Текст книги "The Bone Tree"
Автор книги: Greg Iles
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“Forrest Knox was there?”
“I didn’t know it then, but he was. He was a Lurp.”
“A what?”
“A Lurp. That’s the phonetic version of an acronym—L-R-R-P: Long-Range Reconnaissance Patrol. The Lurps were precursors of the modern-day Delta operators. They weren’t at Ripcord the whole time I was, and they had technically been folded into the Seventy-Fifth Rangers by then, but they were still Lurps in every way that counted. And Forrest’s army record puts him there during the first phase of the battle. I must have seen him several times—all the time, really—but the Lurps kept to themselves. They were truly elite soldiers, and a few were stone killers. As a unit, the Lurps had a four-hundred-to-one kill ratio.”
“Jesus.”
“Like I said, you don’t fuck with a guy with that résumé. But it’s weird, isn’t it? I was from Idaho, Knox was from Louisiana, yet fate kept putting us in the same place.”
“When was the second time you ‘grazed past’ him?”
“Hurricane Katrina. While I was out in the field trying to hold the city together for the Bureau, Forrest was theoretically doing the same thing for the state police. But as the situation deteriorated, I started getting reports of crazy shit going on in the wee hours. Vigilante stuff. Scores being settled, prisoners disappearing, sniping . . . Lurp-type stuff, only directed against certain elements of the U.S. population. Black drug dealers, mainly.”
“I thought those stories were bullshit.”
“Most were, but not all. Between the time the levees broke on Monday and Saturday afternoon when General Honoré got his troops into the city, things literally went to hell. The NOPD virtually ceased to function, and civil unrest was rampant. You saw the daylight stuff on TV. At night it was worse. Bands of predators roamed the streets, preying on desperate people, using the sound of emergency generators to locate victims. Quite a few young black men turned up dead during that time, from head or heart shots, and most got written off as flood deaths or unexplained homicides.”
“Forrest was involved with that?”
Kaiser shrugs. “A couple of sources have told me he had a private SWAT crew down there, operating off the reservation. At the time, I assumed that if it was true, it was cowboy law enforcement. After all, Forrest was the son of an infamous Klansman. I figured he and some racist buddies took their chance to declare open season on black drug dealers. But after talking to Henry, I think those killings were business.”
“Christ, John.”
“The thing is, Forrest has gone to great lengths to appear above reproach. He has quite a few fans in state government. There’s even talk of making him the next superintendent of state police.”
This seems beyond belief. “Will you try to stop that?”
“A week ago, I’d have said I couldn’t. Tonight . . . things have changed a bit. Depending on how far he and Ozan stick their dicks out to protect the Knox family, I might just be able to rip Forrest’s mask off.”
I stop walking and take hold of his arm. “You’ve held back a hell of a lot more than I have.”
“Have I?” The FBI agent looks skeptical. “I could tell you some mind-blowing pathology about the Knox family. History that explains the mutilations and trophy taking—”
“Screw telling me stuff! Why haven’t you done anything about it?”
Kaiser seems surprised by my anger. “I’m doing something now. But it takes time to build a case against cops—especially one as powerful as Forrest.”
“Hey, I’ve been there, you know? But meth trafficking carries mandatory minimum sentences. That’s the legal equivalent of a baseball bat. Why the hell would you pursue any other angle? You told me this morning that you’re operating under the Patriot Act. So bust every perp you know about in the Knoxes’ meth organization and start offering plea bargains. Sooner or later, somebody will cough up a link to Forrest.”
Kaiser actually smiles at this suggestion. “You really must be in shock. You worked enough federal task forces to know how cases like this have to be handled. It’s like fighting the Mafia. You don’t start squeezing peons and hope to work your way up to the top. You’ve got to find a star witness—a key man with access to the center of operations. Then you build your case, piece by piece. And once all your ducks are in a row, you roll up everyone at once, from the bottom to the top. If I went after Forrest your way, he’d either kill my low-level witnesses or skip the country.”
