Текст книги "The Bone Tree"
Автор книги: Greg Iles
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Текущая страница: 41 (всего у книги 58 страниц)
Sonny looks confused by my question. “Dr. Cage?”
“Yes.”
He looks blank. “Not that I know of. What could he have had to do with it?”
“Some people say he had a relationship with Carlos Marcello when he lived in New Orleans as a young man. And he was the company doctor for Triton Battery, right? He knew Frank.”
“Sure, yeah. He took care of all of us.” Sonny suddenly holds up a forefinger. “Wait. . . . I believe Doc did sign Frank’s sick card for the time he was gone.”
My stomach flutters at his memory of this detail. “Did Frank mention that specifically?”
“Yeah, he did.”
Kaiser gives me a regretful glance.
“Wasn’t no big thing, though,” Sonny says. “Frank spun Doc a story about having an affair with some floozy, said she was going to blow up his marriage unless he stayed with her awhile and calmed her down. So Doc just put what he wanted on the medical excuse.”
The relief that flows through me is like a powerful narcotic. Forty years ago, any male, even a doctor, would have accepted a story like Frank’s without question, and many would have provided the requested cover. When I turn to Kaiser, he’s looking at me with an expression I can’t read. Does he accept this as exculpatory evidence? “That’s all for me,” I tell him. “Let’s get him back to the block.”
“Just one more question,” says Kaiser. “How did Frank get to Dallas and back?”
“Shit, come on,” I mutter, imagining Dad in a diabetic coma somewhere.
“Ferrie flew him out there,” Sonny says. “Snake flew him back.”
Kaiser nods slowly. “And how did Frank get around while he was in Dallas?”
A faint smile widens Sonny’s mouth. “He used a car that some of Carlos’s people left for him.”
“What people?”
“The Dallas mob out there, you know. I forget the name. Something that ends with a vowel.”
“Civello, maybe?”
Sonny shrugs. “That sounds right. An Eytie name like that.”
“And Frank was out there the whole week?”
“I don’t know for sure. But at least from Wednesday on he was. He reconned Dealey Plaza the first day he got there. Then he staked out Oswald. He wanted to know who the other shooter was, see? He wanted to be sure he killed the right guy.”
“Frank was a detail guy,” Kaiser says with only light sarcasm.
Sonny gives Kaiser a hopeful look. “Are we fuckin’ done now?”
I rise from my chair and retrieve my cell phones from the box where Sonny asked that I put them. The first one I switch on is the StarTac that Walker Dennis took off Deputy Hunt when he caught him this morning. I can’t deny that I’m hoping for a message from Forrest, but the screen only reads out the time.
“Hey,” Sonny says to Kaiser. “You were being straight about my grandson, right? About getting him out of that second tour? ’Cause he’s really scared about going back to Iraq.”
Kaiser gets to his feet. “That’s one thing I can do, Sonny. I’m the government today, and we are definitely making a deal.”
“It really messed him up when his buddy got hurt like that. I saw that kind of shit all the time in my war, of course. Back then, you just had to choke it down and go on. But these kids today didn’t come up the way we did, through the Depression. They’re not as hard. I don’t judge ’em. I’m glad, you know? But they can’t stand the same stuff we could.”
Kaiser gives him an understanding nod. “I hear you, Sonny. And after you sign that plea agreement, I will take care of him like he’s my own. You have my word.”
“I just hope my daughter doesn’t screw this thing up.”
“Me, too,” Kaiser says worriedly. “I think we’re done, Sonny. Let’s get you back to your cell.”
The old man grins. “I’m ready, believe it or not.”
“I’m going to have a word with Mayor Cage outside. My guys will be in to take you back. If you get anything from Snake about where Dr. Cage is, act like you’re having another heart attack. I’ll get you out of there quick.”
“Got it.”
Kaiser follows me into the hall, where the electromechanical sounds of the open office out front filter back to us. Phones, printers, HVAC, the dispatchers’ radio—
“Do you realize what we just heard in there?” Kaiser asks, his eyes glowing with excitement.
“Yeah, I heard it.”
“What do you think?”
“I think he was telling the truth. The question is, was Frank Knox telling him the truth?”
“But the details—”
“I know. It’s like you and Dwight scripted everything he said. I’d say you guys had it figured pretty close. I’m glad Dwight’s going to hear that before he goes under. Hopefully it’ll help him through.”
