It is the nail in the coffin.
“Danny?” Stella says, looking from him to me, and back to him, her mouth fixed in the shape of an O. “What’s happening?”
The truth will set you free.
I hear tires squealing outside the house, and when I go to the door, there are five police cruisers blocking both sides of the street, driving across the front lawn and sidewalk.
I look to the chief.
He will have to tell his story publically.
I say, “It’s time. Stand up. Turn around. Put both hands behind your back.”
“You’re making a big mistake, Ballinger.”
“Danny.” Stella is crying into her hands and pleading with me not to take her husband, even when she discovers a pair of red Milanos overturned on the hardwood floor next to the stone hearth.
She looks to Barton and asks the inevitable question, “Who
