“All right, then. I hope the powers that be get this mess straightened out before it goes any further.” Noyes looks at me. “Are you prepared to post bond?”

My mother’s voice comes from behind me, quavering with emotion. “We’re prepared to write a check immediately, Judge.”

“Good.” He looks at the deputy. “Dr. Cage is not to be handcuffed again. And make sure that fellow outside doesn’t bother him on his way to his car. You hear me, Wilbur? If that man assaults anybody, use your weapon.”

Wilbur’s face goes pale. “Yessir.”

“Next case.”

Shad says, “But Judge, the state—”

“Next case, goddamn it!”

OUT ON THE SIDEWALK, the sun has banished the cold morning wind and is now heating the concrete to a temperature more suited to spring than December. Thankfully, I’ve seen no sign of Lincoln Turner or his white pickup. Mom, Dad, and I stand before the Justice Court building with tangible awkwardness. Though we are linked by blood and by a palpable sense of relief, the reason for our being here has not been discussed by more than two of us at a time.

“Thank you, Penn,” Mom says softly.

“I didn’t do anything. Judge Noyes is obviously a fan of Dad’s.”

“But it was important for you to be here. Families have to stick together in times like this. Everyone needs to see that.”

I’m anxious to discuss the logistics of getting Dad to a clinic to be swabbed for a DNA paternity test, but my mother has not left his side. Asking her to give us some time alone would not be taken well just now.

“I never knew you were taken prisoner in Korea,” I say to Dad.

He shrugs as though this is nothing of consequence, his eyes seeming to contemplate something far away. “It was Walt and me. We escaped after a few days. We were lucky. Few did. I don’t know how Charlie Noyes knows about it. Another vet must have told him. The upside is, I doubt the Adams County jail could be worse than North Korea in late November.”

“Did Caitlin send that photographer?” Mom asks.

“What photographer?” I ask.

“The one at the back. He slipped in while Shad was talking to the judge. He took some notes, and then he shot pictures during that man’s outburst.”

I try to conceal my alarm. “I didn’t see any flash.”

“He wasn’t using one.”

A pro. I can see the headline now: DID WHITE DOCTOR MURDER BLACK NURSE IN MISSISSIPPI? That kind of story sells a lot of newspapers, even in the twenty-first century. “Shad must have invited a reporter down from Jackson.”

“It’s freezing out here,” Mom says. “Let’s get home, Tom. I have your medicine in my purse.”

“I need to get to the office,” he protests. “You heard the judge. I have to keep working.”