“Read the third line down,” I said.

He set the coffee pot on the stainless steel counter inside the doorway and stepped out into the damp alley.

His eyes moved slowly across the black print, stopping on Raymond Winslow’s name and the county probate court case number.

“They ran a lab test on a DNA sample,” I said.

“Christopher stole a mouth swab from Theodore’s crib while I was out buying baby fever medicine.

The lab report came back yesterday.”