“The hell he didn’t!” Dennis’s face has gone scarlet, and a thick vein bulges in his forehead. He used to look exactly this way when he charged aggressive pitchers from the plate. “For your information, Forrest Knox hates his cousin, and most of the rest of his family. He’s had to fight that Klan history all his life. The only time I’ve ever seen Lieutenant Colonel Knox in Billy’s presence was at a family funeral, and they didn’t even shake hands!”
Every deputy outside this office must have heard the sheriff’s rant. And maybe he meant for them to. Henry starts to say something, but I silence him with a shake of my head.
“Sorry we bothered you, Walker. At least this way you won’t be surprised when the FBI comes into your parish to check out these bones.”
Sheriff Dennis’s eyes burn into Henry’s back as I hustle the reporter out the door. “Hold on, Penn.”
I stop and turn back.
“Shut the door.”
After I do, he grimaces again, then looks up with man-to-man intimacy. “Are you sure you want to stir up all this old trouble? In my experience, the only thing that happens when you do that is everybody gets covered in shit.”
“Maybe. But in my experience, you usually have to dig through a lot of shit to find the truth. Whether it’s old shit or new makes no difference to me.”
Walker studies me for a few silent seconds. “And you realize who you’re screwing with?”
My breath stops in my throat. “They’ve left me no choice, Walker. From what I can see, the Knoxes killed Viola, and they want my old man to pay for it. I’m not going to let that happen. Anybody gets in my way, it’s their lookout.”
Dennis nods slowly. “All right, then. Good luck to you, brother. I’ll think on what you’ve told me.”
“Don’t take too long.” I open his door. “Have a nice day, though.”
“Fat chance.”
“I went to Ole Miss, by the way.”
Dennis spits into his cup again. “I know.”
STANDING BETWEEN OUR VEHICLES outside the sheriff’s department, Henry gives me a look of contrition. “Guess I didn’t help much, huh?”
“It didn’t go too badly.”
“What did he say after I left?”
“Walker knows what’s going on in this parish.”
Henry gives me a suspicious look. “Did he admit that?”
“As much as he could, yes. He tried to warn me how dangerous this could be.”
“It would be a lot less dangerous if people like him did their jobs. We gave him the damn bones, and he wouldn’t lift a finger to investigate them!”
“Not even the FBI has done its job in these cases, Henry. Walker’s a rookie sheriff. Give him a few hours to absorb this. He may come through yet.”
“I’m not waiting around for that.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going to call John Kaiser and tell him about the bones.”
After an initial moment of shock, Henry grabs my forearm, his eyes bright with excitement. “Could you believe what Dennis said about the Bureau taking Morehouse’s body? That has to be Kaiser behind that, right?”
“Must be. I don’t know how Kaiser swung that, but he’s clearly jumping on this case in a big way. Let’s see how fast he moves on the bones.”
The reporter nods thoughtfully. “Can I mention your name when I call him?”
“You can tell him I’m involved, but for now you should stay point man with the Bureau. I’ll check out Kaiser as soon as I can.”
Anxiety clouds Henry’s eyes again. “What was all that about the meth stuff? Asking Dennis to bust the Knoxes? I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Just a test. I wanted to see how much pushback I’d get.”
“And?”
“Don’t know yet. Walker’s one of those country boys who’s hard to read.”
Henry looks like he’s about to crawl out of skin from excitement. “I hate to ask, but did you speak to your father last night? About the photo with Brody Royal, all that?”
“I did, but there were no great revelations. Dr. Robb shot that photo on a deep-sea fishing trip off Biloxi that lasted five hours. My father hated Royal. He did overhear some drunk talk about the JFK assassination, but let’s save that for another time. I keep thinking about what you said about Pooky Wilson’s friend, the one you call ‘Huggy Bear.’ You said he could put Brody Royal away for the murder of Albert Norris. Why has it been so hard to identify him?”
Henry’s eyes cloud again. “Albert opened his store in 1949. When he died, it had been open fifteen years. During that time, he employed or trained between forty and fifty young men. And that doesn’t count the musicians who hung out there for extended periods. I’ve busted my ass to track them all down, and I’ve been amazed to learn how many of them are dead. But I still haven’t managed to find him.”
“But didn’t you say he visited the deathbed of Wilson’s mother? Surely some family member remembers him?”
“Mrs. Wilson didn’t have much family. One home health nurse remembered a black man in his sixties who came for a short visit, but she didn’t hear his name, and he wasn’t there for long. He was wearing a black baseball cap. I’m thinking that might be my man.”
“Well, keep looking. The sooner we can apply pressure to Royal and the Eagles, the sooner we can make one of them give up Viola’s killer.”
Henry says nothing, but I can read his response in his eyes: Is that our main priority here?
Whatever Henry may think, it’s certainly my priority. “Keep your eyes open. Walker Dennis is no coward. If he’s scared, there’s a reason for it.”
“You, too.”
Henry offers me his hand. I shake it, then climb into my Audi and head for the Natchez bridge. As I arc over the river, my cell phone pings, and I find a text message from Rose, my secretary, whom I asked to find out all she could about Judge Joseph Elder’s health and job situation. The LCD reads:
Judge Elder will be back at work next Monday. Still planning to resign and move to Memphis so far as I can find out. No word on his replacement. Putting out feelers everywhere I can—on the DL, of course. Good luck.