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head hard against it. Anytime I stopped rubbing, she would tenderly drape her paws across my hand for a few moments, then nudge her head against my hand until I started caressing her again.
    “What can you tell me about his case?”
    “He was innocent. Set up by the sheriff of Pine County. Howard Hawkins—corrupt son of a bitch.”
    Something in the way she hissed the words made me think of a cat.
    “It’s why I wasn’t happy about him being in the protective unit. He was in on a sex offense. But he was set up. Hawkins’s own grand kids were the victims. I think it was somebody in the family, and Hawkins, homophobe that he is, set up Justin to take the fall because he wanted him out of Pine County. Justin was getting quite renowned—he couldn’t just run him out or kill him without attracting a lot of attention.”
    “I’ve hear rumors about Pine County over the years. Why would Justin live there if it’s so—”
    “My mom’s dad left him some land and a small house there. I told him to sell it and put the money toward a place somewhere else, but it was a beautiful place to paint—and he had been so happy there as a kid. It was my grandfather’s place. Been in the family a long time.”
    “You really think he was innocent?”
    “I’ve spent a lot of time checking things out. Even hired a PI who found out a good bit before taking off with my retainer. I know it in my heart, but I couldn’t prove it. Not in court. It’s Howard’s brother. He’s lost several jobs and now his family over it. But Howard protects him. Protection . I can’t believe they put Justin in there with . . .”
    “With who?” I asked, expecting to hear the name Juan Martinez.
    She gave me a strange look. “I hear they keep all ex-law enforcement in there.”
    “Most. Yeah.”
    “Mike was a deputy.”
    I tried to recall an inmate named Mike in the PM unit, but was unable.
    “Howard’s son,” she said. “Mike Hawkins.”
    At first, I couldn’t respond. The whole reason for protective management was to keep inmates like Mike Hawkins and Justin Menge away from each other.
    “You sure?”
    She nodded.
    We sat in silence a moment as I wondered how something like this could’ve happened.
    Eventually, the cat got up and slowly sauntered out of the room and into the kitchen.
    After a while, she said, “You don’t do Catholic funerals, do you?”
    I shook my head. “Pope won’t let me. He’s got this whole rule about having to be Catholic. I figured Father James would do it.”
    She shook her head, her jaw clenching, anger burning in her eyes. “He actually told Justin the Catholic Church would be better off if he were dead. I know it sounds crazy, but I keep thinking if Hawkins didn’t kill Justin then that evil old priest did.”

Chapter Nine
     
    “Will you hear my confession, Father?” I asked.
    “Why?” Father James asked, the medicinal smell of mouthwash on his breath. “You thinkin’ about converting?”
    There was movement in the other side of the dark wooden box confessional and with it the smell of cheap cologne.
    “Call it professional courtesy. Besides, confession’s not just good for the Catholic soul—and I’m part Catholic.”
    The morning sun was a soft pink glow illuminating the stained-glass depiction of the crucifixion above the choir loft, but the sanctuary was cold and dim except for the small flickering light of a few votive candles near the altar.
    “Which part?” he asked.
    “I can tell you which part it’s not. It’s not the celibate one.”
    He let out a small, forced laugh. “Okay,” he said wearily. “Let me have it.”
    I did.
    Afterwards, he said, “Say five Our Fathers and ten Hail Marys.”
    As the sunlight grew, the pink glow was replaced by orange beams that pierced through the windows, driving the darkness from the sanctuary and breathing life into the now seemingly animated glass images. The confessional was less like a coffin now, though Father James was still a