The forty-minute drive from Marshall took Ledge only twenty-five. When he stalked into the office of the district attorney, the receptionist turned away from her computer, and, recognizing him, smiled. “Hi, Ledge.”

“Ms. Raymond.”

His thunderous expression and tight tone of voice caused her smile to falter. “What brings you here this morning?”

“The DA invited me.”

Flustered, she shuffled the paperwork scattered across her desk and consulted a large calendar. “I don’t have you—”

“It was an open invitation.”

Without slowing down, he strode past her desk, made straight for the interior door across the anteroom, and practically tore it off its hinges. Rusty was seated behind his massive desk. Propped up on the corner of it were the obnoxious boots, crossed at the ankles. He was talking on his cell phone. Seeing Ledge, he grinned with what looked like supreme satisfaction.

“I’ll have to get back to you.” He ended his call and dropped his phone onto his desk. “Ledge.”

“Cocksucker.”

“Mr. Dyle?”

Ledge didn’t turn around, but evidently Ms. Raymond had followed him as far as the doorway but had stopped short of coming in. Rusty raised a calming hand to her. “It’s okay. He’s rude as all get-out, but as long as he’s here, I’ll spare him a minute.”

Ledge heard the door being quietly closed behind him.

Rusty remained leaned back in his leather swivel chair, but lowered his feet to the floor and linked his fingers over his middle. He had developed a paunch, all the more noticeable because the rest of him had remained slender. “Well, after that grand entrance, what can I do for you?”

“You can wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.”

The grin only spread wider. “How come you’re in such a high snit this morning?”

“Twenty years ago, I warned you to stay away from my uncle. The warning stands.”

Again, that infuriating, taunting grin. “You didn’t like the flowers? I thought they were pretty. Picked them out myself.”

“Stay. Away. From. Him.”

“I went to see a sick old man who doesn’t know up from down. Trying to be nice, mend fences, show compassion.”

Ledge rounded the desk, planted his foot on the edge of the leather cushion between Rusty’s wide-spread knees, and shoved with all his might. The chair rolled back on its casters and banged against the wall with such impetus it knocked a brass plaque off its hook and onto the floor.

The back of the chair sprung upright and virtually catapulted Rusty out of it. He came up swinging, his right fist making impact with Ledge’s cheekbone. His skin split like a ripe tomato, but fury made him numb to the pain.

He lunged for Rusty, closed his hands around his throat, and propelled him backward until the DA crashed into the window blinds and bent several of the thin metal louvers. It was a miracle that he didn’t go through the panes of glass.

“I swore I would kill you,” Ledge said through clenched teeth. “If I do it now, it’ll save me the trouble of having to do it later.” He squeezed his fingers tighter.

Rusty was clawing at the back of Ledge’s hands, but Ledge didn’t relent. Rusty’s eyes bugged. His face turned so florid, it clashed with his hair.

The door came open. “Ledge!” The ruckus had brought Ms. Raymond back. “What in the world? Let go of him!”

Ledge stared murderously into Rusty’s eyes, but released him immediately, flung his hands up, and stepped back. Rusty stumbled forward. Planting his palms flat on his desk, he leaned over it as he coughed and gasped, making sounds like death rattles.

“Mr. Dyle? Are you all right?”

Rusty raised his head and glared at his receptionist, croaking, “What does it look like?”

She stood on the threshold, wringing her hands. “Should I call 911? Security?”

Rusty responded with a curt negative shake of his head.

She looked at Ledge with uncertainty, her gaze drawn to the gash on his cheekbone, which was mute testimony that Rusty had given as good as he’d got. Almost.

Ledge said, “We had words, is all. Things escalated in a hurry. Apologies for the commotion. And I’m sorry for my language earlier.”

“Never mind that. It’s all right.” But her voice trembled. Rusty was still hacking. Ledge was bleeding. The situation was far from all right, but she seemed at a loss as to how to set things right.

Finally, she said to Ledge, “All these years you’ve been back, you’ve stayed out of trouble. It would be such a shame if you picked up where you left off way back when. Don’t do that, Ledge.”

“I won’t.”

She looked at him with silent appeal, then looked over at Rusty, who had brought himself to his full height, normal breathing nearly restored. He readjusted his necktie and yanked on the hem of his suit coat. Tipping his head toward the anteroom, he ordered Ms. Raymond to leave. After giving Ledge a reluctant glance, she backed out of the office, pulling the door closed as she went.

As soon as Rusty was sure she was out of earshot, he hissed, “You son of a bitch. How dare you lay a hand on me. I ought to have you locked in a cage under the jail and leave you there to rot.”

“You do that. My one phone call will be to the attorney general.”

“Send him my regards. He and I played golf during my last trip to Austin.”

“He won’t be so chummy when I tell him about Welch’s and the unsolved murder of Brian Foster.”

Rusty rolled his eyes. “Give me a fucking break. You’re not about to do that. You can’t even drop a hint without implicating yourself.”

“I have a rock-solid alibi. I was in police custody, remember? Tactical error on your part, Rusty, to have me arrested with weed in my trunk. I couldn’t have killed Foster because I was in lockup. But where were you? Where did you get off to after the four of us split up? Who could vouch for your whereabouts later that night?”

Rusty gave a pugnacious roll of his shoulders. “Don’t rattle your saber at me, soldier boy.” He scoffed. “You’re not going to confess to that burglary. It would ruin your reputation as a war hero. It’d tarnish your chest full of medals.”

Because of the heartache it would have caused his uncle, Ledge hadn’t thought he would ever admit to committing the burglary, either. But after seeing Henry today, he had accepted the inevitability of his decline. He was never going to improve. He would never be cognizant again. Every trait that had made him Henry Burnet was irretrievably gone.