Kaiser is right; but that doesn’t mean his is the only way. “You’re talking about months of work, John. You’ve got probable cause to start busting Double Eagles tomorrow, and that would instantly put Forrest on the defensive. You might get lucky and flip someone who could help you nail him on RICO charges. Why won’t you try that, when hours might mean life or death for my father?”
Kaiser looks back at me for a few seconds, then walks down to the L in the corridor, so that he can see the main entrance. Satisfied, he walks back to me and speaks with quiet conviction.
“I guess the plain truth is, I don’t want Knox and his relatives going down on a drug charge. I believe the Bureau has a moral duty to the people of this parish—the black people, mainly—to close the cases we failed to solve back in the 1960s. We failed those victims and their families, and we failed the agents who worked those cases as best they could. To get any kind of closure, or redemption, or healing, the Double Eagles will have to be tried and convicted for the race murders they committed—not for peddling crystal meth.”
My face feels cold from the blood draining out of my cheeks, and my palms have gone clammy. “Are you serious?”
“Never more so. The same holds true for Forrest. That bastard’s not going to Angola for skimming profits off meth sales. He’s going down for murder. He will be tried and convicted for disgracing the badge and uniform he wore during Hurricane Katrina. He betrayed every cop who stood by his or her post and acted honorably while others deserted.”
Kaiser clearly means every word. But I can’t let his argument go unanswered. “John . . . would you really let my father die for your sense of moral proportion?”
He takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. “Your father put himself where he is now. Dr. Cage has always had the option of turning himself in.”
“Bullshit. Knox’s troopers would shoot him down before he could even raise a white flag, and you know it.”
Kaiser neither answers nor looks away.
It takes several seconds to get my temper under control. “The Treasury Department didn’t show these scruples when they went after Al Capone. Income-tax evasion was good enough.”
“This is different. When you combine the unsolved civil rights murders with Forrest’s modern-day crimes, and then tie that in to the Kennedy and King assassinations through Brody Royal and Carlos Marcello, you’re talking about one of the most important conspiracy cases in American history. And if anyone but your father were involved, you’d be making my argument for me.”
The realization that Kaiser truly means to move at a snail’s pace while the men he claims to be hunting close in on my father engenders a kind of crazed panic in me. Compared to Walker Dennis and me, Kaiser has unlimited power at his control. He can tap the NSA, the DEA, and any number of other resources for support. One of the few things he cannot do is control my actions—
“I don’t like what I see in your eyes, Penn. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I hold up both hands and back away from him. “Hey . . . you hold all the cards. I’m just the mayor of Nowhere, USA, and I want to go home.”
His eyes remain on me, but the suspicion in them slowly wanes. “Are your mother and daughter okay? I assume you’re hiding them somewhere?”
You’re damned straight, I reply silently.
“So long as they’re not with your father.”
“Fuck you, John.” I glance anxiously at my watch. “Walker’s got to be nearly done with Caitlin. She’s been in there longer than I was.”
“Maybe she’s more talkative than you. Is Dennis videotaping the questioning?”
“Why? You want a copy?”
As if on cue, we hear the sound of sliding chairs from the interrogation room. Kaiser takes out his cell phone and sends a quick text message.
“Jordan’s sitting up front,” he informs me. “She thought she should come along, in case Caitlin was upset. Do you think it would help Caitlin to see her?”
Jordan Glass is Kaiser’s wife. A famous conflict photographer from my generation, she was one of Caitlin’s idols as a young woman. Now fate or chance have thrown them together in the midst of the kind of story they both live to cover. It was Jordan who earlier tonight convinced Caitlin to turn over a copy of Henry Sexton’s backup files to the FBI instead of fighting a federal subpoena—or so Caitlin claimed, anyway.
“It probably would,” I say, my mind back on tomorrow’s drug raid.
The door of the interrogation room opens abruptly, and Caitlin walks out, her face still smeared with ash. Behind her I see Walker Dennis shutting off the video camcorder he used to record our scripted charades in that little room.
