The Bone Tree (56 page)

THE BOUCHARD LAKE
house sits on the side of Lake Concordia farthest from the Mississippi River. A modernist, metal-skinned anomaly, it stands out among the older ranch houses and contemporary McMansions. At my request, Walker Dennis waited for us four miles up the road in the parking lot of a small grocery store that serves the lake residents. There I parked my Audi and climbed into Drew’s truck, while Walker followed us in his marked Tahoe.

During the drive here, Walt told me two things I could scarcely believe: first, that he’d planted the derringer that killed Trooper Deke Dunn inside Forrest Knox’s Baton Rouge home; and second, that while exploring Forrest’s computer, he’d discovered a video of a state police SWAT unit murdering what appeared to be black drug dealers during Hurricane Katrina. Walt rather unwisely turned this video over to Colonel Griffith Mackiever, but so far as he knows, the derringer still remains in Knox’s house. The implications of this information are too explosive for me to predict, yet I will be facing Forrest himself in less than five minutes.

When we reach the driveway of the Bouchard house, Walker Dennis pulls in after me and blocks the drive with his Tahoe, then climbs out with an AR-15 mounting an ACOG sight on its top rail.

“What’s the fire signal?” he asks.

“If I raise my right forefinger, blow him away.”

“Forrest first?”

“Whoever’s the most immediate threat.”

Dennis nods, then walks behind the Tahoe and rests his rifle on the hood, making a bench rest of his vehicle.

Walt drives slowly up the driveway: thirty meters, forty . . . I lay my hand on his arm and wait for him to turn to me. When he does, I say, “Tell me one thing, Walt. Did Dad kill Viola? I don’t care either way at this point. I just need to know.”

The old Ranger’s eyes don’t waver. “I honestly don’t know. I just came to help the man, because he’s my friend.”

I actually believe this. Walt and my father are from a different era, almost a different nation. The code by which they live probably precluded Walt from even asking the question.

“What if they just open up on us from the house?” he asks.

“They won’t. If they’re watching, they’ll have seen Walker’s bubble lights already.”

Walt doesn’t look reassured. “You sure you don’t want to try to call Knox on that cell phone?”

“Nope. I’ve got other plans for that phone.”

The brakes squeak as Walt rolls to a stop twenty meters from the house. I can just see the corner of the rear deck jutting out from the second floor. As I stare, a head appears, silhouetted against the sky. After several seconds, it withdraws.

“We just lost the element of surprise,” Walt deadpans, glancing into the backseat, where the veritable arsenal of firearms he brought from Texas lies in a padded duffel bag.

“I don’t think we ever had it. I’ll get out and wait for them. You stay in here until I clarify the situation. We don’t want them shooting you before they understand the price.”

Climbing out of the truck, I stand with my .357 hanging in plain view against my leg. In less than a minute, the side door of the house opens and two men emerge, one of average height, but well built and with the grace of an athlete; the other shorter and built like a small refrigerator. As they approach, the second man’s brick-colored skin becomes obvious. Alphonse Ozan.

“Hello, Mayor,” says the taller man, whose dark face has now resolved into recognizable features. Forrest Knox looks like the actor Kenneth Tobey, but with a dark suntan, pocked skin, and black hair. He’s square jawed and almost handsome, but a badly disfigured ear and his disturbingly direct eyes make me uneasy. “What can I do for you?”

“Tell me where my father is.”

Forrest gives me a bemused smile. “How would I know that?”

“You kidnapped him last night, and then your uncle snatched him from you. Now something tells me you’ve taken him back. In any
case, I don’t have time for a long explanation. Just tell me where he is now.”

Forrest drums the fingers of his right hand against the knuckles of his left. “Who’s that in the truck, Mayor? Looks like he might be a wanted cop killer.”

“He is. And he’s going to get out. But before he does, I want you to note the sniper at the end of your driveway. He’s got you zeroed right now.”

Forrest chuckles softly. “Can that clown hit me from there?”

“The deer heads on his office wall tell me he probably can.” I turn to Drew’s truck and motion for Walt to get out. As he does, I give Alphonse Ozan a warning glance. “I don’t want either of you touching a cell phone. If you do, Sheriff Dennis will fire and I’ll swear you went for your guns.”

Forrest laughs softly. “You’ve got some balls for a lawyer, don’t you?”

