“I suspect he is. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had the power to do that.”
Ninety minutes ago, Henry called and informed me that Special Agent John Kaiser had dispatched a car from the FBI’s New Orleans field office to collect the bones Kirk Boisseau discovered this morning. Kaiser refused to comment on his decision to take possession of Glenn Morehouse’s corpse, but he assured Henry that he intended to take unprecedented measures to bring the surviving Double Eagles to justice. Since I initiated Kirk’s dive, I felt I could report that much to Caitlin without breaking faith with Henry. But beyond that …
“You can’t hold me to a promise I made in ignorance!” she insists.
I lean back in my chair and let her reflect on the absurdity of her statement. “I’m more worried about Shad’s plans for Dad than I am about those bones.”
“Have you figured a way to expedite that DNA test?”
“The timing of that’s basically up to Shad, I’m afraid.”
“Are you going to tell Tom your worries about Shad trying to find a way to get his bail revoked?”
“Not until I can get him away from Mom. He was going home before heading to the office.”
“So what about the dogfighting photo?” she asks, jarring me back the present. “Isn’t it time to give Shad another look at it, so he can watch his career pass before his eyes?”
“He knows what I have, and that hasn’t stopped him. I’m missing something, and that worries me. Plus, using that image is the equivalent of going nuclear. There’s no way to predict what the ultimate result might be.”
She nods as though in agreement, but I can tell her thoughts aren’t really on my father’s problems. She’s thinking about the Double Eagles, and Henry Sexton’s secret knowledge.
“Go on,” I tell her. “Get it out.”
“Penn, a weekly paper simply can’t cover a case like this. It’s a matter of inadequate staff and resources. And this story’s too important now to let—”
“This story has always been important,” I cut in. “And Henry has always treated it that way, even when no other journalist in the country gave a damn about these murders.”
That dart went deep, but Caitlin knows I’m right. Still, I can’t deny her point. She leans forward, elbows on her knees, her green eyes bright with excitement. “The Beacon is a fine vehicle for providing historical perspective, for unearthing backstory and doing patient investigation. But this is breaking news. And the Examiner can’t ignore it.”
My internal radar goes on alert. Given the risk of libel inherent in this kind of story, Caitlin must figure Henry has reams of information that he hasn’t made public. She would probably perform sexual favors for a chance to break this story nationwide. She would for me, anyway.
The phone on my desk buzzes, drawing our eyes to it. I press the lighted button. “What is it, Rose?”
“Henry Sexton is out here. I told him you couldn’t be disturbed, but he says it’s an emergency.”
Caitlin’s eyes shine with anticipation, and she doesn’t offer to leave. “Send him in, Rose.”
“Yes, sir.”
Five seconds later, my door opens and Henry walks in wearing corduroy pants, a flannel shirt, and John Lennon glasses. He must have been wearing contacts last night. The moment he sees Caitlin, he looks like a college professor flummoxed by a question he can’t answer. Caitlin has actually sunk down in her chair in the vain hope that Henry won’t see her until he’s blurted out whatever is on his mind. The woman is shameless.
“Henry, you know my fiancée.”
He moves awkwardly around the chair and shakes hands with Caitlin, who straightens in her chair and smiles like an actress auditioning for a coveted role. But Henry doesn’t return the expression. He looks back at me with utter sincerity and says, “We need to talk, brother.”
“Does Caitlin need to leave? If this visit has to do with your investigations, don’t hesitate to kick her out.”
Henry gives this question grave consideration, his face hardening with something like territorial instinct. “Under any other circumstances, I would. But if she’ll promise not to print what I’m about to say, or post it online, I’m willing to say it in front of her.”
“Henry, what the hell is going on?”
“Do you know about the grand jury?”
My diaphragm flattens like that of a boxer about to take a body blow. “No. What’s happened?”
“Shad took your father’s case before them right after lunch.”
For a few seconds I stop breathing. The work of grand juries is supposed to be confidential, but I sense that Henry already knows what happened in that chamber today. “Tell me.”
He gives Caitlin a mistrustful glance, then says, “They returned a true bill half an hour ago. I’m sorry, Penn.”
“Motherfuck,” Caitlin curses, anger making her eyes blaze like klieg lights. “An Adams County grand jury indicted Tom Cage for murder?”
“They sure did,” Henry confirms. “I can hardly believe it myself.”
Henry and I share a look: last night he assured me that he’d nail the Double Eagles for Viola’s death long before my father could be indicted.
“How the hell do you know that when I don’t?” Caitlin asks.
Henry lowers his chin and gives me a look that says: Does this girl have her priorities straight?
“Who’s the judge?” I ask.
“Joe Elder.”
I shake my head with something close to despair. “How certain are you of this?”
Henry’s cheeks redden a bit. “One hundred percent. That’s all I can tell you, with or without Caitlin here, so don’t ask me more. I just thought you ought to know.”
“Damn it! Shad must have some serious evidence to sway a Natchez grand jury against Dad.”
“Do you think it was my video? I’d sure hate to think that.”