The old man’s cheek twitches. He looks like a retiree suspicious of a loan officer’s pitch. “I guess.”
“First and foremost, the Double Eagle murders. I’m talking about Pooky Wilson, Albert Norris, Joe Louis Lewis, Jimmy Revels, Luther Davis—”
“You already know who killed Albert and Pooky,” Sonny breaks in. “That was in the paper yesterday morning. Brody Royal was behind that.”
Kaiser nods. “But the Double Eagles did the dirty work. What about Jimmy and Luther? And Joe Louis Lewis, the busboy?”
After several seconds of hesitation, Sonny nods once.
Kaiser turns to me, his eyes glinting with excitement, but I feel like throwing up. We’re nowhere close to saving my father, assuming Dad’s still breathing.
“Okay,” says Kaiser. “Let’s move forward in time a bit. How much do you know about Forrest Knox?”
The old man starts shaking his head before Kaiser can get the whole name out.
“Come on, Sonny. I already know a lot about him. I know he started taking part in Eagle operations when he was a teenager, and I know he was party to some of the worst crimes. But I’m just as interested in his present-day drug business, and also his activities during Hurricane Katrina. Can you link him to that?”
Thornfield looks surprised by the extent of Kaiser’s knowledge. “Would I have to testify in court?”
“Probably so, yes.”
Sonny closes his eyes like a man asked to confront Satan incarnate. “I ain’t saying shit about Forrest, man. Not until me and my family are safe and living under new names.”
Kaiser grimaces, then tries another tack. “I know Forrest means to take over the state police. What about his ties to the power brokers in Baton Rouge and New Orleans? Can you identify any of the people he’s been dealing with in that regard?”
Thornfield rakes his wrinkled hand over his chin, but then he shakes his head. “Nothing about Forrest. Not until the deal is done. Don’t waste your breath.”
“All right, then. Let’s talk about Dallas.”
Sonny blinks as if he doesn’t understand the word. “Dallas?”
“Yeah. President Kennedy. Dealey Plaza.”
Sonny shakes his head as if he’s clueless.
Kaiser smiles as if in appreciation of good entertainment. “Come on, Sonny. I know all about Frank drawing the three K’s in the sand on the sandbar. The day he founded the Double Eagles? I know about Carlos Marcello. I know about the Rose Garden photo and the red circles. JFK, RFK, MLK? Right?”
Sonny’s eyes have gone wide. “Where’d you hear that? Did Glenn Morehouse tell you that?”
“He told Henry Sexton.”
“Jesus. Glenn really lost it at the end, didn’t he?”
“He couldn’t live with himself anymore. Can you blame him?”
Thornfield shrugs sullenly.
“Tell me about Dallas, Sonny. About Frank.”
The old man looks cagey now. “How much does it mean to you?”
Kaiser cuts his eyes at me. “What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . if I could tell you who killed Kennedy, would that be enough to get my family federal protection without going to court against Forrest?”
“Fuck, no,” I snap. “Tell him, John!”
Kaiser holds up his hand to silence me.
“Ask him who killed Viola,” I bark, moving toward the table. “He knows that much, and there’s not one reason he can’t tell you right now.”
“Stay over there, Penn,” Kaiser orders. “Or get out.”
I force myself to stop and back up a couple of steps. I don’t want Kaiser to have me removed before Sonny says something I can use.
“What about that, Sonny?” Kaiser asks. “Do you know who killed Nurse Turner?”
Sonny cuts his eyes at me, then looks back at Kaiser and gives a slight nod.
“I want a name,” Kaiser says.
Thornfield shakes his head.
At last Kaiser sighs in frustration. “Compared to what you say you know, that’s nothing, Sonny. If you don’t give me that name, you’re not getting any deal at all. As of now, naming Viola’s killer is the price of me calling your family.”
Sonny stares at the table for a while. Then he looks up at Kaiser, the tight smile of a mischievous little boy on his face. “No, it ain’t,” he says softly. “Because I’ve got the first-class ticket now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The big D, boss. I can tell you about Dallas. And about Frank. I can tell you all about it. And then you can be a big hero up in Washington. They’ll probably make you the head of the goddamn FBI, after I tell you what I know. That’s my ticket out of this place.” Sonny gives Kaiser a smirk. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong, Sonny.”
The smirk doesn’t falter a bit. “No, I ain’t. I may not be no rocket scientist, but I know that much.”
THEY HAD FOUND WHAT had drawn the attention of the buzzards. Jordan had been right. Beneath the circling carrion birds, the body of a Caucasian man lay wedged among the limbs of a fallen tree. The reek of death was suffocating. Mose Tyler had stopped his boat thirty feet from the mostly submerged corpse, but even from here Caitlin could see that the dead man was missing his head.
“I ain’t goin’ no further,” Mose said flatly. “Not for all the damn money in the world.”
“Yes, you are,” Caitlin said, her heart hammering in her chest.
“No, I ain’t.”
“Jordan,” Caitlin said, peering over the water, “Dr. Cage couldn’t have been killed more than . . . I don’t know, fifteen or sixteen hours ago. Could his body already stink like that?”
“I wouldn’t think so. Not with the temperature this low.”
A new terror struck Caitlin. “But other people have gone missing over the last few days. Those three boys from Concordia Parish, remember?”
“I didn’t pay much attention to that.”