“You called this play. I’m only doing what I have to do for my family.”

Knox gives me a measuring look. “What do you really know about me, Mayor?”

“I know you used to leave JFK half-dollars in the mouths of men you killed in Vietnam.”

“That Kaiser does his homework, doesn’t he?”

“It wasn’t all book work. He was at FSB Ripcord when you were there.”

“No shit?” The intelligent eyes narrow with curiosity. “Well, now. If we’re going to speak any further, I need you wanded.”

Without further prompting, Ozan takes a black wand from his pocket and runs it the length of my body. I can imagine Walker Dennis tensing for a shot, thinking Ozan is making a move on me. The wand beeps when it passes the cell phone in my back pocket, but I show Ozan that it’s switched off.

When the Redbone wands Walt, the instrument begins beeping loudly near his ankles.

“My throwdown,” Walt informs him. “Try to take that, and I’ll beat you to death with it.”

Ozan chuckles like Walt’s a funny old codger.

As he straightens up, Forrest says, “Who planted the meth on my relatives?”

“This conversation’s drifting off point, Colonel. I’m only concerned about my father.”

“Your daddy murdered a state trooper, Mayor. That makes this a problematic conversation.”

“Bullshit,” says Walt. “I killed that asshole Dunn, and he was no cop. He was a disgrace to his badge. I stopped him from committing murder.”

Forrest gives Walt a hard look, then motions for me to follow him away from the other men. “Let’s move downwind and keep this civil,” he says. “Otherwise there may be casualties.”

When we’re out of earshot, Forrest turns to me. “You tried to cut a deal with Brody Royal, didn’t you? That was your mistake right there. Brody was a megalomaniac. I’m a pragmatist.”

“Is that right?”

“You can find out right now. Let’s hear your offer.”

“I’m not here to make an offer.”

“That’s too bad. Because I did speak to your father last night, and his main hope was that we can all come to a mutually satisfactory arrangement. His idea is to blame the casualties up to this point on dead people—Brody, Regan, and Morehouse, say—and you and your fiancée back the fuck away from this stupid Double Eagle story, and everything you think goes with it.”

Trying not to read anything into his verb tenses, I say, “Where did you speak to my father?”

“That doesn’t matter. But we had a good visit last night. Talked about the old days—and my old man, of course. Daddy thought a hell of a lot of Dr. Cage.”

“I don’t imagine the feeling was mutual.”

Forrest barks a laugh. “Are you kidding? Your dad and mine got along great. They’d both been through the same meat grinder in Korea. They had different politics, sure, but they respected each other. Hell, Daddy even knew Dr. Cage used to patch up the black agitators when they got hurt, but he didn’t care.”

I try to imagine my father respecting Frank Knox, but I can’t see it.

“Doc got into some trouble over in Korea,” Forrest says in a confiding tone. “He ever tell you about that? Bad trouble. He nearly went to prison, I believe. Daddy said he got fucked over by the army for doing
the right thing, whatever that means. But I guess old Tom didn’t want you worrying he might not be the hero you thought he was.” Forrest smiles with what appears to be genuine nostalgia. “You know, Dr. Cage had to stitch me up five or six times when I was a kid.”

“Do you remember Viola assisting him?” I ask quietly.

The nostalgia goes out of Knox’s face, but his eyes still gleam as though from an inner heat. “I sure do. She wasn’t the kind of woman you forget.”

Could he possibly be Lincoln’s father?
I wonder, noting the dark color of his skin, which looks like the result of Creole blood and not a suntan in December. He’s actually darker than Sonny Thornfield, but I won’t accomplish anything here by going down that road.

“I made a mistake with Brody,” I tell him. “I thought he was the man behind all this. But I was wrong. It’s been you all along.” I step closer to Forrest, and as I do, I get the feeling not many people invade this man’s personal space. “I’m not here to cut a deal. I don’t know whether you’ve got Dad right now or not. But if you don’t, you’ve got the best chance of finding out where he is. So I’m giving you until six this evening to put him safely in my care. After that, if he’s not back in the bosom of his family—”

“Are you seriously about to threaten me, Mayor?”

“Not physically. But let me finish. If you don’t get my father back safe in the bosom of his family, I’m going to do what I do best.”

“Which is?”

“There’s an old saying, Colonel. The mills of the gods grind slow, but they grind to powder. You know that one?”

