Fox River. Emilie Richards

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      “So you’re saying he didn’t do it, is that it?”

      “I’m saying he didn’t do it out of a disregard for Mr. Claymore or the horses in that stable. But he did have a problem, and in the end, I guess it got the better of him.”

      “You guess?”

      Christian rephrased. “In the end it got the better of him.”

      “See, I’m wondering here if I’m seeing a pattern. A man denies too much, I start to worry.”

      “And since I’ve said from the start that I didn’t kill Fidelity Sutherland, you’re wondering if this is all part of the same thing.”

      “You got it.”

      “I was twelve when my father died. He was a good man with a bad illness. The fire started in the tack room where he’d fallen asleep, and he was a chain smoker with poor judgment when he was drinking. There’s not much to dispute.”

      “And Miss Sutherland?”

      “The afternoon she died I was looking for her. I found her necklace on the stairs. I went up to her room—”

      “You felt you had that right, huh? Just to go into her room like that?”

      At the time anger had given him that right. “Fidelity and I were old friends. When I was searching for her, I thought it was odd that her necklace was just lying on the steps. I was certain she was home, so I picked up the necklace and went upstairs to find her. She was lying in a pool of blood.”

      “And when the law found you, you had her necklace in one hand and the knife that killed her in the other.”

      “I found the knife on the floor beside her. I picked it up. I guess I hadn’t seen enough bad movies to know better.”

      “Says here it was your knife.”

      “Mine was the only one unaccounted for. Mr. Claymore had half a dozen made as Christmas presents that year, with Claymore Park’s logo on the handle. They were special knives, with blades for trimming and picking hoofs, a thinning comb and a leather awl.”

      “And at least one sharp cutting blade.”

      Christian saw no need to answer that.

      The warden looked up from the file. “You had a good lawyer, and the jury still voted to convict you. They thought you were guilty, son. So do I.”

      “Most of the world agrees with you, Warden.”

      “And how many of them are going to agree when Zandoff’s confession makes the headlines?”

      Again Christian wondered if the jewelry had been found. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      The warden rested his chin on his fingertips. “I’m talking about people not trusting you, Christian.”

      Christian knew Sampsen had dropped the “Mr. Carver” on purpose. The warden had progressed to the point in the conversation when he wanted Christian to believe the two of them had overcome some hurdle, that they had become friends.

      “May I speak frankly, sir?”

      “You know that’s what I want.”

      “Trust seems a poor second to freedom.”

      “Well, I guess I can understand that.” The warden sat back in his chair. “There’s not a man at Ludwell who’d want to stay, if he didn’t have to. None except some old lifers, who’d be scared to go anywhere else. But it’s like this. Some of my men, the best of the bunch, have thought about what they did to get in here and come to terms with it. I’ve had men confess to me, like I was their priest, men who screamed and yelled they were innocent right up until they walked through these doors.”

      Christian wondered what the warden had done to these so-called men. “I guess they needed to get it off their chests.”

      “I respect them for it, too. A man who can confess his sins is a man on his way to cleaning up his life.”

      Christian could almost hear the strains of “Rock of Ages” in the background. “If the cops find Fidelity’s jewelry buried where Zandoff says he buried it, why would anyone continue to suspect me?”

      “Because you were right there, Johnny on the spot with the murder weapon. You had the girl’s blood on your hands, and you had the motive. Maybe you and Zandoff did it together.”

      Christian sat back. That scenario was so far-fetched, he wondered why the warden was bothering. But he supposed it was a taste of what he would face if he was released from prison. For all he’d done and all he’d confessed, Karl Zandoff was still a mystery man. He would leave more questions than answers after his execution. One of those questions would be the circumstances behind Fidelity’s death.

      The warden must have read something in his expression. “Me, I’m wondering why this Zandoff never went back and dug up the jewelry himself. Supposed to be some valuable pieces.”

      “Fidelity’s jewelry was unique, very individual. It would have been impossible to sell off without detection.”

      “Report says you killed her because you were furious with her. There was talk maybe you were in love with her and she wasn’t interested.”

      “I didn’t kill Fidelity, and I was in love with her best friend. If I ever met Zandoff, ever even glimpsed the man, I don’t remember him.” There was nothing else to say.

      “Well, I’m powerfully disappointed in you, son. I thought maybe, just maybe, we might take care of this right here and now. You see, you might get out for a while, but I’m betting you’ll be back before long. That little girl’s parents are important people. You don’t think they’re going to sit back and let you walk the streets of their town, knowing you might still be guilty. Me, I think it would be better to get it all out in the open now. Let Zandoff take credit for his share and you take credit for yours. You might get your sentence reduced. You could finish it with your head held high.”

      Christian couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. “Let’s see. Sentence reduced. Total freedom. Which has the most appeal?”

      Warden Sampsen shook his head. “You’ve got a good record here. You’ve done good work with our guide dog program. I’m giving you the chance to do the right thing.”

      “Warden, the right thing is to let me out of here.”

      The warden picked up the report and thumped the edges against his desk to straighten them. Then he turned the stack and closed the folder over it. “I’ll give you some friendly advice, Mr. Carver. If some scumsucker in our legal system decides to let you out of here, don’t ever go back to Ridge’s Race. I’m already getting calls. Nobody wants you there. At best, you’re a reminder of something they’d rather forget. Go somewhere—anywhere—else. The farther away the better. But just so you know, you’ll never be able to go far enough. Because if the law finds a reason to catch back up with you, we will.”

      Sampsen looked up and smiled. “We surely will.”

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