“Well, Congress sometimes changes the laws, as well. Back in the 1920s, they made it illegal for anyone to drink alcohol. Then they repealed that law in 1933. So, written laws aren’t always permanent. And they’re not perfect expressions of what’s right and wrong.”
“That’s where I’m confused.”
“At one time it was illegal for women to vote,” Caitlin says. “Does that seem right to you?”
“No way. But what does that have to do with Papa?”
“Have you heard the word euthanasia?”
“Sure. Mrs. Bryant talked about it in school. She talked about when people want to be taken off life support and stuff. And she talked about Dr. Kevorkian.”
Jesus. “Annie,” I say as gently as I can, “Papa is probably going to be accused of something similar to that.”
Her face goes white, and Caitlin strokes her shoulder. “Of murdering somebody?”
“Some people may say that. They might say that he helped somebody to die, and others might say he committed murder.”
“But Papa wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
“No, he wouldn’t. The person who died was a nurse who used to work for Papa a long time ago. She moved away from here when I was only eight years old. Then she came back because she was dying of cancer, and she was in a lot of pain. Terrible pain.”
“So she wanted to die?”
“I believe she did. Before the pain got too bad, and before she couldn’t do anything to take care of herself. Sometimes people in that situation want a shot that will put them to sleep, so they won’t have to hurt anymore. That’s where the term mercy killing comes from.”
Annie’s cheeks and brow are scrunched tight. “Well, they do it for dogs and cats. They did it to Margaret’s dog, because he was too old and had cancer.”
“You’re right. But humans and animals are different, and some people believe that nobody has a right to shorten a person’s life, no matter how much pain they’re in.”
“What do you think?”
I glance at Caitlin, who gives me the slightest of nods. “Boo, I think that a very sick person, as long as they’re in their right mind, ought to have the right to decide for themselves how much suffering they should have to endure.”
Annie transfers her gaze to Caitlin. “What do you think?”
“I believe the same thing your father does. The law is wrong. And in some states, like Oregon, they have a special law that allows sick people to decide for themselves about dying.”
One tear streaks Annie’s face. “But we’re not in Oregon. We’re in Mississippi. What will they do to Papa? They won’t put him in jail, will they?”
I hug her to my chest. “If they do, it’ll probably only be for a few minutes. But there’s a small chance there might be a trial.”
“That’s why we need to postpone the wedding,” Caitlin says. “Just in case.”
Annie’s crying full-on now. “Dad, you can’t let them do that! Papa wouldn’t ever hurt anybody. He wouldn’t ever do anything wrong!”
The faith of children is an awesome thing to behold. If only we could all be worthy of it. “I think you’re right, baby. And I’m going to do everything I can to keep Papa safe at home.”
“You have to,” she cries with sudden fervor. “You’re still a lawyer. You need to stop doing everything else and just take care of Papa.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean stop being mayor and writing books and everything else. None of that matters now. You’re the best lawyer and you have to take care of Papa!”
Caitlin stands and rubs Annie’s shoulders.
“I’ll be representing him tomorrow,” I assure her. “But I’m not the best lawyer to defend him in a trial. He’d need a criminal lawyer for that.”
“You were that!”
“I was a prosecutor. Papa will need an expert at keeping people out of jail.”
Annie is shaking her head. “Who could do that better than someone who knows all the ways to put people in jail?”
Caitlin gives me a look that I have no trouble translating: Out of the mouths of babes …
“I want you to trust me on this, Annie. I promise I’ll be working on it night and day.”
She studies me in silence for several seconds. “If we postpone the wedding, when are ya’ll going to get married?”
Caitlin smiles, then leans down and kisses the top of her head. “We’ll just have to see how quickly your father can make this trouble go away.”
Both of them train their eyes on me, and the resulting ache in my belly must resemble what a soldier feels when standing before a military tribunal.
How’s that for motivation?
CHAPTER 28
FORREST KNOX GOT up from the house trailer’s queen-sized bed and fastened his belt. He hadn’t even taken off his boots. The auburn-haired woman lay stomach-down across the sheets like a wrung-out dishrag, red welts rising from her naked hindquarters. Forrest didn’t know why some women liked pain, but he’d learned long ago that many of the ones who did seemed to marry cops. It wasn’t the prospect of pain that attracted them, but power—not the power of money and status, but of immediate physical domination. And women like that tended to get bored quickly. They couldn’t push the edge with the same man again and again, because the edge was always being rounded off by experience. Once that kind of woman knew a man’s limit, she lost the thrill she’d initially sought.
Cherie Delaune was a perfect example. Thirty-three years old, she had one teenage daughter and a husband with sawdust for brains who spent most of his time patrolling highways on the state dime. Forrest had no doubt that she’d prayed more than once for her husband to die in a traffic accident, which was the widowmaker in their business. Most of the men on the memorial wall at state police headquarters had died in highway accidents of various types. A shoot-out was rare; more guys had killed themselves with their own guns than had bought it in Hollywood-style gun battles.
“Why do you want to rush out of here?” Cherie drawled. “Ricky ain’t gonna be back till dawn.”
“Got business to tend to,” Forrest said.
“What kind of business?”