“Exactly where are you?”
“Sitting in the mall parking lot. I went to the bookstore, just looking. They didn’t have anything. You know me.”
“You probably spent a hundred bucks.”
“Close,” he says with a chuckle. “What is it, son? You must have some news.”
“All bad, I’m afraid. Shad Johnson took your case to the grand jury a couple of hours ago. They indicted you for murder.”
The silence that follows seems to roar like an approaching wind. “Dad? Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” More silence, but this time it doesn’t last as long. “I guess I knew this would happen. I figured it would take a few days, though. If not weeks.”
“Me, too. I know it seems bad, but we’ll deal with it. I just didn’t want you to hear it anywhere else.”
“Thanks. Will the news be all over town?”
“It’s not supposed to be, and grand juries are usually pretty tight-lipped. It probably depends on what Shad said in there. If he brought up any paternity issues … there’s just no telling.” While Dad digests this, I add, “I think it’s time I give Quentin Avery a call.”
Now the silence is so profound that I wonder whether the connection has gone dead. “Quentin’s having a pretty bad time,” Dad says finally. “He’s lost both legs, and he’s having trouble with infections. He’s even had pneumonia. Then there’s his retinopathy, neuropathy, and just about everything else that can go wrong with diabetes.”
“Dad, this is the rest of your life we’re talking about.”
“Yes, but it’s early days yet, even if the DA is moving fast. You can easily handle this phase of things. Let’s give it a day or two and see what develops. Then we’ll call Quentin, if you still think we need to.”
“We don’t have that luxury. If Quentin’s too sick to handle a big-league murder trial, I need to know now. You’re going to need a big gun for this case. The best criminal lawyer money can buy.”
“As far as I’m concerned, that’s you.”
“You’re wrong. Seriously. We also need to get that DNA test done. That’s probably the best chance we have at defusing this prosecution, but Shad is delaying things. We’re going have to use an out-of-town lab.”
He grunts in surprise. “All right. Well … you schedule it and let me know where I need to be.”
“I will. There’s one more thing. Now that you’ve been indicted, you’re on Judge Joe Elder’s docket. He won’t be the judge who tries you down the road, because he’s resigning soon. But if Shad can persuade him, Judge Elder could revoke your bail.”
“How soon?”
“He could actually do it today from the Mayo Clinic, which is where he is now. But I doubt Joe would do that without an arraignment. I’m thinking Monday at the earliest.”
“All right, then. Don’t worry about me, son. Hey, did you turn up anything out of the Jericho Hole?”
“We did, in fact. I think we found Luther Davis’s bones, wired to the steering wheel of his car.”
“My God. I remember that boy. You keep after the bastards, Penn. Just remember what I told you last night. The Knoxes are bad, but Brody Royal is no one to mess with. You protect yourself. Henry, too.”
“I will.”
As he clicks off, I feel a strange presentiment that the real danger is to my father, not to Henry and me.
“How did he take it?” Caitlin asks.
“Remarkably well, considering.”
“When Shad went before the grand jury, could he have told them that Tom is Lincoln’s father?”
“He shouldn’t, but a DA can do pretty much anything he likes in that room. It’s a one-man show. A Natchez grand jury would have been damned reluctant to indict a respected physician for murder. To sway them, Shad probably had to play at least one ace from his sleeve.”
Caitlin paces across the room, tapping the groove between her upper lip and nose. This habit, a stagy gesture she makes when thinking purposefully, is so distinctive that I actually looked up the anatomy one day. That groove is called the philtrum.
“Do you have any pictures of Luther Davis’s bones?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In a safe place. Patience, please.”
Her eyes flash with anticipation. “Where?”
I look down at my hands for a few seconds, then meet her gaze again.
“Not here.” I touch the page button on my desk phone. “Rose, please find Quentin Avery’s home number for me.”
“Washington, D.C., or Jefferson County?”
“I’ve been trying both his cell and his D.C. number without any luck. Try his Jefferson County place.”
“Tom doesn’t want to hire Quentin?” Caitlin asks, as I mute the intercom.
“Not yet. But we can’t wait for reality to sink in. You said it: this is war. Shad needs to be reminded that actions have consequences, and that we’re not without resources.” Opening my desk drawer, I lift out a Baggie that contains a small USB flash drive and press my intercom again. “Rose, get me Shad Johnson, too, please.”
“Will do. Just a sec.”
“Are you going to hit him with the photo now?” Caitlin asks.
I nod once, my jaw tightening.
“God, I wish I could go with you.” She sits on my desk and touches my wrist. “Tell me one thing. Are we going to treat this case like every other? In terms of the wall we keep between our jobs?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“With your father’s life at stake? No way. But I suppose we might need to keep some things compartmentalized. I guess we can negotiate each development as it comes up.”
I look hard into her eyes. “I made Henry a promise.”
She smiles. “You won’t have to keep it long. He’ll be working for me by tonight.” She looks pointedly at her watch, then slides off my desk. “I need to get back to the paper.”
“You’re going to wait until you hear from Henry before you publish anything, right?” I’m thinking of the Web edition. “Even online?”