Kaiser nods like someone who can’t quite believe he’s been so fully vindicated. “And good news about your dad. How do you feel about that?”
“Compared to his present crisis, I don’t much care what he did forty years ago.”
“I understand. Well, with luck, Sonny can get Snake to tell him where Dr. Cage is.”
“Maybe. But how long will it take him?”
Kaiser shrugs. “With Snake, Sonny gives us a better chance than using a car battery and jumper cables. Where will you go in the meantime?”
“No idea,” I answer truthfully. “I can hardly think right now.”
“Go see your little girl, Penn. I swear I’ll call you the second I have any news. You did good work today, buddy. It was the tattoo that broke him.”
Kaiser grips my shoulder, then steps back into the interrogation room and closes the door. As I make my way through the open area of the office, I recognize few of the remaining deputies, but Spanky Ford gives me a thumbs-up as I pass and walk through the main doors, out into the winter sun.
CHAPTER 64
“IF I HADN’T had tickets on that flight to Cuba,” said Jordan Glass, “I think that redneck sheriff would have kept us in his office all afternoon.”
“Cuba wasn’t what did it,” Caitlin countered. “If you weren’t married to an FBI agent, good old Billy Ray Ellis would have jailed us as commie sympathizers.”
Jordan laughed and led them out to her car, which Carl Sims had kindly sent a deputy to retrieve.
Caitlin looked back at the sheriff’s office, thinking of the hour of her life she had wasted inside it. Billy Ray Ellis had a lot in common with Billy Byrd, and during his rather hostile interrogation, she’d gotten the feeling that he had spoken to his Adams County colleague. The only kindness he had shown was to give Caitlin a prison jumpsuit to wear while a matron dried her wet clothes.
“Look at that building,” Jordan said. “It looks like four glorified mobile homes nailed together, but he’s got a concrete helipad with klieg lights, a windsock, and the biggest Mississippi flag I’ve ever seen.”
Caitlin looked up at the Stars and Bars in the corner of the state flag, which hung just below an equal-size version of the Stars and Stripes.
“The only good thing I got out of there was the peppermints,” she said. “I’m still starving.”
Jordan laughed and pulled a handful of cellophane-wrapped peppermints out of her pocket. “Me too. I emptied that secretary’s jar.”
“We need to get some lunch.”
Jordan shook her head and moved on toward the car. “I don’t have time. If I don’t leave in the next twenty minutes, I’ll miss my flight.”
Caitlin felt an anticipatory sense of loss at the realization that she would soon be without Jordan. She had already called Terry Foreman, a girl from the Examiner’s marketing department, to pick her up at a local service station, but Terry was no substitute for Jordan Glass.
When they reached the car, Caitlin stood rather awkwardly by the door and stared at her friend across the roof. “I can’t tell you how much today meant to me.”
Jordan waved her hand dismissively. “I’m glad I came. But the day’s not over yet. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Caitlin was confused. “Surprise?”
Jordan gave her a mischievous, almost elfin look. “You’re about to owe me sooo big. Before you jumped in the drink, I shot two pictures of Toby Rambin’s map.”
“What?”
Jordan’s eyes twinkled with pleasure. “While you were studying it earlier, I shot a couple of pics and made sure we had a copy. I didn’t tell you in the boat because I didn’t want Mose to hear.”
Caitlin still couldn’t work it out. “But Sheriff Ellis had us searched when we got to his office.”
“Mm-hm.”
“He confiscated your memory cards.”
“He confiscated a memory card.”
Excited laughter burst from Caitlin’s throat. “Where was the real one?”
“They were both real. But while we waited to see the sheriff, I figured he might try something like that. It’s what all third-world policemen do. So I put the card with the most pictures on it where they wouldn’t find it and left the other one in the camera for him to steal.”
“You are crazy.”
“You don’t know the half of it. When I went to the bathroom, I stepped into an empty office, plugged the card into a computer, and printed you a copy of the map.”
Caitlin gasped in disbelief. “Oh, my God.”
Jordan pulled a folded sheet out of her back pocket and passed it to Caitlin. “I’m pretty sure you can see everything.”
Caitlin unfolded the page and saw a high-resolution copy of Toby Rambin’s map, her own thumbs showing above it on either side.
“You’re a superhero,” she said. “Seriously.”
“Well, don’t show it to every deputy in the parking lot.” Jordan unslung her camera bag and tossed it into her car. “Come on. Let’s get you to your new wingman.”
