“Why not?” she asks, cutting her eyes at me again.
“Because the Royal family has already filed complaints against both of you with the Adams County Sheriff’s Department. They’re claiming that you caused Katy Royal to take those pills, and that Penn harassed their father at St. Catherine’s Hospital.” Kaiser looks at me. “They’ll undoubtedly claim that you went to Royal’s house to persecute him for a crime he never committed.”
“And killed a Natchez cop on the way?” I ask.
“Tell them good luck with that,” Caitlin says. “Tomorrow’s Examiner will explode that little illusion.”
“I’m sure. But be aware, you’re almost certain to be sued over anything you print about Brody Royal in your newspaper. Even if they lose, that family has the money to burn.”
Caitlin waves her hand as if swatting a mosquito. “That still doesn’t explain why I shouldn’t go back to Mississippi.”
“Sheriff Billy Byrd,” I say in a flat voice, naming one of the three men behind the prosecution of my father for murder. “And Shad Johnson. Right?”
Kaiser nods. “I doubt Sheriff Byrd will miss this chance to harass you. You two ought to take a room at the motel where my field agents are staying. You’ll have a lot more peaceful time over here than you will trying to function in Natchez. Caitlin, you can call your staff over there for a briefing.”
“No way,” Caitlin says. “If Billy Byrd arrests me, I’ll slap it on the front page of the paper. Then I’ll sue him, and my father has the attorneys on retainer to do it. Does Billy really want that action?”
Kaiser doesn’t look surprised by her fire.
Caitlin looks at Jordan. “Will you still take me across the river? My staff is waiting.”
“Absolutely,” Jordan answers, without even looking at her husband.
Kaiser sighs in resignation. “I’m going to have a team follow you over, just in case. I’d suggest sneaking into the Examiner building, if you want to have a hand in tomorrow’s stories. Otherwise, you’re liable to spend all night in an interrogation room like the one you just left—only not as hospitable.”
“Should my ears be burning?” Sheriff Dennis asks, stepping into the hall with his Stetson on.
“Not at all,” Kaiser replies. “How’d it go, Sheriff? You get everything about tonight documented?”
“In Technicolor.”
Caitlin’s trying to catch my eye, but I know better than to try to slip anything past Kaiser. The behavioral science veteran is quietly studying us, absorbing nonverbal cues I can’t even begin to guess at. Kaiser looks as though he’s about to ask a question when his cell phone pings. After checking the message, he looks up with his facial muscles as tense as I’ve ever seen them.
“What is it?” I ask.
“A state police cruiser just pulled up. Our friend Alphonse Ozan is inside.”
“No,” Caitlin whispers. “I can’t spend the night being questioned by that son of a bitch. I’m about to write the biggest story of my career.” She looks at Sheriff Dennis. “Can you sneak me out the back or something?”
“No way,” Kaiser interjects. “You try that, Ozan will have an APB out on you, same as Dr. Cage.”
The sound of boot heels on a tiled floor echoes from the front of the sheriff’s office.
“What’s your plan, then?” I ask Kaiser. “Are you going to back off like you did at the hospital? If so, tell me now, and we’ll take our chances running. Ozan is Forrest Knox’s man, and you know it.”
Before Kaiser can reply, a muscular man with black eyes and copper-colored skin rounds the corner in highly polished knee boots and a state police uniform. A Louisiana Redbone, Alphonse Ozan radiates a quality of eerie apartness that has nothing to do with his race, but what I perceive as his sociopathic nature. He walks up to the little hall table and taps one of the red Christmas balls on the plastic tree.
“Well, well,” he says, looking around the corridor with amusement in his eyes. “Four men burned to death out by the lake, more likely shot dead, and here we’ve got everybody in the hall having a Christmas party.”
Sheriff Dennis pulls his Stetson low over his eyes and drills Ozan with a hard stare. “What can I do for you, Captain?”
Ozan pretends to notice Dennis suddenly. “You? Nothing. Your whole damned parish is falling apart around you, and you seem powerless to stop it. I’ve come to officially inform you that, as of now, the state police have assumed control of all criminal investigations originating in this parish over the past three days. I want all the relevant files boxed up and ready to go in fifteen minutes.”
CHAPTER 8
SHERIFF WALKER DENNIS’S face has gone through about six discernible shades since Captain Ozan declared he was taking over all his investigations—starting at pink and arriving at purple. But when Sheriff Dennis speaks, his voice somehow remains under control.
“We seem to have some jurisdictional confusion, Captain. Those crimes happened in my parish, and I’ve got the staff and resources to investigate them. That’s what I’m doing now. We don’t need assistance. Not from the state police or the FBI.”
A chuckle of ridicule escapes Ozan’s thin lips. “Sheriff, you ain’t worn that badge but six weeks, and it shows. You can’t even manage the pitiful resources you do have. You should have called us the second you heard what happened out at Brody Royal’s place.”