She watched the room, allowing her gaze to soften. "I know most of you can't understand a thing like that. I have trouble with it myself. The point is, Jack isn't a murderer. He's just a scared, lonely man who has been afraid to talk to most of you. He's .. . different. But that doesn't make him crazy. And it doesn't make him a murderer."
"But he said he done it," someone said from the middle of the crowd.
>
Ed Warbass stepped forward. "No, that isn't exactly what he said. He said he figured he done it. He can't remember."
"Sometimes Jack blacks out. He can't remember where he's been." Tess moved toward the crowd, and this time she couldn't keep her hands from coiling together. Her gaze landed on a friendly-looking older woman in the front row.
"He's just like your husband," she said softly. "Or your son. He's not a crazy man, or a murderer. He's an ordinary man who's faced extraordinary circumstances in his life. And he needs some help from his neighbors."
The woman shot a nervous sideways glance at her husband. "Wh-What can we do to help?"
"I don't know, Miriam...." the man beside her complained.
Tess looked sharply at the man. "Would a murderer rum himself in? Would a murderer, someone who would kill a pregnant woman in cold blood, ask to be locked up?"
The man frowned. "Well?" he drew the word out?"I reckon not. But if he didn't do it, who did?"
Ed strode forward again. "I got some information that might help us there. On my request, the Canadian authorities arrested Joe and Kie Nuanna a few hours ago in Vic-
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toria. A shot pouch they'd borrowed from the Hannahs was found in the victims' root cellar."
"Joe and Kie ... no shit? They're just boys," someone said.
"Poor boys," someone else added in a meaningful whisper.
"They won't talk to the authorities," Ed said, "so we don't know for sure if they did it, but the evidence is pretty strong against them."
Jerry Sikes pushed his way through the crowd and stood by Tess. "I talked to Jack some durin' shearin' season. He wasn't half-bad. As for me, I don't think he done it. Never did."
Tess gave him a grateful smile.
Deep in the crowd, a man tugged a tired old hat from his head and crushed it to his chest. Awkwardly he moved to the front of the crowd. "I'm Charlie MacKay. I know the boys pretty well, and I wouldn't mind talkin' to 'em. Maybe there's a slipup in their stories, but?"
"That's wonderful?"
"Let me finish, ma'am. I ... I reckon any man'd be proud to have a woman fightin' so hard to prove he's innocent. But, well, what if he ain't? I don't want to get involved unless I'm damn sure your man didn't do it."
Tess battled a crushing wave of disappointment. "I understand, Mr. MacKay, but Jack's a stubborn man. He won't say he's innocent."
"But I couldn't sleep at night if I helped him get outta jail and he ... you know ... killed someone."
Tess winced at the ugly words and fought to maintain her composure. She couldn't lose it now, when she was so close. So damn close.
Think, damn it. That's what you're good at. Think
She had to convince Charlie, just this one man, that Jack was innocent. But how? How?
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Only one thing came to her mind, and it was a weak, feeble thing. An almost certain failure. Still, it was all she had___
She licked her lower lip, which felt scratchy and dry. "What if I talked to Jack, and got him to admit that maybe he was innocent? Would that be enough, Mr. MacKay?" Charlie pulled a wooden pipe from his shirt pocket and wedged it between his teeth, chewing on the carved end. "Yeah, I reckon that'd be enough." "We'd be much obliged, Charlie," Ed said. Tess squeezed her eyes shut. She tried her best to have hope, her very best. But for the first time in her life, her soul felt twisted and empty.
It was all in Jack's hands. He had to admit to maybe. And he'd never believed in himself yet.