“Wait a second. Where did you hide that memory card?”
“Trade secret.” Jordan winked. “Let’s go.”
SONNY THORNFIELD TURNED HIS head slightly to the left as a big deputy named Isbell led him into the cellblock and toward his cell. When Snake caught Sonny’s eye through the bars, Sonny winked, then put his eyes front again.
“Open number seven!” Isbell barked.
Someone outside the block pressed a button, and the door to Sonny’s cell opened. He went in and sat on his cot without looking back at the deputy.
“Close seven.”
A deep buzzer sounded repeatedly, then the heavy motorized door slid down its track and clanged shut.
“Hey, Sonny, when the fuck we gettin’ outta here?” asked Skillet McCune, a flat-faced welder who had once been a Double Eagle squad leader. “They can’t keep us here like this without a phone call.”
“FBI says we can,” Deputy Isbell cut in. “Patriot Act. They can leave you in this hole till Judgment Day if they want. They can pull out your fucking fingernails, too. They can waterboard your ass, and the Supreme Court can’t say shit about it.”
As the deputy passed Snake’s cell, Snake said, “What’s that chubby wife of yours get up to while you’re standing guard over drunks and crackheads, boy?”
The deputy’s baton was off his belt in less than a second. He cracked the wood against the bars of Snake’s cell, only missing his fingers because Snake jerked them clear in time. Snake got a good laugh from that. Isbell whacked the bars twice more, but Snake only laughed louder. The red-faced deputy cursed and stomped out of the cellblock.
Sonny lay on his cot with his hands behind his head. He felt like a man balanced on a tightrope, with hell on one side and purgatory on the other. As a Baptist, he didn’t believe in purgatory, but he felt like that intermediate state of punishment was about the best he could hope for, given his past sins, with the hope of getting into heaven someday if he could atone in the time he had left.
He was starting to identify with Glenn Morehouse, who had complained so bitterly during the last weeks of his life about all the sins he’d been dragging behind him like lead weights chained to his dying body. For Sonny, the prospect of starting over with his estranged family in some new town was like an unexpected gift. He couldn’t afford to let himself believe too much in it, in case his daughter screwed it up for everyone—which, if the past was any guide, was a real possibility.
He tensed up as he heard Snake sidle up to the bars of the adjacent cell. He could feel suspicion radiating like heat from that direction. Then Snake’s voice floated to him, coarse but insinuating.
“I hear you were gone an awful long time, Sonny. You makin’ new friends out there?”
“Fuck, no. I got no control over how long they keep me. They’re acting like I’m the weak link or something, probably because of my heart attack. But fuck them.”
Snake nodded, seeming to buy Sonny’s brazen act. “How’d they pitch you?”
“They asked me a lot about Dr. Cage, actually. They want to know where he is.”
Snake laughed softly. “You didn’t tell ’em, did you?”
For a couple of seconds Sonny considered saying that the FBI had already raided his cabin and found it empty, but his sanity stopped him. “Right. When the cabin’s in my name? That’d be a genius move.”
Snake didn’t comment on this.
“They also kept telling me I was gonna die in Angola. That fed Kaiser asked me if I thought I’d last a week in a jail full of niggers, once they found out who I was.”
Snake chuckled. “He’s got a point there. It’s a good thing none of us will spend a day on that farm.”
“You really think we should be talking like this? They could be taping everything we say in here.”
“No, they can’t,” said Snake. “That’s against the law.”
“You heard Isbell,” Skillet said from the cell to Sonny’s right. “We’re talking feds here. They don’t give a shit about the law on this thing. Not with that Patriot Act. Hell, they planted that meth, didn’t they? And you can see the cameras right up there in the corner.”
“Those cameras are there to keep morons from killing themselves,” Snake said. “Keeps the state from gettin’ sued. But they don’t record sound. What, you think Kaiser has a platoon of lip-readers out there, watching us?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” said a reticent man named Gene Christian, a retired electrician’s helper. “Sonny’s right. Let’s keep our mouths shut. Remember what Frank used to say. A man’s worst enemy in this world is his mouth.”
“That’s what Frank used to say, all right,” Snake said. “Didn’t he, Sonny?”
