The hair rose on Henry’s neck and forearms. “Can you tell me how to get there?”
“Naw. The times I went there it was night, and I was in a boat. I ain’t never been good at directions like that. Everything looks the same in the swamp. Frank or Snake always took me out there. Sonny might remember the way.”
“Sonny Thornfield?”
“Shit, Henry. You got me talking too much.”
“You’re doing the right thing, brother. You know it. Surely you can tell me something about where that tree is.”
“Lusahatcha Swamp. But tellin’ you to hunt for a cypress tree back in there is like telling you to go outside on my five acres and find one blade of grass that has my initials wrote on it.”
“Not quite. Death leaves traces, Glenn. Skeletal remains. Corpses put out gases caused by decay, other things.”
Morehouse gave a hollow laugh. “Even if they dumped a corpse in there yesterday, you wouldn’t have a prayer. That swamp bubbles out methane twenty-four hours a day. All manner of creatures been killin’ and dyin’ in there every minute for a million years. And forty-year-old bones have either rotted or been shit out by hogs and alligators. Can’t nobody show you that tree except somebody who’s been there. And anybody who’s been there who would have showed it to you … they died there.”
“Does anyone besides the Double Eagles know where it is?”
“Some of the nigras down in Lusahatcha County, supposedly, but they wouldn’t go there for a million bucks. If you go down there a-lookin’, watch yourself. Because they’ll know. Nothing moves down there that those boys don’t know about.”
“I went down there once with a guide, but I didn’t find anything.”
“Then you were lucky. If you go back, take the National Guard with you.”
“What about the Jericho Hole? Over the years, I’ve heard rumors that ten different bodies were dumped in there.”
“Might have been. That’s a deep old hole.”
“Were Luther and Jimmy buried together?”
“Who said anything about buried? They’re not together. I can tell you that much.”
Henry forced himself to think back to the interview. “You wanted to tell me something about that plane crash this morning. The midair collision. Do you think Snake risked his own life to kill Dr. Robb by flying his plane into Robb’s? Crazy or not, no pilot can control the physics of a midair collision.”
Morehouse laughed. “Man, I once saw Snake jump off a two-story building because somebody offered him fifty bucks. You hear me? But think about that so-called collision, Henry. Nobody saw it but Snake and his nephew. There was heavy fog. Weren’t no tower at all. How do you know there even was a collision?”
“I’ve thought of that. Snake could simply have sabotaged Robb’s plane, then banged up his own wing with a hammer after the other plane crashed. Snake’s plane was hardly damaged. As long as his nephew confirmed the midair collision, nobody was going to question their story.”
“Yessir. That’s about the size of it.”
“Four people died in that crash, Glenn. One girl was only twenty-one years old. Would Snake really have murdered three innocent people just to kill Dr. Robb?”
“If Snake thought Lee Robb was gonna put him in jail, he’d have machine-gunned the man in a crowd of nuns on Sunday morning. Look at who was on that plane when it went down. Then look at who was supposed to be on it. Hell … I done give you enough to work it out, Henry. I need to go.”
“Wait!” Henry felt an almost hysterical reluctance to let Morehouse off the phone. His panic was irrational; surely they could talk again tomorrow. But his years of experience were telling him one thing: Your source is talking. The faucet is flowing, and it might never flow this way again. “Just a couple more questions—please.”
“Wilma’s program goes off in five minutes. Make it fast.”
Henry checked his watch: six minutes to the bottom of the hour. “The Natchez DA seems to think Tom Cage killed Viola Turner.”
“Dr. Cage? Bullshit.”
“What about a mercy killing?”
“Well … I can see that, I guess. If Dr. Cage would pay me that kind of visit, I might be obliged. A painless end ain’t the worst thing in the world. Just like a loyal old dog. Only I ain’t been so loyal.”
“Do you know of any reason Dr. Cage would kill Viola to keep her quiet?”
“What? Hell, no. Dr. Cage couldn’t do that, even if he had a reason. It was Snake, I tell you. Prob’ly Sonny, too. They still run together, you know. They’re in business together.”
Henry had heard rumors that some former Eagles were involved in the local meth trade, which had been exploding over the past few years. “Really?” he said, feigning ignorance. “I thought Snake had his crop-dusting service, and Sonny has a used car lot.”
Morehouse barked a drunken laugh. “That’s rich, boy. Their real business is dope. You didn’t know that?”
“I’ve heard some rumors. I didn’t put much credence in them.”
“Snake’s son Billy is the biggest goddamn meth dealer in the state.”
“Snake and Sonny work for Billy Knox?”
“Yep. They’re in the transport end of things. Airplanes and a car lot. Don’t take a brain surgeon to figure that out, does it?”
“So Snake and Sonny would have the knowledge to try to fake a suicide with drugs?”
Another inebriated laugh. “I’d be surprised if they ain’t done that a bunch of times in their line of work.”
“Where does Billy live?”
“Billy’s got houses all over, man. Land, too. And he ain’t never even been arrested in this state. Which there’s a reason for, you know. Those guys are protected. You gotta be, to stay in that business. Just like whores.”
“Who protects them, Glenn? Brody Royal?”
“No. Billy’s cousin. Forrest shields their operation and thins out their competition every few months.”