He read the affidavit two times before he touched it.

“You want this sworn to.”

“I want it true, and sworn.”

“It is true.” He uncapped a green pen.

The ink skipped on the last letter of his name, so he reached into the mug on his desk without looking and signed again below it, then initialed the correction.

“Nineteen years,” he said.

“I’ve buried four hundred people in this county.

I know confused when it’s sitting right in front of me.