Dad pauses again, and I can hear him breathing. “I’m not concerned about that. Whatever happened between Viola and me last night occurred between a patient and her physician. I have nothing to say to Shad Johnson about it—or to you or anybody else. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh, but there it is.”

This statement leaves me speechless for several seconds. “Dad, the penalty for assisted suicide is ten years. Even without prison, you could lose your medical license.”

“I realize that. But I still won’t talk about it. If Shad Johnson wants to arrest me, he can do it. I’m not hard to find.”

Jesus Christ. “You and I should speak face-to-face.”

“There’s no point, Penn. I have nothing else to say about the matter.”

“Silence isn’t an option! Viola’s son is an attorney. If he keeps pushing the DA, and there’s corroborating evidence, you could well be tried in criminal court. Believe it or not, Shad Johnson would like to avoid that prospect. But to help him, we’re going to have to give him your side of the story.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” Dad says, neatly separating his fate from my own in a tone I recognize all too well.

“Refusal to talk about what happened is going to be viewed as an admission of guilt.”

“Don’t American citizens have the right to remain silent?”

“Yes, but—”

“I don’t think the Miranda rules have the word but in them, Penn. The Constitution, either, as I recall.”

God spare me from amateur lawyers. “Do you know Viola’s son?”

“Never laid eyes on him.”

“Well, the vibe I’m getting from Shad is that if you handle this right, it could all go away.”

“And what would the ‘right’ way be?”

“I’m not sure. Telling the truth, maybe. Unless …”

“What?”

I close my eyes. “Unless you did it.”

This time the silence is alarmingly protracted. “I can’t say anything else about this. The doctor-patient privilege is sacred to me.”

“I’m afraid that privilege ended with Viola’s death. Under these circumstances, anyway.”

“Not in my book.”

His voice carries absolute conviction. I might as well hang up now. “Dad … please reconsider. You’re required by law to assist the coroner in determining the cause of your patient’s death. I’m not even the prosecutor, and what I’m hearing sounds like a doctor admitting he helped someone to die.”

“People hear what they want to hear. I told you, if Shad Johnson wants to arrest me, let him do it. I’m through talking, and I’m sorry you were bothered with this. I’ll see you later.”

“Dad!”

But he’s gone.

Reaching behind me, I take down the Annotated Mississippi Code of 1972 and page through it, searching for the assisted suicide statute, but before I can get my bearings the phone rings again.