“Why not?”
“Frank figured that when Oswald saw the president’s head explode in his scope, he knew he hadn’t made that shot. And that scared the shit out of him. That’s why he panicked and ran home to get the pistol he hadn’t even brought with him to Dealey Plaza. The one he used to shoot that cop later. Tippit.”
“If Oswald didn’t know anything about Frank, who did he think he was going to meet in the stockyard parking lot?”
“Ferrie, of course. That fool thought Ferrie was going to fly him to Havana! What a joke, right? But Frank told me Ferrie had actually run guns to Cuba, back before Castro allied with the Russians. And Oswald knew that. So maybe he wasn’t so dumb to believe it.”
“All right,” I say in the most conclusive tone I can. “You’ve got what you wanted. Time to get on with the next act of this show.”
Kaiser looks at his watch. “I think we’re okay, Penn.”
I try to mask my growing anger. “Sonny’s not. Wanting doesn’t make it so, John. Time’s passing. Send him back to the cellblock with Snake and give Dwight his victory call. That’s the gift you wanted to give him, and he deserves it. Then start interrogating all the other Eagles. Spend just as much time with each of them as you did with Sonny. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll get away with this.”
At this moment Kaiser regrets bringing me into this room. But at some level, he brought me in here to keep him from losing sight of his priorities.
“Then it’s time for the big question,” Kaiser says. “Sonny, you’ve given me a lot of details today, and I appreciate it. But do you have any way of proving anything you’ve told me? Anything besides what you say Frank told you?”
Sonny looks perplexed. “Like what? Like something physical?”
“Exactly.”
“You know . . . I think there was something he kept. Frank never told me about it, but Snake said something once.”
“What are you talking about? Something besides the rifles?”
“Yeah. A letter, maybe. Some kind of insurance.”
“A letter written by Frank?”
“No, no. Somebody else. Ferrie, maybe. Or even Oswald. It sure wouldn’t be Carlos. Carlos was like Frank. He never wrote nothing down. He was famous for that.”
“How would Frank get a letter from Lee Harvey Oswald?”
“I don’t know. But he followed the kid around for a while. A day or two, maybe. With Frank, you never know. I wouldn’t be surprised if he screwed Oswald’s Russkie wife while he was in town. That’s how Frank rolled.”
Kaiser isn’t laughing. “You’re joking, right? Because that’s just absurd.”
“Hey, I was just thinking out loud.” Sonny shrugs. “You had to know Frank. He was something else.”
Kaiser finally turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you have a question for Sonny?”
I close my eyes and ask myself if I want to give Sonny another opportunity to implicate my father. But in the end, I guess I have no choice. Standing and moving into Thornfield’s sight line, I say, “Did my father have any connection at all to this plot?”
Sonny looks confused by my question. “Dr. Cage?”
“Yes.”
He looks blank. “Not that I know of. What could he have had to do with it?”
“Some people say he had a relationship with Carlos Marcello when he lived in New Orleans as a young man. And he was the company doctor for Triton Battery, right? He knew Frank.”
“Sure, yeah. He took care of all of us.” Sonny suddenly holds up a forefinger. “Wait. . . . I believe Doc did sign Frank’s sick card for the time he was gone.”
My stomach flutters at his memory of this detail. “Did Frank mention that specifically?”
“Yeah, he did.”
Kaiser gives me a regretful glance.
“Wasn’t no big thing, though,” Sonny says. “Frank spun Doc a story about having an affair with some floozy, said she was going to blow up his marriage unless he stayed with her awhile and calmed her down. So Doc just put what he wanted on the medical excuse.”
The relief that flows through me is like a powerful narcotic. Forty years ago, any male, even a doctor, would have accepted a story like Frank’s without question, and many would have provided the requested cover. When I turn to Kaiser, he’s looking at me with an expression I can’t read. Does he accept this as exculpatory evidence? “That’s all for me,” I tell him. “Let’s get him back to the block.”
“Just one more question,” says Kaiser. “How did Frank get to Dallas and back?”
“Shit, come on,” I mutter, imagining Dad in a diabetic coma somewhere.
“Ferrie flew him out there,” Sonny says. “Snake flew him back.”
Kaiser nods slowly. “And how did Frank get around while he was in Dallas?”
A faint smile widens Sonny’s mouth. “He used a car that some of Carlos’s people left for him.”
“What people?”
“The Dallas mob out there, you know. I forget the name. Something that ends with a vowel.”
“Civello, maybe?”
Sonny shrugs. “That sounds right. An Eytie name like that.”
“And Frank was out there the whole week?”
“I don’t know for sure. But at least from Wednesday on he was. He reconned Dealey Plaza the first day he got there. Then he staked out Oswald. He wanted to know who the other shooter was, see? He wanted to be sure he killed the right guy.”
“Frank was a detail guy,” Kaiser says with only light sarcasm.
Sonny gives Kaiser a hopeful look. “Are we fuckin’ done now?”
I rise from my chair and retrieve my cell phones from the box where Sonny asked that I put them. The first one I switch on is the StarTac that Walker Dennis took off Deputy Hunt when he caught him this morning. I can’t deny that I’m hoping for a message from Forrest, but the screen only reads out the time.