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maximum penalty—by the way, did they rape her?”
    “Autopsy report says so, yes.”
    “Okay, so there’s no question this is a capital case. I’ll ask for the death penalty. And we’ll make sure Tasha here has plenty of time in front of the cameras.” Hargrave paused, took a breath. Bobby glanced at Tasha; her face was inscrutable. The DA continued: “Sheriff Seastrunk, deputy, let me tell y’all, the Speaker is very concerned—”
    “I’ve talked to Duchamp about his concerns. And, Mr. Hargrave, my department will handle this case with the same sensitivity and dedication we would any murder investigation. But I don’t work for Robert Duchamp—he doesn’t even vote in this county anymore.”
    Hargrave blinked but did not modulate his tone. “Be that as it may, it’s imperative, Sheriff, that we demonstrate to the world that this county
is
united, as you say, and that we put the people that did this away.” The DA moved some papers on his tidy desk. “Now, what do you have so far?”
    Seastrunk told him about the autopsy findings, the tire tread. Not a lot, but a start, they all agreed.
    As they stood to leave, Bobby shook the two prosecutors’ hands again, his barely audible
nice to meet you
to Tasha his only words since entering the room. Unlike Hargrave’s, Tasha’s hand felt dry and as soft as vellum. He could smell a honey sweetness in her hair. Her dark eyes bored into him, as if seeking to dispel any presumption that Hargrave had put her on the case for no other reason than to use her brown skin as camera fodder.

Chapter 4
    G eoff sat in his dingy motel room, case file before him, staring at the wall. He didn’t know how much time had passed when some thought, forgotten (
pushed aside
) as soon as it had materialized (
the baby, the heartbeat
), jolted him into the present. He sighed. The last beer floated in the ice bucket.
After the call. Get some work done. Then you’ll have earned it.
    He used his cell phone to call the Dallas office of the corporate defense firm representing Texronco and asked for Rick White.
    His opposing counsel came on the line. “Geoff, how are you? Believe it or not, you’re on my to do list today.”
    “Oh?” Geoff could picture White in his corner office overlooking the downtown skyline. “What’s up?”
    “It’s your dime—you first.”
    “Right. Listen, Rick, I’ve had a bit of a tragedy here.” He explained about Dalia, the expert report, his need for a thirty-day extension.
    “Jesus Christ, Geoff, that’s fucking awful. Of course, of course, as much time as you need, I’ll agree to it.”
    No surprise there. Texronco would be happy with thirty years. But Geoff didn’t resent him for it—for lawyers like White, he thought, the cognitive dissonance between sincerity and self-serving cynicism was not only possible but a vital part of their practice.
    “Thanks. Now what’s on your mind?”
    “Geoff, this morning my client informed me that they are interested in making a settlement offer. It’s quite generous. Are you ready?”
    He reached for a legal pad. “Sure.”
    “First, they’ll agree to an enforceable consent decree requiring Texronco to stop all discharges into the lake. And standard fines assessed daily for noncompliance.”
    “Okay.”
You’ve reached the bare minimum, Rick. What else?
    “Second, they’ll pay all your reasonable fees and expenses, Geoff, including for monitoring work post-judgment. You just give us the breakdown. My client’s willing to be very generous here.”
    “Uh-huh.”
Pay off the lawyer without quite crossing the line into fraud. Standard fare.
    “Finally—and I know that your clients can’t take any award in the form of damages under these citizen suits, and keeping in mind that anything we agree to will have to be approved by the Justice Department—my client would be willing to fund a research grant of some sort for the lake. Now Geoff, we’re willing to leave it up to you and your clients to