“My God,” say Jordan Glass, rounding the corner of the hall and catching sight of Caitlin. “I think we need a trip to the bathroom.”
“I’m fine,” Caitlin says, giving me a worried look. “What I really need is to get to the newspaper. Like an hour ago.”
“I’ll drive you over,” Jordan offers.
“Hold on,” says Kaiser, stepping up to Caitlin. “I wouldn’t advise you to cross the river into Mississippi just yet.”
“Why not?” she asks, cutting her eyes at me again.
“Because the Royal family has already filed complaints against both of you with the Adams County Sheriff’s Department. They’re claiming that you caused Katy Royal to take those pills, and that Penn harassed their father at St. Catherine’s Hospital.” Kaiser looks at me. “They’ll undoubtedly claim that you went to Royal’s house to persecute him for a crime he never committed.”
“And killed a Natchez cop on the way?” I ask.
“Tell them good luck with that,” Caitlin says. “Tomorrow’s Examiner will explode that little illusion.”
“I’m sure. But be aware, you’re almost certain to be sued over anything you print about Brody Royal in your newspaper. Even if they lose, that family has the money to burn.”
Caitlin waves her hand as if swatting a mosquito. “That still doesn’t explain why I shouldn’t go back to Mississippi.”
“Sheriff Billy Byrd,” I say in a flat voice, naming one of the three men behind the prosecution of my father for murder. “And Shad Johnson. Right?”
Kaiser nods. “I doubt Sheriff Byrd will miss this chance to harass you. You two ought to take a room at the motel where my field agents are staying. You’ll have a lot more peaceful time over here than you will trying to function in Natchez. Caitlin, you can call your staff over there for a briefing.”
“No way,” Caitlin says. “If Billy Byrd arrests me, I’ll slap it on the front page of the paper. Then I’ll sue him, and my father has the attorneys on retainer to do it. Does Billy really want that action?”
Kaiser doesn’t look surprised by her fire.
Caitlin looks at Jordan. “Will you still take me across the river? My staff is waiting.”
“Absolutely,” Jordan answers, without even looking at her husband.
Kaiser sighs in resignation. “I’m going to have a team follow you over, just in case. I’d suggest sneaking into the Examiner building, if you want to have a hand in tomorrow’s stories. Otherwise, you’re liable to spend all night in an interrogation room like the one you just left—only not as hospitable.”
“Should my ears be burning?” Sheriff Dennis asks, stepping into the hall with his Stetson on.
“Not at all,” Kaiser replies. “How’d it go, Sheriff? You get everything about tonight documented?”
“In Technicolor.”
Caitlin’s trying to catch my eye, but I know better than to try to slip anything past Kaiser. The behavioral science veteran is quietly studying us, absorbing nonverbal cues I can’t even begin to guess at. Kaiser looks as though he’s about to ask a question when his cell phone pings. After checking the message, he looks up with his facial muscles as tense as I’ve ever seen them.
“What is it?” I ask.
“A state police cruiser just pulled up. Our friend Alphonse Ozan is inside.”
“No,” Caitlin whispers. “I can’t spend the night being questioned by that son of a bitch. I’m about to write the biggest story of my career.” She looks at Sheriff Dennis. “Can you sneak me out the back or something?”
“No way,” Kaiser interjects. “You try that, Ozan will have an APB out on you, same as Dr. Cage.”
The sound of boot heels on a tiled floor echoes from the front of the sheriff’s office.
“What’s your plan, then?” I ask Kaiser. “Are you going to back off like you did at the hospital? If so, tell me now, and we’ll take our chances running. Ozan is Forrest Knox’s man, and you know it.”
Before Kaiser can reply, a muscular man with black eyes and copper-colored skin rounds the corner in highly polished knee boots and a state police uniform. A Louisiana Redbone, Alphonse Ozan radiates a quality of eerie apartness that has nothing to do with his race, but what I perceive as his sociopathic nature. He walks up to the little hall table and taps one of the red Christmas balls on the plastic tree.
