“Hookers?”
“No. Sorority girls who liked to party. Sisters from Tennessee. Twenty-one and twenty-seven. Dr. Robb was forty-two and married. He could fly, but he liked to drink on his fishing trips, so he hired a local charter pilot. According to the sole witness, shortly after takeoff in heavy fog, Dr. Robb’s plane unexpectedly returned to land and collided with a second plane that was attempting to take off from the same strip. Everyone on board Robb’s plane perished. But the pilot of the other plane, a crop duster, walked away without injury. Do you know who that pilot was?”
I shrug my shoulders. “No idea.”
“Snake Knox, Frank’s brother.”
“No.”
“Yes. He’d taken over leadership of the Double Eagles on the day of his brother’s death.”
While I ponder this, Henry says, “Do you know where Frank Knox died?”
“No.”
“In the surgery room of your father’s office.”
“What?”
“Industrial accident. A pallet of batteries fell on him in the spring of sixty-eight. But that’s part of the Revels-Davis case. Let’s stick to the crash for now.”
Henry’s revelations have left me speechless. This is the kind of thing you can never put into a novel, because it stretches credibility too far. Yet history is filled with such unbelievable coincidences. “Who was the sole witness to the crash?”
“Snake Knox’s nephew, Forrest. Forrest was Frank Knox’s son, sixteen at the time. Frank had been dead for a year. Forrest’s and Snake’s statements were accepted at face value, and that was the end of Dr. Robb and his friends.”
“I see where you’re going. Before Albert Norris died, he revealed the identities of his killers to Dr. Robb. And you think the Double Eagles murdered Robb to keep him quiet.”
“One way or another, Penn, Snake Knox brought Dr. Robb’s plane down. But the Eagles didn’t give the order.”
After a puzzled moment, my mind leaps ahead to close the logical loop. “Brody Royal?”
Henry nods with utter certainty.
“But Dr. Robb was killed five years after Albert Norris. Why wait so long to silence him? And a midair collision? Not even a topflight crop duster could engineer that with any hope of survival.”
“I don’t think there ever was a collision. I think Snake sabotaged Robb’s plane, then banged up his own wing with a sledgehammer just after Robb went down beyond the runway. This was an isolated, unattended airport. Heavy fog, no control tower. Snake lied to the police and the FAA, his nephew backed him up, and that was it. No one could contest their story.”
Despite his intensity, Henry hasn’t sold me. “There’s lots easier ways to kill people, Henry, and without the collateral damage. Do you have any evidence that the crash was murder?”
“My Double Eagle source as much as told me it was murder today. I didn’t want to use up my time with him going into detail on that. But I’ve got circumstantial evidence. You decide how strong it is.”
“Go on.”
“Think about Albert Norris after the firebombing. He’s dying in agonizing pain, third-degree burns over ninety percent of his body. Dr. Robb can’t do a thing for him. Albert doesn’t tell the FBI anything, or even his best friend. But before he slips into a coma, he names Brody Royal and Frank Knox as his killers. Probably two others as well—Sonny Thornfield and Snake Knox. The second that Dr. Robb hears those first two names, his blood runs cold. He knows he’s a dead man if he ever reveals them. So he publicly supports the story that Albert never named his killers. But privately, that knowledge is eating him up. Robb treated Albert’s best friend for years, and that poor man never stopped mourning his buddy. All that time, Dr. Robb knew who had killed Albert. He ran into the Double Eagles almost daily in the community. And Robb was even closer to Brody Royal than that.”
“How do you mean?”
“Along with a lawyer named Claude Devereux, Robb was partners with Royal in a big hunting camp down the river. Robb often flew them down there to hunt or work on the land.”
The first name pings on something in my memory. “Is Claude Devereux the old Cajun who practices law in Vidalia?”
“That’s him,” Henry says with distaste. “And he’s a piece of work. Devereux represented not only Dr. Robb, but also several Klan members and Double Eagles over the years. I don’t think Robb knew that, though. Because when he couldn’t stand keeping the secret anymore, it was Devereux he confided in. I’m sure Devereux told him Brody Royal couldn’t possibly have been involved in Albert’s death—poor old Albert had surely been ranting on morphine, out of his head. Devereux probably promised to make discreet inquiries about Frank Knox, even though he’d represented Knox in court before.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. Years passed. At that point, either guilt finally overpowered Dr. Robb’s fear, or Robb started to suspect that Brody Royal was screwing his wife.”
“What?”
“Are you really surprised? This is Louisiana, man. I’ll explain that in a minute, but whether that was true or not, Dr. Robb decided to confide his secret in someone besides Devereux—someone he knew he could trust.” Henry straightens up and looks hard into my eyes. “I think he chose your father. Tom Cage, M.D., the well-known paragon of rectitude.”
Of course. Who else? “How well did Dad and Robb know each other?” I ask, looking down at the photo of my father by the plane.
“Robb and your father attended several antique gun shows together around this time. Robb would fly them there in his plane.”
“Henry, are you suggesting that my father has known for forty years who murdered Albert Norris? And he’s never told anyone about it?”