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Saturday I picked up Ralph, then drove us to Roger’s for our team meeting. As many cases as I'd worked with Roger over the past decade, it was the first time I’d ever been to his house. Roger’s house wasn’t huge, but it was nice, especially by Tallahassee standards, where you’re often forced to choose between brand-new, cookie-cutter developments or neighborhoods of modest houses built in the 1950s. The lot was relatively small, but dark green trees gave the illusion of privacy on either side. A brick driveway formed a half-circle around a beautifully landscaped—just short of ostentatious—fountain, and I nosed Cecil in behind Roger’s BMW.
The house had a stone facade, with large windows covered by heavy curtains that protected the interior from prying eyes. Gas-fed sconces bracketed a