“Well, well,” he says, looking around the corridor with amusement in his eyes. “Four men burned to death out by the lake, more likely shot dead, and here we’ve got everybody in the hall having a Christmas party.”
Sheriff Dennis pulls his Stetson low over his eyes and drills Ozan with a hard stare. “What can I do for you, Captain?”
Ozan pretends to notice Dennis suddenly. “You? Nothing. Your whole damned parish is falling apart around you, and you seem powerless to stop it. I’ve come to officially inform you that, as of now, the state police have assumed control of all criminal investigations originating in this parish over the past three days. I want all the relevant files boxed up and ready to go in fifteen minutes.”
CHAPTER 8
SHERIFF WALKER DENNIS’S face has gone through about six discernible shades since Captain Ozan declared he was taking over all his investigations—starting at pink and arriving at purple. But when Sheriff Dennis speaks, his voice somehow remains under control.
“We seem to have some jurisdictional confusion, Captain. Those crimes happened in my parish, and I’ve got the staff and resources to investigate them. That’s what I’m doing now. We don’t need assistance. Not from the state police or the FBI.”
A chuckle of ridicule escapes Ozan’s thin lips. “Sheriff, you ain’t worn that badge but six weeks, and it shows. You can’t even manage the pitiful resources you do have. You should have called us the second you heard what happened out at Brody Royal’s place.”
John Kaiser clears his throat and turns his gaze on Ozan. “Just what do you think did happen out there, Captain?”
Ozan smirks, emboldened by his successful intimidation of Kaiser earlier tonight. “Well, I’ll tell you, Agent Kaiser. We’ve got one of Mr. Royal’s security personnel lying dead out by Mr. Royal’s driveway, his throat cut. Then we’ve got an elderly African-American gentleman gunned down outside the house. The firemen just dragged two more bodies clear of the wreckage, one of whom has a massive shotgun wound. And then there’s the basement, which appears to contain the remains of three people—one of whom might be Brody Royal. It’s still too hot to get down there to get a positive ID. But however you slice it, that’s a multiple-homicide scene, and Barney Fife here hasn’t got the experience or the budget to properly investigate it.”
Kaiser looks sharply at Sheriff Dennis, hoping to stop him from doing something that could cost him his job. “Captain, under what authority are you taking over Sheriff Dennis’s jurisdiction?”
Ozan barks out an incredulous laugh, then hooks his thumbs in his trousers and turns to give Kaiser his full attention. “I thought we’d straightened this out back at the hospital. Murder’s a state crime, and that’s the end of it. You didn’t argue then, and I don’t expect any lip now.”
To my amazement, Kaiser’s face remains calm. In fact, I see what looks like a trace of anticipatory pleasure in his eyes.
“I’m going to have to take exception with your opinion, Captain,” he says in a tone of mild regret.
Ozan draws back his head, squinting. “Exception to what? You federal boys ain’t got a damn thing to do with murder, unless you’re invited in by local authorities. Even then you’re only there to advise. We say who comes and goes from that crime scene. We handle all the evidence. And we make the arrests. By the way, I’m gonna be detaining both Mayor Cage and his girlfriend for questioning right now. Questioning as suspects.”
“What?” Caitlin cries, her face going red.
Kaiser holds up a restraining hand.
“I’ll use one of the sheriff’s rooms to start,” Ozan continues, “but if necessary, I’ll have them transported to Baton Rouge.”
Everyone in the hallway is watching Kaiser, wondering if he’ll keep playing out the milquetoast role he began at Mercy Hospital. For a moment he purses his lips as though considering Ozan’s argument. Then he steps squarely into the state trooper’s space and speaks with the calm authority of a military officer addressing a subordinate.
