“She said something about maybe pushing back the trip for a day, which I couldn’t believe. Any idea why she’d do that?”
Caitlin remembered giving Kaiser’s wife a backhanded offer of employment, but she never thought the photographer would really consider it. Jordan Glass had multiple Pulitzers in her bag, and a Robert Capa award to boot. Is this story getting that big? she wondered.
“None. You’d better ask her that.”
“You’ll probably see her before I will,” Kaiser said. “I’m heading out to take care of some other business. I’ve rented an empty warehouse in Vidalia to use as an evidence storage site. So much stuff came out of the Jericho Hole that we’re going to sort, identify, and tag everything we can here, then ship selected pieces to the crime lab in Washington.”
“Can I send a photographer over for some shots?”
Kaiser gave her a wry smile. “No, but I’ll have Jordan shoot a few snaps for you.”
“Thanks. And keep your eyes open. I don’t think your credentials would stop the Knoxes from taking a shot at you.”
Kaiser got to his feet. “You’re right about that. But I’d be a lot more worried if I were Penn or Sheriff Dennis. Or you,” he added, giving her a meaningful look.
He went to the door, but after he passed through, he turned back and said, “Don’t try to solve this thing on your own, Caitlin. What you wrote this morning was read by a lot of people, some of whose lives are now at risk because of you. And every one of those bastards knows where you live and work.”
She nodded as though this were old news to her. “I’ll be careful.”
Kaiser gave her a casual salute, then walked down the hall.
Caitlin desperately wanted to read the rest of the papers inside Mrs. Sexton’s envelope, but she opened her top right drawer to put them away until she could be sure Kaiser would not return. A shining new silver Treo 650 lay inside the drawer. Stuck to the smartphone was a yellow Post-it with a note from Allison Oswalt, the advertising sales girl she’d sent to replace her favorite device.
Here’s your new phone. You can find your new number inside. Your security code is the year I came to work here. Enjoy!
Caitlin picked up the gleaming phone and gave it a grateful kiss. At last she had a secure line she could count on, at least for a while. Now she could call Toby Rambin from inside the building—and talk to him if she reached him!
While the Treo powered up and searched for a tower, she thought about Henry’s letter. Was it really possible that the Bone Tree—which the FBI didn’t believe existed—concealed evidence of Double Eagle involvement in the assassination of John Kennedy? Henry Sexton had never been a muckraker or sensationalist; on the contrary, his reputation as a serious journalist had been above reproach. And Henry seemed to believe that Morehouse had told him the truth. Of course, Henry had been under the influence of Dilaudid while he wrote that letter—
The Treo had acquired a tower. Caitlin glanced at her office door, then dialed Toby Rambin’s number—which she had memorized—and waited. Yet again it rang in vain, as it had the previous three times. She wondered whether Rambin might have fled the state after hearing about Henry’s death. She couldn’t blame him if he had.
“Come on,” she muttered. “Do poachers really work that hard?”
How long until Kaiser leaves the building? she wondered. She was dying to take Henry’s Bone Tree journal down from atop the credenza. Instead, she removed a page at random from the manila envelope, a piece of hospital stationery. At the top Henry had written ELAM KNOX in bold pencil lines. She started to read the tightly packed paragraphs, but a knock at her door made her jump. She shoved Henry’s stuff into her drawer, then went to the door. Though she’d expected Kaiser again, she found Jamie Lewis waiting in the hall.
“I’ve got some news,” her editor said. “Can I come in?”
She backed up and motioned him in. Lewis shut the door behind him.
“On the mole?” she whispered.
“No, sorry. But something pretty radical just came over the wire. The Baton Rouge Advocate is reporting that a highly credible source inside the state police Criminal Investigations Bureau is claiming that Colonel Griffith Mackiever, the superintendent of state police, has been downloading explicit child pornography onto his work computer for months. There’s been no official confirmation, but several politicians are calling for a public investigation, and one state congressman has already demanded Mackiever’s resignation. Do you think that’s related to Dr. Cage’s story in any way?”
Caitlin thought about it. “It’s bound to be. Forrest Knox wants that job, and he’s already the chief of the CIB. He’s got a certain amount of support across the state, especially in New Orleans. He’s also behind the hunt for Dr. Cage, and he’s the son of the founder of the Double Eagles. You dig into that, Jamie. Don’t give it to somebody else.”
Before he could reply, another knock sounded at the door. Caitlin rolled her eyes, and Jamie opened the door a crack as though to send the supplicant away. But then to her surprise he pulled it wide.
Keisha Harvin stood there, her face glowing with vitality, her eyes with quick intelligence. “Have you got a sec?” Keisha asked. “I want to pitch you something.”
“Take a seat,” Caitlin said, beckoning her inside. “Pitch away.”