“What do you think about her argument?”
“She has a point about the weekly-versus-daily issue, especially with my father’s case. You could cover it on the Web, but there’s no question that her father’s media group would give you massive exposure on a daily basis. On the other hand, you’ve been covering the Double Eagle story for years. That’s yours, and I think you’ll win a Pulitzer for it someday. The problem is, the past has crashed into the present. Look what happened with the bones this morning. The two stories are already tangling together. If the Eagles killed Viola, which you believe, then by sticking to your old methods you run the risk of other reporters catching up to you, and fast.”
“You think I should take the offer.”
“No. I’m saying every proposition has good and bad points. But I will tell you this: Caitlin’s very good at her job, and she can have your stories running coast to coast by tomorrow.”
Henry turns away from us and studies a framed photograph on the wall. It shows me with Willie Morris, my former lit professor, who edited Harper’s Magazine during the 1960s. In the photo we’re drinking a beer at the Gin, an Oxford, Mississippi, bar that, like Willie himself, no longer exists except in memory.
“This would take some serious negotiation with my publisher,” Henry says.
“Whatever you want, you’ve got it.”
He looks at Caitlin like a suspicious man dealing with a car salesman. “If we did it, I’d still want to be able to publish in the Beacon on Thursdays.”
Caitlin smiles, sensing victory. “Absolutely.”
Henry looks to me again.
“She’s never broken a promise that I know about,” I tell him. “You don’t have any worries on that score.”
“Let me talk to Mr. Fraser, my publisher. Then I’ll get back to you. But even if you meet his conditions, I’ll still have one of my own.”
“Anything you want,” Caitlin insists.
“The deaths of Viola and Glenn Morehouse have convinced me the danger is very real. I’ve been thinking about publishing most of what I have this Thursday, as a kind of neutralizing attack.”
My senses sharpen at this, and Caitlin gulps audibly.
“If I did that,” he goes on, “then the Double Eagles would have nothing to gain by killing me or my loved ones, because the information would already be public. And the FBI would have the information, too, which I’m going to have to give them pretty soon anyway.”
“That’s a damn good idea, Henry,” I say, knowing I’ll pay a domestic price for this later.
“It’s also a very big step,” Caitlin says cautiously. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t do that. But if you fire at the Eagles and miss, you’ve told them what you have and what you don’t, and maybe made yourself look foolish in the process. You might also risk a libel suit.”
Henry nods soberly. “I’ve considered that.”
“There are other ways to handle the security issue. Penn and I have dealt with death threats more than once.”
The reporter takes off his glasses and carefully wipes the lenses with his shirt. “I’m not bending on that point. Too many people have died already.”
Caitlin’s triumph quickly vanishes into concern over the next skirmish in her crusade. “Can you call your publisher from here? I’d like us to get started right away.”
Henry holds up his hands. “Oh, no. Mr. Fraser lives right across the river in Vidalia. I need to speak to him about this in person. He’s gone way out on a limb for me, letting me upset folks like I have. He’s gotten a lot of nasty remarks these past years, and a few threats besides. But he’s stuck to his guns and backed me all the way. He’s a good Christian man, and he did some brave reporting back in his day. I owe him a personal visit.”
“Go see your publisher, Henry,” I tell him. “Caitlin will be waiting for you with open arms if you decide to share your talents with the Examiner.”
Henry gives me an uncertain nod, then moves toward the door.
“And make her pay you like you’re Bob Woodward!” I call as he turns the handle. “Her father can afford it.”
I expect Caitlin to cuss me when the door closes, but after waiting a few seconds, she whoops and pumps her fist in the air. “I thought you’d screwed me,” she says. “But then you sold him for me!”
“I gave him my honest opinion. You’re right about the weekly paper issue. He can’t cover this story week to week, not like he could with a whole media group behind him. This thing is going to unfold by the minute.”
She walks up and lays a cool hand on my cheek. “I haven’t forgotten about your father. If for some reason Shad doesn’t cave because of the photo, I’ll take his case apart piece by piece in the paper.”
“That sounds a little biased.”
“This is war,” she says. “And he started it.”
I sigh heavily. “I’d better call Dad and tell him about the grand jury, before anyone else does.”
“Do you mind if I stay?”
“No,” I reply, but part of me is angry. If Henry had been willing to leave with her a few moments ago, Caitlin would not be staying for this.
I try Dad’s private office line first, but Melba picks up and tells me he came in for an hour, then went home to lie down after lunch. When I call home, Mom says he hasn’t been there since he left for the office after his court hearing. With my pulse accelerating, I try Dad’s cell phone, knowing that he almost never answers it. This time, though, he picks up on the fourth ring.
“Hello, Penn,” he says in an almost buoyant voice.
I look at Caitlin and shrug. “Dad? Where are you?”
“Just taking a drive. I couldn’t concentrate at the office, and I didn’t want to sit at home with your mother asking me questions all day. I needed some time to think.”
I’ll bet. “Are you okay? You having chest pains or anything?”
“I took a nitro earlier, but I’m fine now. Really.”