Rainey has gotten religion. With Sarah I have no idea. Church seems to be a woman thing, mostly, is all I can figure.

“I promise I won’t make fun,” I say, meaning it. Rainey can be a big help if she’s willing to poke around for me.