I regret having upset her, but don’t feel I have any choice if I am to convince this family to cooperate with me. I am walking a fine line here, but no jury will believe for a moment that this frail, sick woman would have been able to murder her husband without some physical evidence of a struggle.

Connie returns and confronts me across the table.

“Is that what you’re going to do? If I had known this, I wouldn’t have let you set foot in this house. How dare you come here and accuse my mother!”

I say quickly, “I haven’t accused her of anything, Connie. This is Paul’s strategy, not mine.” I don’t have the guts to say that I might have to argue this if I don’t have anything better.

“So why are you here?” she says, her voice high with exasperation.

“Because I need your help,” I say, wondering how I can convince her.

“All I’m really asking for is not to be hindered in any conversations I have with Southern Pride’s workers. I think Tommy understands this.”

“Tommy doesn’t understand anything,” she says shortly.

I don’t know what she means by this and don’t want to anger her any more than I already have.

“All I want is for you and Tommy to think about letting me really try to see if anyone else could have done this. Imagine how horrible you would feel if somebody else gets away with your father’s murder.”

“The sheriff has already conducted an investigation,” she says, but the rage has already left her voice.

“I know,” I say, “but what happens in these situations is that there is a lot of pressure in a high-profile case like this to get a conviction,

especially if you have people who want to advance politically.

Sometimes they make bad mistakes.” Connie is wavering, but finally says, “I’ll talk to Tommy again.”

“That’s all I can ask,” I say truthfully. I leave with a million questions, but this is not the time to ask them.