Pintado said, “Pardon me for not inviting you inside the house, but after the way you treated me in court, my wife probably would have sicced the Dobermans on you.”

“I was afraid you might feel the same way.”

“Oh, I do. I came out only because you said it was about my grandson. Protecting him from this circus is very important to me.”

“To Lindsey as well.”

Pintado shot a look, as if he didn’t quite believe it.

Jack said, “I don’t like getting children involved if I don’t have to.”

“I respect that,” said Pintado.

“How is Brian doing?”

He gave Jack a long look, as if wondering whether he really cared. “Brian’s happy here. Happy as any kid can be who just lost his father. His grandmother and I are doing the best we can. As soon as this trial’s over, we’re sending him up to a camp in Dunedin for a week or so. It’ll be good for him to be around other hearing-impaired kids who live with parents who can hear. For now, we just try to explain things as they happen.”

“That has to be tough.”

Pintado glanced out the window toward the guard in the driveway. “I’ve had to triple my security since this trial started. It’s one thing for people to dog me all over town, but when they start after my grandson, I feel like cracking some heads.”

“Brian’s being hassled?”

“Last week. Don’t know if it was an overzealous reporter or some pervert who followed Brian to school the other day. Snatched his backpack while he was out on the soccer field. Scared the hell out of us.”

“People get crazy with any big trial. It’s good that you’re taking precautions, but it was probably just a souvenir hunter looking for stuff to sell on eBay.”

“What kind of sicko would want a child’s backpack?”

“The same idiot who hangs out at South Miami restaurants hoping to get his picture taken with O. J. Simpson and his latest girlfriend.”

Pintado shook his head, then showed mild irritation in his tone. “I don’t dislike you personally, but I don’t appreciate the way you came after me on the witness stand.”

“For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think Lindsey was innocent.”

“That’s mostly a Cuban American jury. Attacking me and my family like that, I’d say you pretty much sealed Lindsey’s fate.”

“You’re forgetting that I don’t have to convince the whole jury. I have to give only one of them reasonable doubt.”

“Trust me. That entire jury is ready to ride you and your client out of town on a rail.”

“And I’ll happily go, if that’s what it takes to keep an innocent woman out of jail.”

“What makes you so damn sure she’s innocent?”

“What makes you so sure she’s not?”

“You’ve heard the evidence. The family money she wanted. The extracurricular activities with Lieutenant Johnson. Hell, her fingerprint was on the murder weapon.”

Jack paused, timing his approach. “Mr. Pintado, let me ask you this question. Do you want to find out who killed your son?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not. I’m just curious: Doesn’t it bother you that we haven’t heard a word from Lieutenant Johnson?”

He looked away, saying nothing.

Jack said, “Johnson was your source, wasn’t he? He was feeding your son information about Coast Guard routes. And Brothers for Freedom used that information to improve the flow of Cuban rafters to U.S. soil.”

He looked at Jack and said, “I’m not the one on trial here.”

“I couldn’t agree more. That’s why I would have much preferred to have Johnson on the witness stand than you.”

“Look, I just don’t see where you’re going with this. I’m not admitting anything, mind you. But so what if Johnson was leaking Coast Guard information to help us bring Cuban rafters to shore? It doesn’t give anyone a reason to kill my son.”

“No, it doesn’t. Not until you mix drugs into the equation.”

His head snapped. “Drugs? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Think about it. It helped your operation immensely to know when and where Coast Guard cutters would be patrolling certain areas of the Florida Straits. You could tell rafters when to sail, where to sail, when to change course, where to look for help coming to shore. How valuable do you think that same information would be to a drug smuggler?”

“Are you accusing me-”

“No,” Jack said firmly. “I’m not accusing anyone yet, because I honestly don’t have the goods. But let me tell you what I think. I think Damont Johnson was taking the same information he gave to you and selling it to drug dealers. I think your son found out about it. And I think it got Oscar killed.”

Pintado’s eyes were as wide as saucers. “That’s the first I’ve heard any such thing.”

“It didn’t come to me until recently. Not until I found out that drug people were the ones who torched my Mustang.”

“Have you gone to the U.S. attorney with this information?”

“It’s not information. It’s a theory. Two-thirds of the way through trial, Torres isn’t interested in helping the defense prove its theories.”

“Why should I be interested?”

“Because a win is a win to an egomaniac like Hector Torres. But his win is your loss. If Lindsey is convicted, the person who killed your son is still walking the streets.”

He took a breath. “This is…this is an awful lot you’ve just unloaded on me.”

“I know it’s late in the game. But I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t have some hope that you’d want to eliminate any possibility that the mother of your only grandson is an innocent woman.”

“What are you asking for?”

“Lieutenant Damont Johnson.”

“What about him?”

“I know he’s in Miami. And I have a feeling you know where Torres is hiding him. Let me get a subpoena on him. Give me a shot at him on the witness stand, and I promise you, I won’t call Brian to testify on his mother’s behalf.”

Pintado glanced out the window, and Jack followed his gaze toward the cul-de-sac at the end of the street, toward Brian racing around on his bicycle. “Thanks for your time, Mr. Swyteck.”

“Will I hear back from you?”

He looked at Jack, answering in the same flat tone. “I said, thanks for your time.”

Pintado flipped a switch that unlocked the car doors, then pointed with a nod toward the handle. Jack opened it and stepped out of the car, taking just one more distant glance at Brian as he closed the door and walked back to his rental.

It would forever remain a mystery, Jack figured. He was standing at the bathroom sink in Sofia ’s house, his hands dripping wet. His ex-wife used to have the same puzzling habit, always stocking the guest bathroom with linen-and-lace hand towels that were frilly enough for royalty and about as absorbent as Teflon. He’d always suspected that the towels you were actually supposed to use were hidden away in some secret drawer that only people who were raised “properly” knew how to find. He just didn’t get it. One of life’s little enigmas.

He wiped his hands on his pants.

“Jack, should I pour you some coffee?” Sofia asked from outside the closed door.

“Thanks, good idea,” he said.

He was bracing himself against the countertop, palms down and elbows straight as he stared wearily at his reflection in the mirror. The in-prison prep session with Lindsey had delivered more than its usual share of surprises. They could have spent all night with her, but the guard had allowed them only an additional fifteen minutes beyond the end of visitation. Jack had hoped to get a good night’s sleep before putting Lindsey on the stand, but he and Sofia had left the jailhouse with the same realization. They had a lot of work to do.

“I’m making espresso,” said Sofia. Jack could tell she was no longer right outside the door but was shouting from somewhere near the kitchen. “You want some, or you still want coffee?”