Henry’s cheeks redden a bit. “One hundred percent. That’s all I can tell you, with or without Caitlin here, so don’t ask me more. I just thought you ought to know.”

“Damn it! Shad must have some serious evidence to sway a Natchez grand jury against Dad.”

“Do you think it was my video? I’d sure hate to think that.”

“If so, it wasn’t your fault. What that tape means is open to interpretation. And since the accused can’t have a lawyer in the grand jury room, Shad could put whatever spin he wanted to on every frame.”

Henry’s eyes are welling up, and I can sense just how much he cares about my father.

“Shadrach Johnson,” Caitlin says with contempt. “It’s time to nuke him, Penn, I swear to God.”

I signal for her to keep quiet, but she’s too angry to pay attention.

“Say the word,” she hisses. “I’ll have that photo up on our Web edition in ten minutes. Front page, bigger than VJ Day. Shad won’t even reach the city limits before PETA is screaming for his hide.”

“What photo?” Henry asks, blinking.

“Sorry, Henry,” she says with a hint of irony. “Privileged information.”

He gives her a look that a teacher might give an arrogant student.

“Damn it all!” I yell, getting up and pacing around the room. “Shad must really believe Dad is guilty. Otherwise, he’s gone insane.”

“Bullshit,” says Caitlin. “This is a vendetta, nothing else. He proved that this morning, when he asked that bail be denied.”

I’m still not sure of this. These tactics aren’t Shad’s usual Clausewitz strategy. This is a blitzkrieg, and the risks to Shad are considerable, all of which begs the question of what’s really going on. But if I don’t respond immediately, my father could be overrun by a legal offensive that could kill him before he even gets to trial.

When Caitlin walks to the window looking onto the oaks in front of City Hall, I can tell by her posture that she’s thinking hard. After a few moments, she turns back to us, her eyes focused on Henry. “May I ask you a question, Henry?”

“I can’t wait.”

“When does your next edition come out?”

“Thursday.”

“Two days from now. And the next edition after that?”

“Next Thursday. We come out every Thursday.”

“I see.”

God, she’s shameless.

“Henry, may I be blunt with you?” she goes on.

He meets her eyes with steady calm. “I thought you already were.”

“Do you think a weekly paper is capable of covering a story that’s breaking as fast as this one?”

Henry works his mouth around in silence for a few seconds. “Well, yes. Not the way you could with your daily, of course. But we’ve got our Web edition up and running, and I can post articles to that all day long.”