“Henry had a certain amount of bitterness toward the Bureau, granted. For our civil-rights-era failures, and for the way a lot of agents treated him over the years. But after Glenn Morehouse was murdered, Henry decided that safety demanded he pass me a certain amount of information. It was Henry who told me about the link between Royal and the Double Eagles going back to 1964. He also told me his suspicions about Forrest Knox protecting the Eagles’ drug business, and possibly even being a partner. I’d heard a few rumors prior to that, but Henry had more facts than the Bureau did.”
I say nothing, still trying to process the fact that Henry confided so much in Kaiser.
“He didn’t tell me about his backup files,” says the FBI agent. “His change of heart didn’t extend to that. I think he worried that if he gave his journals to the Bureau, they might disappear forever. He wanted a journalist to have them, so Caitlin got it all. A bad decision, considering what’s happened to them.”
Earlier tonight Caitlin told me she intended to let Kaiser view Henry’s files tomorrow, but given what happened at Brody’s house, I don’t want to speak for her.
“I visited Henry one last time this afternoon,” Kaiser says, “only a few hours before the sniper tried to finish him off. He was pretty depressed, but he told me what Glenn Morehouse said about Jimmy Revels’s murder.”
I give Kaiser a puzzled look, but he’s having none of it.
“The RFK assassination plan?” he says. “Carlos Marcello, all that? Don’t play dumb, for God’s sake. Not after what’s happened tonight.”
Before I can reply, Kaiser says, “We need to talk about what you told me about your father when I first called you from New Orleans.”
He’s referring to me saying that Brody Royal and my father might possess information about the major 1960s assassinations. I only told him that to lure him to Natchez, and now I regret it. I need to sleep and be ready for the drug raid at dawn. But one thing Kaiser does need to know, no matter how crazy it may sound.
“Do you have any agents at the fire scene?” I ask.
“Three. Why?”
“Can they stop the state police from taking evidence away from it?”
“Absolutely. Brody Royal’s lake house and property are now a federal crime scene.”
To my surprise, relief washes through me. “As soon as the ruins cool, your guys need to grid-search the place and sift the ashes.”
“What are we looking for?”
Something makes me put off revealing the most explosive information. To stall him, I lay out some bait that could get him out of my way tomorrow. “Depending on the heat of the fire, you might find the remains of a one-of-a-kind letter opener. Royal told us that Frank Knox carved it from one of Pooky Wilson’s arm bones. The blade was bone, and the handle was covered in the tanned skin of Wilson’s penis. Or so Royal claimed. He admitted that murder to us, John. He gave the order, Snake and Frank Knox carried it out, and all this happened at the Bone Tree.”
“The Bone Tree?” Kaiser says softly. “Most of our agents don’t believe that thing even exists.”
“It does. Royal was there when Wilson was killed. And his bones are bound to still be there.”
Kaiser can’t hide the interest in his eyes. “Did he say anything about Jimmy Revels’s murder?”
“No. But he admitted taking part in the gang rape of Viola Turner.”
“What made Royal so damn talkative?”
“Henry and Sleepy showing up. Brody just had to tell them how pointless their lives had been.”
“What a guy.” Kaiser slowly shakes his head.
“Could you extract DNA from something like that letter opener?”
“Possibly. But you’re deflecting me, Penn. What does a trophy from Pooky Wilson’s murder have to do with the 1960s assassinations?”
“Nothing.” I prop my elbows on my knees and rub my temples. “This is going to sound crazy, but . . . just before everything went to hell in Brody’s basement, he showed us two rifles in one of his gun cabinets. There were brass plaques beneath the guns.”
“And?”
I look up, letting Kaiser see that I’m not personally invested in what I’m about to tell him. “Unlike all the other plaques, which gave the make of the weapon, et cetera, these only had dates on them, plus a small American flag.”
Kaiser shrugs. “So?”
“The dates were November twenty-second, 1963, and April fourth, 1968.”
I expect the agent’s face to show incredulity, but what I see is a hunter’s excitement glimmering in his eyes. “Did you believe they were real?”
“Brody believed they were real. Did I? No. I think Snake Knox sold that old man a pig in a poke. Twice. And I told him so.”
Kaiser mulls this over. “Was that truly your gut reaction?”
Thinking back to a story my father recently told me, I reconsider. “I can’t say that one hundred percent. Not about the JFK rifle.”
“Tell me why.”
The realization that Kaiser is more interested in this than in my father’s plight makes me want to smack him in the face. “While my father’s being hunted down like an animal by corrupt cops?”
The FBI agent studies me for a few seconds, then speaks with maddening calm. “I know how hard you’ve been trying to save your father. I know what you did tonight, too. You got hold of some leverage against Brody and tried to force him to help your father. After you left me, you went to St. Catherine’s Hospital. You offered to bury what you know and keep Brody’s name from the cops, and out of the newspapers. Right?”
Kaiser didn’t get where he is by being slow on the uptake. “I might have tried that, if Henry Sexton would have gone along with—”
“Oh, bullshit. It was Caitlin holding the sword over Brody’s head, not Henry. She made some kind of recording of Katy Royal earlier this evening, didn’t she?”
I don’t answer, but I can’t for the life of me figure how Kaiser found out about that tape.
“Does it still exist?” he presses. “Or did Brody take it from you tonight?”
My expression tells him all he needs to know.
Kaiser’s face betrays genuine empathy. “Look, speaking as a man, I don’t blame you. Your father’s life was on the line, and you had Royal by the short hairs. But look what’s happened because of what you did.”