Natchez Burning (99 page)

As Caitlin looks to me for help, I realize that what I feared this morning must have happened during the afternoon: Sherry Harden told Kaiser about Henry’s safe-deposit box keys.

“If Henry wanted you to have any of his case materials,” Caitlin says, “he would have given them to you before now.”

Kaiser’s face looks as serious as I’ve ever seen it. “Henry didn’t realize how much danger he was in. With all due respect, Ms. Masters, I think you have the same problem. Those files are a bullet magnet. Or worse. The Double Eagles are big fans of explosives, and old hands at using them. The
Beacon
building has already been burned. The
Natchez Examiner
isn’t exactly a fortress. Do you want to wait until Penn is picking out a casket before you face what you’re caught up in?”

Caitlin takes an aggressive step toward Kaiser. “Whoever shot Henry could have blown me away two seconds later. But he didn’t. I think I’m relatively safe, for the time being anyway.”

Kaiser shakes his head. “Maybe the triggerman didn’t know you were going to be there. Maybe he didn’t want to risk a cell call to get the go-order.”

“If things are really that dangerous, what are we doing standing out here? A sniper could shoot us from across the highway, couldn’t he?”

“Not at this moment. I’ve had a sniper on the hospital roof sweeping that field with a thermal imaging scope for the past four minutes.”

This silences us all.

“The Double Eagles probably don’t know you have those files yet,” Kaiser goes on. “But they will. Henry’s girlfriend was no fan of yours. She’s bound to have talked to somebody.”

“You think you’re going to scare me into cooperating with you?” Caitlin challenges.

“No. But I don’t understand your reluctance. Are you hoping to solve these murders yourself? Henry tried that, and look at the result.”

“At least he didn’t sit on his ass for forty years, like the FBI.”

I step between them, silently warning the Bureau man to back off.

“Look,” says Kaiser, trying to stay calm, “we all have different pieces of this puzzle, and we all want the same result. Don’t we?”

“Do we?” asks Caitlin.

“You can’t blame her, John,” I interject. “The Bureau has got a pretty bad record in the sharing department. Henry wasn’t the Bureau’s biggest fan, either.”

“I’m not the Bureau,” he says angrily. “Not on this case. I’m Dwight Stone. Dwight and every other agent who bucked Hoover and the system to try to do the right thing, all the way back to 1963, when Medgar Evers was shot. This won’t be a one-way flow of information. I’m not keeping things from you guys.”

He turns on his heel, walks to the Suburban, and knocks on the driver’s window. The glass slides down and someone hands him a bag. When he returns, he takes his flashlight from his pocket, unzips the bag, and removes a large clear Ziploc containing a badly rusted hunk of metal with a strangely familiar shape. That shape hurls me back to every World War II movie I’ve ever seen.

“That looks like a Luger,” I comment.

“Doesn’t it?” says Kaiser. “This was rusted to the inner wall of Luther Davis’s trunk. The agent who found it said he thought about
The Rat Patrol
the second he saw it.”

“
Is
it a Luger?”

“No.” Kaiser opens the Ziploc and takes out the heavily oxidized but still graceful weapon and examines it from several angles in the beam of the flashlight.

“What is it?” asks Caitlin.

“A Nambu.”

“A what?”

“N-A-M-B-U. It’s a Japanese pistol widely used by their officers during both world wars. It was designed by General Kijiro Nambu, the Japanese John Browning. Takes an eight-millimeter cartridge. It looks like a Luger, but the works are completely different. Quite a few Pacific vets brought them home as trophies.”

“Like Frank Knox?” I guess.

Kaiser’s eyes glint with triumph. “Yes, sir. Frank Knox was known to possess a Nambu. Picked it up on Tarawa. Best of all? Nobody’s seen that gun in forty years.”

“Oh, man. You knew this all along?”

“Let’s just say I had a feeling this gun might have gone into the ground wherever Jimmy Revels and Luther Davis were buried. I wasn’t far wrong, by God.”

“Why would they dump the gun with the body?” I ask. “They should have thrown it in the river.”

“Frank Knox would have,” Kaiser says. “But Frank was dead by the time Jimmy and Luther were killed. Whoever shot Luther obviously had access to Frank’s pistol, though.”

“His little brother?” I guess. “Snake?”

