The Sheriff's Surrender by Marilyn Pappano

say. It was strange, but even in his profession, he hadn’t met the families of very many murder victims. Canyon County averaged about one homicide every couple years, and in Keegan County, he’d been too inexperienced to handle capital cases.
    Though he’d seen Judy Miller gunned down not twenty feet in front of him. She was the first person he’d ever seen die, and he sincerely hoped she was the last.
    â€œYour father was murdered, and you can still justify defending the bad guys?”
    â€œMy noble profession’s off limits for discussion, remember?” she reminded him, her voice less than steady. Then she went ahead and answered. “It wasn’t the bad guys who killed my father. It was the state.”
    â€œI don’t under— He was executed? ”
    She turned from the sink, her arms folded across her middle.
    â€œNot formally. But he died in prison, killed after an assault by another inmate. And he was there for a crime he didn’t commit.”
    Reese swallowed hard. “But…don’t they all say that?”
    The look she gave him was disappointed, as if she expected better from him, and scornful, as if she didn’t. “Yes, most convicted felons say that. But my father’s name was cleared by authorities. Unfortunately, it was too late for him.”
    So that was why she’d become a lawyer, why she defended people accused of crimes. She believed her father hadn’t gotten a fair trial and was probably right. With a better lawyer, a better chance, he might still be alive today.
    But if Leon Miller had had a less competent lawyer, Judy might still be alive.
    Judy was one of the first people Reese had met in Thomasville. She’d been a waitress at the diner where he’d eaten most of his meals the first week—when Leon let her work—and they’d struck up a friendship. Her utter lack of knowledgeof or interest in his injury-shortened baseball career had been a welcome change. With her he’d just been one more deputy in the long line that frequented the diner.
    In the beginning he’d never guessed that anything was wrong. He’d seen an occasional bruise or two, but she’d always had a plausible explanation. Then one day he’d seen the distinct fingerprints that circled her arm, and soon after she’d been sporting a black eye. It had taken him weeks to coax the truth from her, months to convince her to file a police report.
    Weeks before Leon’s last arrest, Judy had confided in Reese that she was going to stop calling the cops. Nothing ever changed, she’d complained. He kept getting out of jail, kept coming back.
    And she’d kept taking him back, he’d pointed out. She didn’t throw him out. Didn’t get a protective order against him. Didn’t go for counseling, either jointly or alone. Didn’t disappear someplace where he’d never find her. Didn’t take his threats seriously enough.
    The last time he’d beaten her, she’d taken him seriously. She’d wanted to run away. Reese had convinced her to go through with the trial. The sheriff’s department would protect her, he’d promised. He would protect her.
    And that was why he’d been so quick to put all the blame on Neely. Because Judy had believed him, had trusted him with her life, and he’d failed her.
    Feeling queasy, he stood, neatly pushed the chair in and walked into the living room. He didn’t stop until he was at the window, where he turned around and looked back at Neely, still standing by the sink, still holding herself because there was no one to do it for her. He was guilty, too, just as she’d said, but that didn’t make her not guilty. It didn’t make her role any more forgivable. There was plenty of blame to go around. It was just weightier for some than for others.
    He turned back to the window and stood there a long time, staring and seeing nothing. When the