Knox put the cracked mug in the sink and ran the tap over his hand like nothing had happened.
"Bishop," Rook said again, quieter. "I'm sorry, Prez. I should have told you the second he asked."
"You didn't know."
"I should have."
"Rook." Knox turned off the water. "Sit. Eat something. I need you steady."
Rook sat. He didn't eat.
I watched Knox's back while he dried his hands. He did it slowly, finger by finger, a man buying himself ten seconds. Bishop had taught him to ride. Bishop had held his mother's hand at a funeral. And a week ago Bishop had asked for a key to this house and told a lie about a dog.
"It isn't proof," I said.
Knox didn't turn around. "No."
"A borrowed key isn't a stolen ledger. There could be a reason."
"There could." He hung the towel on the oven door and fin