Forrest cocks his head, which gives me a better look at the scarred nub of his ear. “I suppose you’re God in this hypothetical?”

“No, I’m the grinding wheel. I sent sixteen killers to death row in Houston. Thirteen have been executed. I’m no longer very proud of that, but it’s a fact. So . . . you return my father, and I won’t much care what happens to you. But if you don’t, I’m going to resign the mayor’s office and turn all my attention to you. All my legal ability and experience, my law enforcement and political connections, all the resources of my future father-in-law’s media conglomerate—all that I will relentlessly focus on you. I’ll peel you open, layer by layer. I’ll dig up every enemy you ever made, every woman you betrayed, every cop you ever
paid off, every lie you told, every corpse you buried, every dollar you moved offshore, every tax return you ever filed. Then I’ll grind you to powder, bone by bone. I won’t stop until there’s nothing left.”

Forrest Knox is looking at me as though seeing me for the first time. He doesn’t speak for a while, but when he finally does, he sounds anything but rattled. “That might be tougher than you think, Counselor. You see, my enemies are dead. Their bodies no longer exist, my women know better, my brothers in uniform
are
brothers, my money is safe, and I’ve paid my taxes. I’m basically bulletproof.”

“Nobody’s bulletproof.” The time has come for my bit of theater. “To illustrate my point, I’ve got a message for you.”

“Yeah? From who?”

Moving very slowly, so as not to trigger a shot by Sheriff Dennis, I take Deputy Hunt’s cell phone from my back pocket.

While Forrest watches, I power up the phone and wait for it to acquire a signal. Knox is squinting at the device as though it looks familiar. When two bars show on the screen, I pull up the number last called and hit REDIAL. After a pregnant pause, during which Knox leans forward to better see the phone, a cell phone in his pocket begins to ring. At the second ring, his eyes widen like those of an ice fisherman who realizes he’s walked too far out on the lake.

“Technically,” I say, “I guess this message is from Deputy Hunt. But in a larger sense, you
could
say it’s a message from God. He’s telling you to cut your losses while you can.”

Forrest looks like he’s thinking about snatching the phone from me.

I nearly wag my finger at him, but then I remember that would trigger a shot from Sheriff Dennis. “Six o’clock,” I repeat. “After that, I’m giving Deputy Hunt to the FBI, turning Caitlin and her father loose on you, and going to work myself. If that happens, you can forget taking over the state police. They’ll be processing you into Angola within six months, I guarantee it. And I can’t imagine a much worse hell for a dirty cop who uses snipers to take out his black competition. That would be a fitting end, but it’s one you have the power to avoid.”

Forrest hasn’t blinked for maybe a minute. He probably looked like this when he staked out trails at night in Vietnam. After a few more silent seconds, a tight smile broadens his mouth, and he reaches out as though to shake my hand in acceptance of my terms.

Don’t do it,
says a voice in my head.
He’s playing you. Raise your finger and have Dennis blow his brains out. Any other choice is giving this man a chance to tear your life apart.
If Walt weren’t already wanted for killing a state trooper, I might raise my finger and take my chances in court. But that’s not really an option now.

Suppressing my revulsion, I take Forrest’s hand and shake it. “We’re going to leave now,” I say evenly. “If either of you touch your weapons, Walker will fire. He won’t hesitate, trust me. He lost a cousin to one of your men, and he’d love some payback.”

Again Knox’s dark eyes glint with interest. “This has been an enlightening visit, Mayor. I look forward to our next meeting.”

“One more thing, Forrest. I’m not your problem. The federal government is. Special Agent Kaiser is running Sheriff Dennis’s department now, and he wants your ass bad. I think he’s wanted you for a long time. You need to get my father back, so you can focus on staying out of federal prison.”

I walk away from Knox without waiting for a response, nor do I speak when I pass Walt. All that matters now is Walker Dennis and his rifle. Without them, Walt and I would already be dead.

WALT GARRITY WATCHED FORREST
Knox follow Penn with his eyes, then turn and walk back toward the lake house. Walt was about to follow Penn to the truck when the Redbone reached out and grasped his arm.

“What the hell are you doing here, Granddad? You sure as hell can’t be no bodyguard.”

Walt pulled his arm free and started to leave, but Ozan said, “So you shot Deke Dunn, huh? I find that pretty hard to believe.”