“Sure,” Sonny mumbled, closing his eyes and wishing he’d thrown out that goddamn navy tattoo thirty years ago. Kaiser had promised to make no mention of the eight-inch swatch of human skin when talking to his family about the Witness Protection Program. If Sonny’s daughter heard about that, she might tell Kaiser to put her son back on the plane to California, even if he had to pull another tour in Iraq.
Sonny thought back to the awful day they’d taken the tattoos from Revels and Davis. Snake had been the instigator, of course, as always. Only that day it was worse, since he’d been consumed with grief for his older brother. Frank had just died, and Snake had assumed the role of leader. The rest of the men had egged Sonny on like he was a virgin at a whorehouse, waiting to lose his cherry. What could you do in the face of that?
Even though it had been almost forty years since that day, Sonny could hardly own up to what he’d done to that boy. He could still remember Revels’s anguished screams as Morehouse held his skinny arm against the workbench so that Sonny could cut the blue-black anchor from his bloody skin.
“Sonny?” came a faint whisper.
Snake again.
“You’re awful quiet in there, brother.”
“Get me out of this cell and I’ll talk a blue streak for you. But till then, leave me the fuck alone.”
But Snake couldn’t do that. “I’m worried about Will,” he said. “They’ve had him out as long as they had you. And Will ain’t got your sand. He’s a couple of years older than you, isn’t he?”
“That’s right. What are you saying?”
“I’m worried he might do what Glenn did, that’s what. He’s the oldest Eagle left, and the idea of jail—or even the possibility of it—might just be enough to break him.”
“Bullshit,” Sonny said, thinking how easy it had ultimately been for him to tell Kaiser what he’d wanted to know. “Will was the seventh man sworn into the group. Frank gave him his Double Eagle. He won’t say anything.”
“Maybe,” Snake conceded. “But what if he did?”
“Then we’ll worry about it then.”
“That could be too late. We learned our lesson with Glenn, didn’t we? You wait too long, and they start talkin’ before you can stop ’em. Right?”
Sonny nodded.
“We might have to try some preventive medicine. In here. You up for that?”
Sonny’s stomach rolled. “Any son of a bitch tries to cut a deal by naming names, he needs to die. We all took the oath.”
“That’s right, brother. You stay ready.”
JORDAN PULLED INTO A diagonal parking space beside the Crossroads Service Station, which stood at the intersection of Highway 24 and the main drag of Athens Point, Mississippi. The town proper lay a mile closer to the river, but this intersection saw most of the commercial action. Three corners were occupied by service stations, the fourth by a large grocery store. The Crossroads Station was the largest of the three; it held a full-service bait shop, an ice cream counter, and a café with booths and tables. The fueling bays did a brisk business with everything from semi trucks to pickups hauling bass boats and ATVs on trailers.
Caitlin had told Terry Foreman to meet them here, and the girl was waiting outside with two red-faced FBI agents standing like bookends at her shoulders, drawing stares from the mostly black clientele of the station.
“Ms. Glass, you scared the crap out of us,” said one of them.
“You also got us in deep shit,” said the other, who obviously knew Jordan better.
Jordan smiled her mischievous smile again. “Look at the bright side. You got the pleasure of hanging out with Terry here.”
Terry blushed. With her blond hair, blue eyes, and trim figure, she still looked like a high-school cheerleader.
“We’d better get moving if you’re going to make your plane,” said the second agent. “We’re cutting it really close.”
“Give me thirty seconds.”
“We’re in the black Suburban.”
“I never would have guessed.”
Jordan took Caitlin’s arm and led her around the corner of the station. Once there, she took Caitlin’s hand and gave her a wholly unguarded smile.
“I had a blast today. I’m sorry we didn’t hit pay dirt, but that’s the way it usually goes. The big coups take a lot of prep work.”
“Thanks for all you did to help me,” Caitlin said. “And thank you for inspiring me when I was a kid. And—”
“Stop it,” Jordan said. “We’re colleagues now, right? Get that through your head. I hope I’m back to shoot the photo spread of the Bone Tree when you find it.”
Caitlin nodded, a strange elation flowing through her.
“Oh, shit,” Jordan said, mock-slapping the side of her head as though she were an idiot. She reached into her camera bag and pulled out the multi-tool she’d lent Caitlin to cut her life jacket loose in the swamp.
“This is for you. I’ve carried it through at least two dozen countries, and it’s never let me down. Time to pass it on to somebody who needs it more than I do.”
