My mind flies back to Henry’s video. “Are you certain that Viola died of a morphine overdose?”
Shad gives a small shrug. “You know we can’t be sure of that until the toxicology comes back. That could take weeks.”
“Ask the state crime lab to rush it. They’ll do that for you on a murder case.”
“Are you telling me how to run this case?”
“I’m not convinced this is a case. I think you’re jumping the gun.”
Shad looks genuinely upset. “Penn, you’ve sat where I’m sitting. No child in the world wants to believe his parent committed a terrible crime. But I have a duty here. If I shirk it, I’ll be buried by public opinion as surely as if you published that photo in the Examiner.”
“I honestly don’t see how you get to first-degree murder. But I didn’t go to Harvard like you. Help me out here.”
Shad clearly wants me out of his office, but so long as he thinks I have the photo, he’ll handle me with kid gloves. “Lincoln Turner believes his mother was murdered. The physical evidence supports his assertion. And whether your fiancée chooses to print it in the paper or not, his assertion is likely to become a public accusation very soon. If the past is any guide, the rumor will be all over town long before tomorrow’s paper hits the streets.”
The mention of Caitlin momentarily derails my thoughts; thankfully, she’s out of town for the day, interviewing Katrina evacuees at a FEMA trailer park near the Louisiana state line. “Those were not legal points, Shad.”
“But they matter, and you know it. I wish I had better news for you. But the only person who might be able to prevent this situation from getting worse is your father. And you said he wouldn’t talk to you. Is he sticking to that position?”
“I haven’t spoken to him since our first conversation.”
Shad’s nostrils flare. “Remember when I told you I didn’t think any cop or deputy in town would serve a warrant on your father?”
I nod.
“I’ve since learned I was wrong.”
This tells me that everything Shad knows is leaking through the sheriff’s department as we speak. With Billy Byrd wearing the star, that’s no surprise. Two years ago, Sheriff Byrd, Shad, and a local circuit judge colluded to try to railroad a friend of mine into Parchman. And while I’ve never uncovered the basis for that unholy alliance, I know that none of those three will hesitate to use the power of his office to settle personal scores.
“For some reason,” Shad goes on, “Billy Byrd has a hard-on to bust your old man. The sheriff seems to be one of the few people who don’t worship Tom Cage. In fact, I got the feeling he hates him. You might want to ask your dad about that, as well.”
I close my eyes and speak in an exaggerated Eastern European accent. “I’m seeing something in my mind … wait … yes. It’s a picture of … a bull? No, a bulldog. The dog is hanging from a tree … and there’s a district attorney hanging beside it. And people are beating the district attorney with sticks. Now somebody’s hanging a sign on his chest. The sign says DISBARRED in big capital letters—”
“Keep your voice down!” Shad hisses, coming half out of his chair. “Goddamn it.”
“Only one thing will keep my voice down. Give me whatever you’ve been holding back.”
With the look of a cornered animal, he spits out three words. “There’s a tape.”
I don’t even blink. “What kind of tape?”
He gives me a brief summary of the video I just watched in Henry Sexton’s Explorer. The DA clearly interprets Viola’s dying words as evidence of my father’s guilt.
“That doesn’t sound like proof of anything. It sounds like the confused ranting of a person having a heart attack.”
“Penn, you might as well save it for—”
“Viola was a trained nurse,” I point out. “Why would my father inject her? If she died as the result of an injection of any drug, she almost certainly gave it to herself.”
“Save it for the courtroom. I don’t have any choice here.”
I realize I’m breathing hard. “There’s got to be more, Shad. Come on. Murder One?”
The DA shifts in his seat. “I’m not going to let you hold that photo over my head like a sword. Before this is over, you’ll want to use it, but you’d better think long and hard before you do.”
I hear steel in his voice. “Why is that?”
“Better the devil you know—that’s why. You bust me, there’s no telling who’ll wind up in this chair. The judge could appoint a special prosecutor. And depending on the judge, there’s no telling who you might get.”
This is a veiled reference to Arthel Minor, the judge who colluded with Shad in the past. “I hear you,” I tell him. “But there’s something missing from this equation. I haven’t heard anything that suggests a motive for murder.”
Shad waves this objection away with a flick of his hand. “Malice aforethought is enough to get the state to murder. And in this type of case, intent alone is sufficient to meet the standard for malice.”
“By ‘this type of case,’ you mean an assisted suicide situation?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Shad tries to look inscrutable, but I see something flickering behind his civil-servant-trapped-by-duty mask. As hard as he’s trying to conceal it, Shad cannot hide the fierce joy burning within him. Fate has handed him a chance to pay me back a hundredfold, and by God, he means to use it.
“Are you implying my father killed Viola Turner not to relieve her suffering, but for some other reason?”
The DA blinks once, slowly. “I haven’t said that.”
You just did. “Shad, what’s really going on here? What are you sitting on?”