Kaiser nods. “Snake Knox is an arrogant man. Crazier than his big brother, and not nearly so careful. Snake took over the Eagles the day Frank died, and Jimmy and Luther were never seen again.”

“Any chance of getting a serial number off this gun?” Caitlin asks.

“No, but that’s irrelevant. This weapon was a battle trophy, never registered.” Kaiser turns to his wife, who’s standing just behind me. “We need a good set of photos of this pistol. A set of high-res printouts, too.”

“No problem,” Jordan says.

“Make sure Ms. Masters gets a good one for the
Examiner
.”

Caitlin goes still, her eyes wide.

Kaiser looks her full in the face. “You have my permission to report this find in your paper. Same with the handcuffs and Luther’s ID. That’ll make a hell of a headline. After what happened tonight, we’re about to be enveloped in a media storm, but you’ll have the exclusive story.”

“But only if I turn over Henry’s files to you?”

“Fair’s fair,” says Kaiser, looking to me for support. “Right now I need to know who the mysterious ‘Gates Brown’ is. I’m guessing that information is somewhere in Henry’s files.” He looks back at Caitlin, his eyebrows arched. “Or maybe you already know?”

“No.” She debates silently with herself. “I’m sorry. I’m not ready to make that trade. Not without more thought. Too much has happened tonight.”

“I need to see those files, Ms. Masters. And your withholding them comes very close to obstruction of justice.”

“Whoa, John,” I cut in. “If you’re going to talk like that, you’d better talk to her lawyer. And tonight that’s me.”

Kaiser starts to speak, but Caitlin holds up her hand and says, “I feel sick. Seriously. I need to get to the ladies’ room.”

Kaiser looks more suspicious than sympathetic. “You’d better go with her,” he says to Jordan. “With Ozan’s people coming and going, the hospital’s no longer secure.”

“I’ll go with her,” I say, but Kaiser grabs my upper arm and holds me in place. “I still need to talk to you. Please.” He gives Caitlin a look of apology. “We’ll be here in the car when you guys come back.”

I’m tempted to jerk my arm from Kaiser’s hand, but Caitlin shakes her head at me, then nods assent to Jordan and starts toward the hospital entrance.

As Jordan follows her, Kaiser bags the Nambu and beckons me toward a black Crown Victoria two spaces away. He puts the evidence bag in the backseat, then starts the car and turns on the heater. By the time I close the passenger door, the front windshield is completely fogged.

“You were a little rough on her back there,” I tell him.

He turns to me with startling urgency. “I need those files, Penn. The Double Eagles came within an inch of assassinating Henry Sexton while he was under police protection. I don’t have time for your fiancée to play Lois Lane, or whoever the current role model is.”

“I think Caitlin’s hero is your wife.”

Exasperated, Kaiser leans forward and wipes the windshield so that he can observe the hospital entrance.

“Why didn’t you tell Ozan to get the hell away from here?” I ask. “You’ve got the authority, especially being here on a terrorism case.”

“I honestly wasn’t expecting such a brazen move. I was hoping to put out the word that Henry had died, but that’s not going to fly now. As for Ozan, I’m giving him rope and hoping that he and his boss will hang themselves with it.”

“Forrest Knox?”

“That’s right. My man Forrest just unzipped his fly. I’ve been playing a long game with that bastard, but his time is coming.”

Kaiser may be playing a long game, but I don’t have time for such luxuries. My game will be won or lost in the next eight hours or so, and I don’t want to sit here long enough for Kaiser to start questioning me. To forestall any interrogation, I ask whether his digital surveillance has picked up anything further between Brody Royal and his son-in-law.

He rolls his eyes and says, “They know what we’re up to. That’s the only explanation. So, do you want to tell me what you have on Royal?”

While I try to think of a credible answer, I realize that Randall Regan must not have said anything on the phone about Caitlin firing a gun in his house. If he had, Kaiser would certainly have said something to Caitlin about it.

Kaiser is clearly getting impatient, but before he can press me, an FBI agent taps on his window, then tells him that Henry Sexton is demanding that his mother be let in to visit him when she arrives. Preoccupied with me, Kaiser grants permission, so long as Mrs. Sexton presents valid ID and matches the picture on it. As he concludes this conversation, Caitlin appears in front of the car and signals for me to get out.

“I need to speak to her,” I tell Kaiser, and quickly make my escape.

“Are you okay?” I ask Caitlin.