Caitlin reached out to take the scarred metal tool. When Jordan dropped it into her hand, she realized that no gift had ever meant more to her. “Can I ask you something cheesy?”
“Sure.”
“Will you be one of my bridesmaids?”
Jordan laughed so loudly that one of the FBI agents walked out to the gas pump island to peer around the corner at them.
“Christ, I’m more like matron-of-honor age now.”
“You’re same age as Penn. Anyway . . . just think about it. And come back soon—and safe.”
“Safe?” Jordan rolled her eyes. “Cuba’s like Miami circa 1955. You’re the one who needs to be careful.”
“I will.”
“Bullshit. You’re just like I used to be. You’d walk into a minefield for a story. And you have the map now. Promise me you won’t try to find the Bone Tree without Carl or some equivalent with you.” She jabbed Caitlin’s chest with her forefinger, only half playfully. “Promise.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
The photographer smiled and then hugged her. “Have babies and be happy,” she whispered fiercely in Caitlin’s ear. “There’s plenty of time for work.”
Jordan’s urgency sent a shock through her, but before she could analyze the feeling, Jordan hiked her camera bag higher on her shoulder and walked toward her car the way Caitlin had dreamed of walking since she was a girl. Like she’d been everywhere in the world at least twice and was on her way to one of the few places she hadn’t seen yet. But the truth was, Jordan had already been to Cuba. She’d flirted with Castro, for God’s sake. And what she wanted more than anything now was what Caitlin already had.
So why can’t I be content? Caitlin wondered.
Jordan didn’t look back as she drove out of the parking lot and turned onto 24, headed back toward Highway 61 South, the black Suburban on her tail.
Terry Foreman walked up to Caitlin and shook her head. “Those guys were pretty cool. Are we heading back now?”
Caitlin looked down at the multi-tool in her hand, wondering what kind of crazy jams it had gotten Jordan out of over the years.
“Caitlin?”
Caitlin looked up at Terry. Actually, she saw no reason to go home just yet. Natchez was filled with reporters, all working the same story, and all hunting for a lead like the one she had folded in her back pocket. Penn and John were still interrogating the jailed Double Eagles, trying to force a confession out of one of them, like stonecutters looking for a crack in the face of a rock. And worst of all, Tom was still missing.
But I still have the map, she thought.
Mose Tyler might have fled the area, but somewhere in Athens Point or Woodville had to be someone who knew the location of the Bone Tree. There were probably quite a few. Most would be white—ex-Klansmen or Double Eagles who’d been there for god-knows-what rituals that made widows out of wives. Those men would never show Caitlin where that tree was. But there must also be black men who knew the tree’s location, as Toby Rambin had claimed he had.
She just needed to find one of them.
“What’s that?” Terry asked, pointing at the multi-tool.
“Just something Jordan gave me to remember her.”
“Huh. Wow.”
Caitlin shoved the tool into the pocket of her jeans.
“Hey,” Terry said, sounding worried. “Don’t look now, but there’s a black guy staring at us. He’s creeping me out.”
“Where?”
“Behind you, at the gas pumps, gassing up a truck.”
“Let’s go in the café, then.”
“Shouldn’t we just head back to Natchez?”
“Not yet,” Caitlin said. “He might follow us down the road.”
Terry’s eyes widened. “God, you’re right.”
Caitlin wasn’t worried about any black guy following them to Natchez. She just wanted to buy some time to think. It would be abnormal if men gassing up their vehicles didn’t stare at two reasonably attractive young women standing outside a combination bait shop/café. She simply wasn’t ready to leave Athens Point yet. In fact, if she had an extra vehicle, she would send Terry back without her, then search for a reliable guide to take her back into the swamp.
“Order me a cheeseburger,” Caitlin said, nodding at the quick-service counter. “And get yourself something. I need to run to the bathroom.”
“Okay.”
Caitlin walked toward the restroom but didn’t go in. The dining area was a collection of booths with bright orange plastic seats and wood-topped tables. The smell of hot grease and onions permeated the air. Most people probably bought food from the counter, but there was a waitress who would come to your booth and take your order if you wanted to sit for a while. Three booths were occupied, all by groups of men. Two groups were black, one white. The black men were older and drank coffee as they pored over racing forms. The white men looked like truckers. She wondered what would happen if she approached one of the black men and struck up a conversation.
Jordan wouldn’t think twice about doing that, she thought, trying to work up her nerve.
