When Harrison telephoned the house to tell us that both men were in custody, I stood nearby waiting for Raymond to smile, or to let out some breath of vindication after all he had survived.

No smile came.

He listened to the news in silence, and when he set the phone down, his face held only a heavy sadness.

“Do you not find it a little bit ironic?” I asked him gently, trying to lighten the weight I saw settling over him.

“A week ago,” he admitted, “I might have found some dark humor in it.

Not today.” “Why not today?” He looked down at his own worn hands.