“Gideon, promise me you won’t manipulate anyone into saying something they don’t know,” Tommy instructs me, “or honestly believe.”

“I’m an advocate,” I assure him, “but I’m also an officer of the court.

I wouldn’t do that.”

“My father didn’t trust lawyers,” Tommy says, repeating an earlier comment from last week.

“I wouldn’t be doing this if we hadn’t grown up over there together. We were both kind of outsiders.”

Actually, I’ve never thought of us quite like that, but now is not the time to quibble with him.

“I appreciate this. Tommy. I won’t abuse the situation.

You can count on that.”

I can’t ask Tommy to keep our conversations a secret from the prosecutor or Paul’s attorney, and will have to assume he is sophisticated enough not to volunteer them. It is inevitable that sooner or later, Paul and Dick will find out that I am actively working against them, but by then I hope it will be too late. I suggest that he not talk to Eddie about encouraging the workers to talk to me until I have had an official tour of the crime scene, which will probably be made with Paul’s attorney. In order to get this out of the way, I will have to call Butterfield, who could require me to jump through the hoops and file a motion with the

court, but I don’t suspect he will.

Friday morning I follow Tommy’s directions and take Highway 79 to the plant, which is only a mile from the city limits. This visit to the crime scene has turned into a full-scale production. Not only is Dick to meet me out here but the sheriff will be here, too. Since the plant is in operation, there can no longer be any crime scene to tamper with, but Sheriff Bonner, I’m learning, goes by the book. Off the highway a good fifty yards and shielded by a stand of trees, the plant is bigger than I imagined, almost as long as a football field from end to end.