“All those bastards had sons and grandsons. Keep an open mind as we move forward.”
I’m surprised to hear Kaiser use the plural pronoun. “What’s your idea of moving forward?”
“Getting the rest of those bones up, ASAP.”
My heart is pumping faster. “How are you going to do that?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ve got a couple of ideas. The Double Eagles have crossed the line this time. I’m coming up there loaded for bear.”
Kaiser doesn’t talk like most FBI agents I’ve worked with. Around laymen, Bureau people tend to speak like fighter pilots and accountants—without emotion. “Agent Kaiser, I’m going to take a shot in the dark here. I think my family may be in as much danger as Henry Sexton was. I believe Brody Royal and the Double Eagles have threatened us, to make my father take the blame for a murder they committed. Are you with me?”
“Keep going.”
“I don’t exactly have a private army up here. I was wondering whether you might be able to protect my father as a federal witness. I believe my dad knows who murdered Albert Norris, and probably Dr. Leland Robb and three other people as well.”
Kaiser grunts but offers nothing.
“And this may sound crazy,” I add, “but Dad might also have information about the major assassinations of the 1960s. A man named Brody Royal definitely does. Do you know that name?”
“I know who Royal is. He barely evaded prosecution in a state insurance fraud case.”
“That’s the one. I think if you could assure my father that our family is safe, he could help you quite a bit.”
After a few seconds, Kaiser says, “Let me make some calls. I’m just getting up to speed on some of this. I probably won’t know for sure what I can do until tomorrow morning. Can you protect your folks until then?”
“I think so. And anything you need on my side of the river, let me know. I’ll get it done.”
“Do you have a lot of influence with Shad Johnson?” The lightest touch of irony colors Kaiser’s voice.
“I can still make things happen here when I need to,” I assure him.
“Good.” The FBI agent gives me a 504 cell number, which I enter into my contacts list, and then I let him go.
“Was that John Kaiser?” Caitlin asks, her face strangely flushed.
“Yes. He’s coming up here tomorrow.”
Her face lights up as though I’ve announced that Robert Redford is coming to town.
“What’s the deal?” I ask. Annie, too, looks curious.
“Don’t you know who Kaiser’s wife is?” Caitlin asks.
“No.”
“Jordan Glass!”
I shake my head, perplexed. Then it hits me. “The war photographer? From Oxford, Mississippi?”
“Yes. Holy shit.”
Annie is bemused by Caitlin’s schoolgirl excitement.
“Jordan Glass has won two Pulitzers,” Caitlin informs us. “Maybe three. Not to mention the goddamn Robert Capa Gold Medal. Not that it matters. She’s past all that. Glass is like Nachtwey, or even Dickey Chappelle, for God’s sake! She’s on that level.”
“You have a Pulitzer,” I remind her.
Caitlin dismisses this with a flick of her hand. “I was lucky. Jordan Glass is the shit. She’s a freaking legend.”
Annie is shaking her head in amazement.
“Are you sure she’s married to this John Kaiser?” I ask, motioning for Annie to leave the room.
“I’ll stop cursing,” Caitlin promises, signaling Annie to stay. “I read all of Henry’s stories last night, remember? He mentioned Kaiser several times, so I checked him out. He’s married to her, all right. They met while working a big murder case in New Orleans.” Caitlin shrugs. “You know me.”
That I do. No stone left unturned, no matter how far off the main path it may be. “Well, the assault on Henry really upset Kaiser. I think we’re finally going to see some federal action on the Double Eagle group.”
“Based on the bones Kirk Boisseau found?”
“That’ll be the legal justification.”
“Can I print anything about the bones yet?”
“Not until you clear it with Henry.”
A shadow flits across her features. I hope it’s guilt for being so ready to exploit the misfortune of a colleague. When a story gets hot, Caitlin instantly reverts from publisher to reporter, and in that mode she operates with the ruthless dispassion of a surgeon.
“You said ‘I figured as much’ to Kaiser,” she observes. “What did he tell you?”
Christ. “I can’t tell you. He made that very clear.”
She makes very little effort to conceal her frustration. “Something about Glenn Morehouse, right? They’ve had his body since this morning.”
She’s like a hunting dog that never gets distracted from the scent. “Next time I talk to Kaiser, I’ll ask if I can pass it to you, off the record.”
Caitlin grimaces but doesn’t argue. “Do you think it would be all right for me to visit Henry at the hospital?”
“Not tonight. You’d just be in the way.”
“But he may have already decided to work for me! He may be my employee now.”
“He hasn’t signed anything. You can call Sheriff Dennis for any details you need, or Mrs. Whittington, the secretary who chased away the assailants.”
“Did I hear you say someone stole Henry’s files?”
“Sheriff Dennis said the assailants took some files from his vehicle during the attack. He was apparently moving them to his girlfriend’s house.”
Caitlin gives me a triumphant look that says, Come on. “Why would Henry be doing that unless he’d decided to change his work circumstances?”
Thankfully, the house phone rings again before I can answer.
“This is crazy,” Annie says, looking much happier to be watching this circus than researching Benjamin Franklin. “This is like during Katrina.”
“Penn Cage,” I answer.
“Hizzoner the Mayor,” says a warm baritone filled with the character imparted by fifty years of whiskey and tobacco. “This is Quentin. How they hangin’ today, Counselor?”