She nods but says nothing. Then I see Jordan standing a few feet behind her.

“Delayed shock,” Jordan says. “I’ve seen it plenty of times in war zones. She’ll be all right. She’s plenty tough.”

“Maybe I should drive you back,” I suggest.

Caitlin shakes her head, her eyes fraught with conflicting emotions. “Thanks, but my press operator drove me over, and he’s still here. Jamie texted me while we were inside. The deadline’s crashing down on us. They need me back at the paper now. I’m going to go say good-bye to Henry, then get back to work.”

This seems like an overly thorough explanation, but something tells me not to question her. Kaiser looks a little suspicious as well, but his buzzing cell phone distracts him. He checks a text message, then says, “I’ve got to get back inside. Apparently Captain Ozan has been questioning hospital employees about Henry’s status. I need to call my SAC.”

I shake Kaiser’s hand, thank Jordan, then take Caitlin’s hand and pull her toward my car. She follows without resistance. Once there, I lean in and start the engine, but we stand outside, our breath fogging in the cold.

She raises her eyebrows in silent reproach. “Did you tell him anything about Henry’s files?”

“No.”

“The recording of Katy Royal?”

“Hell, no.”

Caitlin relaxes a little, then rubs her hands together. “Can you believe he tried to extort me like that?”

“Kaiser’s serious about nailing the Double Eagles. And he’s got a point. Without Henry’s files, he’s got one hand tied behind his back.”

Caitlin’s eyes flash. “I could say the same about the recording of Katy Royal, but you’re not giving him that.”

“You’re right.”

She looks around cautiously, then reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small photograph. When she turns up her palm, I see Henry Sexton with a rifle scope superimposed over his face.

“Where did you get that?”

“Someone sent it to Henry a few months ago. He was in New Orleans, looking into old real estate deals between Brody Royal and Carlos Marcello. He showed it to the FBI at the time, but they didn’t come up with anything. It’s one more thing to keep in mind when you confront Brody.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you talked to Kirk?”

“He’s waiting for me now.”

She gives me a long look. “Promise me you won’t give Royal anything that matters. You can’t trust him, Penn.”

“I know that.”

“Stop by the newspaper when you’re done. I can’t make any final decisions about tomorrow’s editions until I know where you stand with him.”

“I will.”

“All right, then.” Slipping the photo back into her coat, she stands on tiptoe and kisses me.

As she starts toward the hospital entrance, Jordan Glass gets out of a car to my right and follows her to the doors. Maybe Kaiser told his wife to keep an eye on Caitlin, or maybe she’s just concerned.

Shaking off my worry, I climb into my Audi, throw it into gear, back out of the space, and race out of the parking lot. As soon as I hit Highway 15, something in my chest comes loose. It’s not empathy for Henry, or grief over the woman he loved. The reckless attack on Henry—with Caitlin standing only feet away—has penetrated the most primitive fibers of my brain. I feel myself gearing down into survival mode, a state without sentiment, hesitation, or moral constraint. Instead of apprehension, I feel an almost surreal sense of calm.

The ambient glow of Vidalia fills the sky ahead, and the lights of Natchez flicker like stars high on the bluff across the river. Taking out my cell phone, I call Kirk’s number.

“I’m on him,” he says. “Still at St. Catherine’s. Whole family’s outside the ICU.”

“Randall Regan, too?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Are you still up for this?”

“
Oo-rah,
brah. Let the games begin.”

AS SOON AS
the guard passed Caitlin through the front entrance of the hospital, Jordan Glass called out her name, then beckoned her toward some chairs in the corner of the darkened lobby. The seats had cracked covers, but they were comfortable enough. The coffee table was strewn with well-thumbed magazines. Jordan sat beneath a poster warning about heart disease in women, then waited while Caitlin took a chair to her right. Caitlin’s skin felt cold, and her ears were ringing. She wondered if she was finally going into shock.

“You saved Henry,” Jordan said, as though they had been discussing the issue for the past twenty minutes.

Henry’s frozen face kept floating behind Caitlin’s eyes, the trickle of blood running down to the pillow, then Sherry whirling from the window, her hands flying to her throat as one eye socket poured blood. Caitlin didn’t want to say anything about it, for fear of sounding like a baby in front of a woman who’d spent years in war zones.
Who opened those damned window blinds?
she asked herself for the hundredth time.