“Tell me what you did,” she said. That voice. It could have been the voice of winter itself. “I don’t—” “Tell me.” The third trial. “I killed your daddy,” Wayne said softly, looking at the picture. “I mugged him in an alley for his pocketbook. I shot a better man than me, and because of that, I don’t deserve to be alive.” “You know you aren’t forgiven.”
