“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?”