It was 4:42 P.M. She had approximately seven hours to produce the stories that would run in the chain’s flagship papers tomorrow. Maybe a couple of extra hours to write additional material that would run only in the Examiner. That meant she had a decision to make. Would she write those stories based on Henry’s work alone? Or would she use part of her time to try to accomplish what Henry Sexton had not?
Seven hours. Fourteen if I’m willing to break a story in the online edition alone. Could brazenness, daring, and insight allow her to crack the most explosive mystery of this complex epic in a single night? An image of Katy Royal Regan rose into her mind—her most promising target of opportunity. But to take that shot, she would have to break her promise to Penn, and possibly damage Tom’s chances of a quick dismissal of his case. With a resentful sigh, she got up and closed her door, then picked up Henry Sexton’s charred Moleskine and began to reread his most recent entries, hoping to find something she’d missed before.
A hard knocking at her door startled her, and before she could call “Come in,” the door opened.
Jamie Lewis came into her office and shut the door behind him. A professional cynic, he rarely delivered news without a smartass remark. But Caitlin could tell by his manner that he had bad news.
“Tell me,” she said.
“An APB has gone out for Tom Cage and his friend Walt Garrity. The Louisiana State Police issued it.”
Caitlin’s palms went cold. “What’s it for? Jumping bail?”
“No. Killing a cop. A state trooper.”
The blood drained from her face. She waved Jamie out, then grabbed the telephone, all her anger at Penn forgotten.
CHAPTER 71
“THAT’S ALL I can say on the phone,” I tell Caitlin, driving down Washington Street toward Edelweiss. “Just keep working on your story, and I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”
“But Tom—”
“I’m doing the only thing that I think might possibly get Dad to safety. That’s really all I can say. I’m checking on Mom and Annie now. Don’t leave your office if you can avoid it. Okay?”
“All right. But please come down here as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
Taking a sharp turn, I pull into the backyard of Edelweiss, which is only accessible by a small opening in the overgrown fence on the Washington Street side. I park behind a small brick outbuilding, trot to the back door of the ground floor, let myself in, then climb the stairs to the main floor.
From the sound, Mom and Annie must be watching TV in the third-floor master suite. When I call up the long staircase, Annie comes to the head of the stairs. I smile and wave to her, but then I hold up my hand and ask her to send her grandmother down. Annie is clearly worried, but I don’t want her to see me too closely. A reddish-blue bruise is already spreading around my neck where Randall Regan choked me.
As soon as Mom reaches the bottom of the steep stairs, I walk her into the kitchen. She can tell that something has happened, and suddenly her gaze settles on my neck. Raising my hand to stop her question, I speak in a low voice.
“Mom, you need to brace yourself.”
Her right hand flicks out and seizes mine, her eyes wild. “Tom’s not dead!”
“No, no. But a Louisiana state trooper was found shot to death this morning, by one of the borrow pits across the river. The state police have already put out an APB for Dad and Walt Garrity. Every cop in three states is hunting them now.”
My mother’s face looks as though it’s turned to wax. “But … why would they think Tom would kill a state trooper?”
“You knew Dad was with Walt, didn’t you?”
“No! But I’m glad he is. What else do you know?”
“A lot. I just talked to Sheriff Dennis. Basically, all the physical evidence looks bad for Dad, and the state police have a witness who’ll place both him and Walt at the murder scene. A man named Sonny Thornfield.”
Mom is shaking her head in denial or disbelief.
“Do you have any idea what Dad’s plan was when he jumped bail? If you do, tell me now. If I can reach him by phone, I can try to arrange a surrender to the FBI. One of their agents is willing to protect Dad as a federal witness. Or to try, anyway.”
She stares back at me with a look I recognize from my experience with the wives and mothers of criminal defendants: uncertainty about what to say to support the unknown alibi of a loved one.
“Mom, listen to me. There’s an officer high up in the LSP who wants Dad to go down for Viola’s murder. He’s the son of Frank Knox, the founder of the Double Eagle group. And the best way he can get the result he wants is to have Dad shot as a fugitive while resisting arrest.”
“Annie’s going to come down in a minute,” Mom says, looking bewildered. “She’s terrified, Penn.”
“I know she must be. Mom, I need you to focus.”
She grabs my wrists with surprising strength. “You don’t really think Tom or Walt could have killed a police officer?”
I’ve been pondering this question from the moment John Kaiser told me about it. “I’d like to say no, but even an honest cop might have drawn down on Dad if he saw him as a bail jumper. And if they were dealing with a dirty cop … I can see Walt shooting to protect Dad in either case.”
She sags against the kitchen counter. “Oh, God. This can’t be.”
I hug her tight against me. “Where would he go, Mom? Who would he trust with his life on the line?”
“Oh, Lord,” she says into my chest. “Tom must have treated ten thousand people since we moved here. Three-quarters of them would probably help him if he asked, and ten percent would probably risk their lives for him.”
She’s right. “That’s a thousand places to search, right there.”
Her wet face nods against me. “Maybe he wasn’t so crazy to run. Maybe he’s sure they can’t find him.”
“But they will, sooner or later. They have too much technology, and the Knox family knows this area like their own backyard.”