“In conventional situations, Captain, you’d be correct. But as Ms. Masters informed you earlier this evening, the murder of Henry Sexton was a hate crime. That gives the FBI automatic jurisdiction over that case. As for Mayor Cage and Ms. Masters, they were victims of a kidnapping and attempted murder tonight. That kidnapping was instigated by Brody Royal and Randall Regan. While they were hostages, Mayor Cage and Ms. Masters heard Royal confess his involvement with the Double Eagle group dating back to 1964. They also witnessed Mr. Royal murder the black man you mentioned, whose name is Marshall Johnston, Junior, nickname ‘Sleepy.’”
While Ozan blinks at the flood of details coming from Kaiser’s mouth, the FBI agent says, “You may not know it yet, but the Double Eagle group has been designated a domestic terror organization under Title Eight of the USA PATRIOT Act. Under the provisions of that act, the FBI has assumed full primacy of authority over any and all investigations pertaining to that group. Tonight’s events fall directly under that umbrella. The Royal house on Lake Concordia is now a federal crime scene. Should you choose to interfere with our investigation, you will find yourself subject to severe disciplinary measures, beginning with immediate incarceration at the facility of my choosing, without due process. Right now, I’m thinking Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.”
Ozan’s face has gone even darker than the sheriff’s did. He’s spitting mad, but Kaiser presses on relentlessly.
“Further, under Title Eight of the Patriot Act, kidnapping in connection with terrorism has been reclassified as a terrorist act. The Bureau will be taking the lead on that investigation as well. It might also interest you to know that under last year’s Intelligence Reform and Terrorism Prevention Act, special anti-methamphetamine initiatives were passed into law, and those will be vigorously pursued in relation to any and all members of the Double Eagle group, their families, and criminal co-conspirators.”
Now Ozan’s face is losing color.
“Title Five of the Patriot Act,” Kaiser continues, “stipulates fifteen-year prison terms for any public official found to have taken a bribe. Any offender’s personal assets can be seized under this act. In that connection, under a Title Five National Security Letter, the Bureau’s New Orleans SAC has already requested that all state police telephone, wireless, personnel, and computer records on both you and Forrest Knox be delivered to me by four P.M. tomorrow.” Kaiser looks purposefully at his wristwatch. “Correction, that’s four P.M. today. While I’m not legally required to inform you of this, I’d like you to pass the information to your boss at the earliest opportunity.” Kaiser let his words hang for a couple of seconds. “Just so we’re all clear on where we stand.”
After gaping dumbly like a punch-drunk boxer, Ozan shuts his mouth and starts working himself up for a fight, but at the last second his judgment gets the better of his hormones, and he confines himself to a low growl. “You ain’t heard the last of this, Jack. This is a states’ rights issue.”
Kaiser actually smiles at this. “The last time you boys had a serious states’ rights problem with Washington, it was 1861. That didn’t work out so well for you. But if you want to push it, we’ll be happy to oblige.”
Ozan looks slowly around at the rest of us, then focuses on the FBI man once more. “You know something, hotshot? The last thing you want to do is make this personal. Especially while you’re living down in New Orleans. That’s our neck of the swamp.”
Kaiser gives me a momentary glance. “Mayor Cage, did you just hear Captain Ozan threaten a special agent of the FBI?”
“I did.”
“And will you testify to that fact in a court of law?”
“I will.”
“Thank you. Captain, I suggest you avail yourself of the opportunity to leave before I have the sheriff jail you.”
Ozan shakes his head as though in disgust at a world turned upside down. Then he turns on his heel and marches away without another word.
“I’ll be goddamned,” Sheriff Dennis marvels. “He looked like a dog shittin’ peach pits. Shakin’ all over. In all my years on the job, I’ve never seen nothing like that.”
Jordan Glass laughs out loud, apparently happy to see her husband shed his girdle of self-control.
Kaiser gives Dennis a wry smile. “It was time to send Forrest Knox a message. And I’d had about enough of Ozan’s dime-store Nazi act.”
I ask, “Did your SAC really request National Security Letters on Knox and Ozan?”
