I park in Will Devine’s driveway, just behind the pickup that was parked near Viola’s sister’s house on the night Viola was murdered. As we walk to the front door of the small 1950s ranch house, Serenity points a finger and cocked thumb at the truck and says, “There’s the Darlington Academy sticker.”
Just before we reach the screen door, the wooden door behind it flies open and Devine barks, “Ya’ll get away from here! I done told you twice now. I’ll shoot. I will!”
The voice seems too high-pitched to come from such a big man. Devine sounds panicked, and I can see that Serenity instantly picked up on this.
“Mr. Devine,” she says in an official voice, “I’m Corporal S. T. Butler. I’m here concerning your affiliation with the terrorist organization known as the Double Eagle group.”
Through the fine wire screen, I see Devine blinking in confusion. “What are you, some kind of cop?”
“If you refuse to cooperate, Mr. Devine, you will wish that I was a cop. This is a terrorism investigation. Is that clear?”
“No. What the hell you want with me? I ain’t done nuthin’.”
“If that’s true, then you’ll have no problem putting down that firearm and stepping out here for a word.”
As on my previous visits, I hear a female voice murmuring behind Devine’s bovine silhouette. Squinting, I can just make out the shoulder and hair of a dark-haired woman behind him. His wife, surely, Nita Devine.
“If this is a terrorism investigation,” he says, repeating his wife’s words, “what the hell is the mayor of Natchez doing with you?”
“That’s privileged information, Mr. Devine. Now, please step outside. Without the firearm.”
Devine uses the shotgun barrel to knock the latch up and then shove open the door, and steps outside, pushing Serenity backward with the muzzle of the gun.
“I’ve about had it with you smart-ass colored,” he growls. “This is my property, and I know my rights. You can’t do shit to me ’less you got a warrant. And I ain’t seen one yet.”
“Mayor Cage,” Tee says, standing her ground and turning to me, “call Special Agent Kaiser and tell him to send a polygraph team to this address.”
“Hey, now,” Devine begins, “what the—”
Faster than I can process the motion, Tee pivots toward Devine while doing something with her hands that results in the fat man gaping at her in astonishment and pain. Somehow she twisted the shotgun out of his hands before he could fire it. After a second’s hesitation, she inverts the weapon and drives the butt up toward Devine’s chin for a butt stroke, but at the last instant she stops. Devine throws up his hands about two seconds too late to stop the blow that would have broken his jaw, if it didn’t kill him.
“Do you see me, mister?” Serenity asks. “Do you see what’s in my eyes?”
He nods, cringing from the gun butt.
“You ought to be ashamed, pointing this gun at strangers who knock on your door. I ought to beat you with this thing. You deserve it.”
“Call the sheriff, Nita!” Devine yells.
“Yeah, do that,” I tell him. “Walker Dennis and I are old friends. We’ve been working this case together from the start.”
Nita Devine hesitates. She must know I’m telling the truth.
“Who the hell are you?” Will asks Serenity. “Are you a goddamn cop or what?”
“I’ll tell you what I’m not, Mr. Devine. I’m not a na?ve girl trying to make the world a perfect place. I’m a soldier. I’ve seen the same shit your buddies saw decades ago, but you missed out on. That’s right, I know your record. You fell between the wars. Got lucky, didn’t you? Well, I didn’t. You hear me, Mr. Devine? You feel me?”
“We don’t want no trouble, now.”
“Well, you’ve got it. I’ve read every word Henry Sexton ever wrote about the Double Eagles. And I am honing in on you bastards. On you in particular. And that truck with the Darlington Academy sticker on it.”
Devine cuts his eyes at the truck.
“And don’t bother trying to take it off, ’cause we’ve already got two dozen pictures. My message to you is this, sir. Pretty soon, I’m gonna have all the evidence I need. And then the dominoes will start falling. And as Mayor Cage can tell you, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be the first to fall. Because everybody else gets crushed.”
The fat man’s jaw juts out in defiance. “I ain’t no rat.”
“Snake Knox wouldn’t give up one day of freedom to protect you, Will,” I tell him. “And he murdered your buddy Silas Groom to get himself off the FBI’s wanted list. A Double Eagle, just like you. Or maybe you killed Groom, for Snake.”
“That’s a lie! That’s a damn lie!”
“Well, somebody killed Groom. And whoever it was, they’re going to ride the needle in Angola.”
Through the screen door, the woman says, “That’s enough, now. Come inside, Will.”
“I’m not finished with him,” Tee says.
“Yes, you are.” The woman steps forward and opens the screen door, and in her sullen, wrinkled face I see twice the intelligence present in her husband’s eyes.
Serenity removes the shells from the shotgun, then hands the weapon back to Devine, who makes no move to go inside.
“I’d reload as soon as we leave, Mr. Devine. Once it gets out that I was here, Snake may put out the word to drop the hammer on you. A couple of those skinhead motorcycle freaks might pull up here around two a.m. to pour acid down your throat.”
She turns and walks back toward the car. As I follow, Nita Devine says, “Wait up, Mayor. I want to ask you something.”
I turn and wait for her. Nita steps outside and lets the screen door clap shut. Tee starts to join me, but Mrs. Devine jabs her finger and says, “Not you, missy. Just him.”
Tee stands her ground long enough to save face, but after a couple of seconds, she heads back to the car.
Nita Devine looks like she hasn’t slept for days. Her hair is unkempt, and the circles under her eyes are so blue they look black.
“How can I help you, Mrs. Devine?”
In a low voice, she says, “If somebody was to talk to the FBI—one of the original boys, I mean, from the group . . .”
“The Double Eagle group?”
She nods. “What kind of deal could they get?”
While I try to decide how best to respond, she says, “What I mean is, can the government really protect Will? And his family?”
“Of course. They do it all the time. Just like in the movies. Witness protection program.”
“They didn’t protect Sonny Thornfield too good.”
She’s right about that. “That was Sonny’s fault, ma’am. Sonny made demands that the Bureau couldn’t possibly meet fast enough to save him.”
I glance at her husband, who’s staring at the concrete under his feet. “Will, you were in the jail when Sonny was killed. Can you tell the FBI who did that? Because that would buy you one hell of a deal.”
Devine’s mouth begins working as though around a plug of tobacco. “Who says Sonny was murdered?”
I shake my head, then turn and walk toward the car.
“Wait!” calls his wife.
I look back, skepticism plain on my face.
Nita says, “What if a man was, uh—”
“What if your husband was there when Sonny was killed?” I ask. “Took part, maybe?”
Dark blood comes into her cheeks.