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that had filled her these past few days. “Not even close.”
    “How’s Jonah doing?” She felt torn. She wanted Doug to answer that her son missed her terribly, that his world had fallen apart without her. But she knew it was better for Jonah that he didn’t.
    “Katie is spoiling him rotten, so he’s quite happy. By the way, the camp application came in the mail today.”
    It was an application for music camp. Camp Adagio, in the Green Mountains of Vermont, served children with Williams syndrome. Jonah had played piano since the age of three. It had begun with the typical toddler’s toy keyboard. Instead of plunking random keys, he quickly began to mimic melodies he heard on the radio. By five, he’d graduated to a professional keyboard, and a year later they bought a used upright for him. Two years ago, he’d begun composing piano concertos.
    Williams syndrome children often had a great passion for music. Some expressed it through singing; others, through playing musical instruments; and still others, through composing music. Many were considered musical prodigies, and most had such an acute perception of sound that they could hear tiny deviations in pitch.
    “Are we really sure he’s ready to be away for a whole month?”
    “Dani, we’ve gone over this a hundred times. He’s ready. It’ll be good for him.”
    “He’s growing up so fast. I know he’ll always need us, but going away for a month makes it feel like he’ll need us less.”
    “And isn’t that a good thing?”
    “Yes—of course.”
    “How’re the interviews going?” Doug was a master of redirection when she felt sorry for herself.
    “Unproductive so far. And we hit a roadblock today. George is sick and we can’t see him until his fever breaks. Hopefully, that won’t be more than a day or two, but it does set us back.”
    “So what happens in the meantime?”
    “I planned to wait until after we see George to meet with his trial counsel, but I think I’ll take a ride over there tomorrow.”
    “Well, good luck with that. And hurry up home. Even if Jonah doesn’t need you, I still do.”
    No, she thought as she hung up. Doug might want her, but right now it was George who needed her.

C HAPTER
    7
    T ommy searched through the mini-bar in his hotel room for a shot of scotch. With none in sight, he settled for a Coors, twisted off the cap, and sank into the cushioned vinyl chair in front of his desk. Dani worried him. Before even talking to George, she’d already thought him innocent. And that was bad. Most of the men on death row were guilty and deserved to die. Although he understood that it was important to make sure a mistake hadn’t been made, you needed to investigate with a clean slate. At this stage, the presumption of innocence was crap. As far as he was concerned, presume guilt and search for any evidence otherwise. This was Dani’s first investigation, and her inexperience showed. At least to him. She was smart, all right. When the evidence showed that an inmate was innocent, no one did a better job of marshaling the facts into a top-notch brief. And he’d watched her argue cases before appellate courts—even the Supreme Court. Damn, she was persuasive, looking like a fox but sounding like a tiger.
    Sallie may have mixed up her story along the way, but it always came back to the same culprit: George. Maybe she’d taken part; maybe not. That didn’t matter. It was George who was being readied for execution, George who was their client. And so far it looked like the jury had gotten it right. Still, he needed to check out every lead, no matter how far fetched. He picked up the phone and dialed.
    “Hammond Police Department. How can I direct your call?”
    “Is Detective Hank Cannon in?” Tommy waited several minutes before he heard a loud raspy voice answer.
    “Cannon here.”
    “Detective Cannon, my name is Tom Noorland. Jimmy Velasquez said you could help me.”
    “How do you know Jimmy?”
    “We worked together