“Not yet. I tacked that on to give Ozan the runs. But after tonight, we’ll get them. Too many people are dead. And I want Knox to know that I know what he is. Maybe that’ll give him pause before killing anybody else.”
Kaiser takes a step toward Walker Dennis and slaps him on the shoulder.
“Sheriff, I look forward to working with you on the Royal case, and I feel sure I can count on the same hospitality you’ve shown us so far. In exchange, I can promise you full Bureau support, should you have any problem with your comrades from the state police.”
Sheriff Dennis gives Kaiser a respectful salute. “I appreciate it, Mr. Kaiser. And I’ll be happy to buy you a drink, first chance we get.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
Kaiser is playing this about as subtly as a used-car salesman. Sensing that Walker Dennis and I are allies beneath the surface of things, he figures that in the glow of his public spanking of Ozan, Dennis might confide our secrets to him. One look into the sheriff’s eyes tells me Kaiser’s instincts are dead-on. Walker even gives me a questioning look, as though asking for permission. He’s probably thinking how much harder we could hit the Knoxes if we had Kaiser on our side.
Before Walker can speak, I say, “I was just telling John he ought to hit the Double Eagles as hard and fast as he can with the meth stuff, while they’re off balance. Maybe we’d get one to flip on Forrest, to save himself from dying of old age or worse in Angola.”
Kaiser practically whirls on me, frustration in his eyes. “We already went over this, Penn. Give it up, will you? There’s no point.”
Caitlin and Jordan freeze, their eyes darting from Kaiser to me, then back.
“The Double Eagles are tighter than the Mafia about secrecy,” he goes on, looking at Sheriff Dennis. “They’re like Islamic fundamentalists.”
“They can’t all be,” I say evenly. “Not at the street level.”
“Street drones won’t know anything about Forrest. It’s all compartmentalized.”
“Somebody on the street will know about the Double Eagles.”
Kaiser turns back to me. “So what? No Double Eagle is going to talk, not even to save himself a jail term.”
“Glenn Morehouse did.”
“To make peace with God, not to send his war buddies to death row. And even if one decided to cut a deal, Knox would kill him before we could get what we need.”
“What’s going on, guys?” Jordan asks sharply. “What’s wrong?”
“Penn’s worried about his father,” Kaiser says wearily. “Understandably.”
I need to cement Walker’s mistrust of Kaiser once and for all. “Okay, John. If you believe forcing a plea bargain won’t work, then go another way. Direct attack.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Use me to sting Forrest. I can do what you think I did with Brody Royal: offer to keep his name out of the papers in exchange for saving my father. And you can record everything he says.”
“No!” Caitlin snaps, horrified that I’d even consider repeating this disastrous tactic, or offering compromise in her name. “That’s a total nonstarter.”
Kaiser’s shaking his head. “You haven’t heard a word I said. You want to wear a wire on Forrest Knox? He won’t say one incriminating word on tape, but as soon as the heat’s off—he’ll kill you.” The anger bleeds out of Kaiser’s face, and he speaks with exhausted conviction. “This is a dangerous time to be Forrest Knox’s friend, much less his enemy.”
“I’ll bet I can make him talk.”
“Even if Forrest agreed to talk to you,” Kaiser goes on, “he’d never believe you could muzzle Caitlin and her newspaper.”
“And he’d be right,” she says, looking stricken. “I can’t believe this.”
Sheriff Dennis is watching Kaiser with sudden wariness. I only hope Walker has the intestinal fortitude to go ahead with tomorrow’s raids as planned.
“Enough of this,” Kaiser says. “The bottom line is, thanks to that dead state trooper, Forrest can kill your father with no worries at all. And he means to. All he has to do is find him.”
“John!” cries Jordan.
“I’m sorry, Penn,” Kaiser says, sounding as though he means it. “But you’ve got to accept reality. The only good you can accomplish at this point is to find your father and convince him to turn himself in to me. You do anything else—anything related to Forrest Knox—and I’ll have to arrest you.”
