“I suppose I can tell him I’m not going to arrest a community physician of spotless reputation without one hundred percent documented evidence. I can take statements from the sister and anyone else who knew what was going on, process the physical evidence. But by tomorrow morning—afternoon at the latest—you’d better have the straight story out of your old man. If you don’t, he’s going to need a first-rate criminal defense attorney.”

As Shad waits for my reply, my eyes lock on to the assisted suicide statute in the 1972 Code. One quick scan starts a chain of muscle spasms up my back. “Shad, what exactly does Turner say happened? Is he saying my father provided the morphine, or that he injected the drug himself?”

“He didn’t say. He just kept yelling about morphine and a syringe. Why?”

“The way I read the statute, if Dad provided the drug and Viola injected herself, that’s assisted suicide. But if he injected her himself … that’s murder. Have you checked for precedents?”

“Not yet. But I suggest you get on it. Ten minutes ago I heard that Sheriff Foti down in Orleans Parish is thinking about prosecuting a respected lady doctor who may have euthanized patients during Katrina. And the charge will be murder.”

My heart thumps. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I’m not. And Viola Turner wasn’t exactly a nobody, Penn. She had a younger brother who was a civil rights martyr. Jimmy Revels. Revels was kidnapped with a friend in 1968. Bodies never found.”

I recall this incident from the newspaper stories by a crusading reporter from across the river. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just this. If I get Al Sharpton down here yelling to Greta Van Susteren about racial genocide by euthanasia on Court TV, I’ll have no choice but to send your father to Parchman, no matter what kind of leverage you’ve got on me.”

“Don’t say that, man.”

“Then get your ass in gear. The clock’s ticking.”

CHAPTER 5

TOM CAGE STARED down at his ringing cell phone, then looked through the bottom of his trifocals to read the name on the caller ID: ROSE MEADOWS. Penn’s secretary, cliché name and all. He’d already received two additional calls from City Hall, which he’d ignored. Rose’s call from her cell meant that Penn was pushing her hard to reach him again. Tom wished he could have been more forthcoming with his son, but Penn could do nothing to mitigate the situation, while he might easily aggravate it. And by getting involved at all, Penn might be putting himself and his daughter in harm’s way. Tom took a deep breath and switched off his phone.