Sarge had to be in his early seventies now. He was still tall and lean, but Mother Nature was beginning to bend him like an old poplar in a stiff wind. There were dark liver spots on his huge hands, and his upper lip had retreated until it was tight across his dentures, giving him a permanent snarl. The buckle on his gun belt was notched two inches above his navel, but he had no holster and no gun. He carried only a nightstick and small can of pepper spray.

”What’s up, Sarge?” I said as I walked through the metal detector.

”The rent,” he growled. ”I hear your boy Johnny Wayne is throwin’ in the towel today.” The sheriff’s department was a more efficient gossip pipeline than a sewing circle. Sarge always knew what was happening, sometimes before it happened.

”Good news travels fast,” I said.

”Can’t believe they ain’t gonna give him the needle.”

”Hell, Sarge, he’s innocent. He’s just being railroaded by the system.”

”Innocent, my ass. Nobody you represent is innocent.”

As I started to walk past Sarge towards the elevator, he grabbed me by the arm. His gnarled fingers dug deep into my biceps.

”You know what I’d like to see?” he said. ”I’d like to see that sorry sonofabitch hanged on a flatbed truck right out here in front of the courthouse-that’s what I’d like to see. I’d buy a goddamned ticket.”

It was a sentiment prevalent in the community.

Laura Neal, Johnny Wayne’s wife and victim, was guilty of nothing more than picking a bad husband.

She was a third-grade teacher with a wonderful reputation, her parents were solid and hardworking, and her brother was a college professor. People wanted to see Johnny Wayne burned at the stake, and I had the feeling most of them wouldn’t have minded seeing his lawyer go up in flames with him.

I pulled away from Sarge and headed up the side stairwell to the second floor. There were about a dozen people milling around in the hallway outside the courtroom, speaking in hushed tones. The hallway was dimly lit and narrow. I never noticed any color in the corridor outside the courtroom. Everything always seemed black and white, like I was walking onto the set of 12 Angry Men.