She makes very little effort to conceal her frustration. “Something about Glenn Morehouse, right? They’ve had his body since this morning.”

She’s like a hunting dog that never gets distracted from the scent. “Next time I talk to Kaiser, I’ll ask if I can pass it to you, off the record.”

Caitlin grimaces but doesn’t argue. “Do you think it would be all right for me to visit Henry at the hospital?”

“Not tonight. You’d just be in the way.”

“But he may have already decided to work for me! He may be my employee now.”

“He hasn’t signed anything. You can call Sheriff Dennis for any details you need, or Mrs. Whittington, the secretary who chased away the assailants.”

“Did I hear you say someone stole Henry’s files?”

“Sheriff Dennis said the assailants took some files from his vehicle during the attack. He was apparently moving them to his girlfriend’s house.”

Caitlin gives me a triumphant look that says, Come on. “Why would Henry be doing that unless he’d decided to change his work circumstances?”

Thankfully, the house phone rings again before I can answer.

“This is crazy,” Annie says, looking much happier to be watching this circus than researching Benjamin Franklin. “This is like during Katrina.”

“Penn Cage,” I answer.

“Hizzoner the Mayor,” says a warm baritone filled with the character imparted by fifty years of whiskey and tobacco. “This is Quentin. How they hangin’ today, Counselor?”

The shocks are coming almost too fast to process. “Just a minute, Quentin.” I cover the mouthpiece, but Caitlin’s already nodding that she understands.

“I’m heading back to the office,” she says. “Call me as soon as Drew calls you.”

“Do not go over to that hospital,” I tell her. “Security’s a major issue now. Stay at your office, and call me when you’re ready to come home. I’ll drive over and follow you back.”

It takes a few seconds, but she finally nods.

“Wait—could you take Annie in the kitchen for a couple of minutes before you go?”

She hesitates, then pulls Annie up from the sofa. “Come on, squirt. Your dad needs to take this call alone.”

As Annie disappears into the kitchen, Caitlin nods at the autopsy report on the back of the sofa, then raises her eyebrows—an obvious request for permission. Though I know I’ll pay for it later, I shake my head. She glares at me for two ominous seconds, then turns and follows Annie into the kitchen.

“Sorry, Quentin,” I say, trying to gather my thoughts. “Thanks for getting back to me.” At last, I add silently.

“I’ve been sleeping a lot lately. Apparently, I missed some of today’s action.”

“I wouldn’t bother you if we didn’t have a desperate situation here.”