Sheriff Dennis’s mouth drops open.
Kaiser nods for emphasis. “I could make an obstruction case right now, and you know it.”
“Go ahead. You haven’t exactly handled this case by the book yourself.”
“You’re right. My ass is on the line, too, thanks to what happened tonight. But you’d better pray that Washington doesn’t pull me out of here. Because whoever they send to replace me will see you as an absolute liability. They won’t give you the time of day, much less help your father.”
I wave my hand dismissively and walk toward the hall that leads to the exit. “Can somebody give me a ride to City Hall? Royal’s men stole my Audi, but I’ve got a city car I can use.”
“I’ll drop you when I take Caitlin,” Jordan Glass calls from behind me.
“Thank you.”
Kaiser starts to protest, but Jordan shushes him.
After I round the corner, I pause and lean against the cold wall. Jordan Glass’s angry voice floats around the corner.
“John, that was too much.”
“Somebody’s got to save him from himself,” Kaiser replies. “Caitlin, are you really okay? I heard it was pretty bad in Royal’s basement.”
“I’m fine,” she answers in a taut voice.
“They got Henry’s files, huh?”
She doesn’t answer at first. Then she says, “I saved the box with the burned journals in it. But there’s not much left.”
“Penn told me Royal paid somebody to delete your backup files from the newspaper’s computers?”
“That’s right.”
“If you’d like, I can send you some Bureau techs who might be able to reconstruct those files. If you’re still willing to share them, of course.”
“Seriously? They can do that?”
“Maybe. Since 9/11, we’ve spent billions on technology aimed at restoring lost data, or partially destroyed evidence.”
“I won’t turn down the help.”
“Good,” Kaiser says, sounding like a kid who’s been told he can open his Christmas presents early. “I’ve got two techs here in town, and if we need more talent, I’ll get some headed this way from D.C.”
“Okay. Look, I really need to get back to the paper now.”
“All right, but I need to drive Penn myself. He and I aren’t finished, as much as he might wish we were.”
At these words I nearly bolt from the building, but something keeps me in the hallway. If Kaiser wants to keep talking, he either needs to ask me something more or reveal something he hasn’t given up yet. I hope it’s the latter.
By the time they round the corner, I’m far down the hall, waiting by the front door. Jordan has taken Caitlin by the arm; she looks like she’s escorting an accident victim through a hospital. Jordan smiles as they reach me, but the expression looks forced.
“Hold up, Mayor,” Kaiser says from behind them. “I’m going to drive you.”
I’m too tired to argue, even for show.
“Hey, Penn!” Sheriff Dennis calls from around the corner. “Come back down here a sec. I forgot to get you to sign a form.”
“Go on to the car,” I tell Caitlin.
She gives me a fragile smile, and before Kaiser can stop me I trot back to Sheriff Dennis’s office. The rusted-spring sound of the front door opening follows me around the corner, and then I see Sheriff Dennis moving quickly up the hall, his big legs churning, a white piece of paper in one hand and a pen in the other. As he reaches me, I hear Kaiser’s footsteps behind me.
Walker hands me a pen, then holds the paper up against the wall for me to sign. He’s standing so that his big body will be between me and Kaiser, should the FBI agent come all the way around the corner.
“That sucks about your car,” he says in a conversational tone. “I’ll see if we can find it for you. Those assholes probably dumped it somewhere not too far from Lake Concordia.”
“I just hope it’s not in the river,” I reply loudly. Then I whisper, “Is tomorrow’s raid still on?”
“You bet your ass. Be here five hours from now, ready to rock and roll.”
“You going to tell Kaiser about it?”
“Not on your life, kemosabe.”
My heart swells with gratitude. “Thanks, Walker.”
Kaiser’s footsteps round the corner.
“Get some sleep, brother,” the sheriff says in a man-to-man voice. “You earned it tonight.” Then he calls to Kaiser: “You guys keep your eyes open out there.”
