“I don’t know. I doubt any man alive knows more about the JFK case than Dwight and his colleagues. He was posted in Mississippi and Louisiana multiple times during the sixties, so there’s no telling what he might know about the Double Eagles, Carlos Marcello, or even your father. I suspect Dwight wants to give you the Working Group’s theory of how what happened in Dealey Plaza grew out of Louisiana. Once you hear that, you might be as reluctant as we are to jeopardize any chance of achieving justice in that case.”
“Does Dwight understand the jeopardy my father’s in now?”
“Of course. And he’s trying to convince the director that Dr. Cage should be brought under Bureau protection as a witness in the Kennedy investigation.”
I should have known Dwight would be doing what he could for me. “What are the chances of that happening?”
“Better with Dwight involved. But I won’t lie to you. No sane FBI director wants a public battle with a state police agency over a reputed cop killer, especially with the legal grounds for protective custody being the JFK assassination. That’s a publicity nightmare. The point is, Stone’s doing all he can to help your father. So am I.”
I restrain my temper with some difficulty. “If you really were, you wouldn’t ask me to waste an hour humoring an old man with an obsession.”
Kaiser gives me a sad look. “You’re not seeing this thing straight, Penn. Your fear about your father has distorted your perception. You’re like a guy looking through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars. Seventy percent of all Americans believe John Kennedy died as the result of a conspiracy. Justified or not, people believe this country swerved into darkness on that day, and we’ve never recovered from it.”
“Sixty percent of Americans believe in UFOs. Fifty percent believe AIDS was invented by the government.”
The FBI man grabs my left arm. “You’re pretty glib, aren’t you? After Dallas . . . almost anything became possible. I lived through one of the results in Vietnam. So did Forrest Knox. So before you discount this as a waste of time, consider what the fuck you’re talking about.”
In the face of his burning intensity, I raise my hands in symbolic surrender, but Kaiser’s having none of it.
“Over the past forty years, the JFK assassination has become the vessel of America’s darkest anxieties. If we can cut through all that crap and give the people the truth—in all its banality, once and for all—then we’ll have done a lot more than atone for the sins of the FBI. We’ll have cut a tumor from the soul of this nation.”
Kaiser obviously feels great passion about his subject, but passion means nothing on the topic he’s discussing. “You’re wrong about the unknown, John. People need a mystery on which to project all their free-floating paranoia. If you pull back the curtain on the Kennedy assassination, people will just project all their angst onto something else.”
“Maybe I’ve got more faith in people than you do.”
“Maybe so. Politics has changed me, I’ll admit that.”
I pull my coat tighter and scan the streets and windows surrounding the courthouse and City Hall. Not much Christmas cheer in the air today. “JFK’s been pretty battered as a symbol, John. He’s no longer King Arthur cut down in his prime. He’s more like a spoiled prince we never really knew. I feel like people are almost angry at him now, for not living up to their dream of him.”
Kaiser shakes his head. “They still want the truth.”
“Heady conversation for the steps of City Hall, huh?” I say, trying to lighten the tension. “I need to get upstairs to work.”
“But you’ll come see Dwight?”
“I will. I owe him that. I’ll call you about five thirty?”
“Thanks. And please give me a heads-up if you and Sheriff Dennis decide to make any more arrests today.”
I nod acknowledgment but make no promises.
As the FBI agent walks back to his car, I walk up the six steps to the door of City Hall, then pass through the lobby and jog up the staircase to my office on the second floor.
“You alone?” asks Rose, my secretary, peering around me at the hallway door.
“Sure, yeah.”
“That FBI agent is gone?”
“Yes. Why?”
“You’ve got visitors,” Rose says in a cryptic tone.
I raise my eyebrows.
“Go back to the lounge. I didn’t want to put them in your office, in case Agent Kaiser came back.”
Irritated by her caginess, I walk back to the little kitchen we call our lounge. There, I find Dr. Drew Elliott and Nurse Melba Price waiting for me. Drew looks very uncomfortable, but Melba appears relieved to see me.
“What’s going on?” I ask. “Have you heard from Dad or something?”
They look at each other. Then Drew says, “We’ve got something to tell you, Penn. Your father spent yesterday at my house on Lake St. John.”
At first I think he’s telling me he’s just discovered this, but almost immediately I realize that this is a confession. “When did you find this out?”
“We knew Tuesday night.” Drew’s guilty countenance does nothing to ease my anger or sense of betrayal. “I’m sorry, man,” he goes on. “Tom asked me for help, and he was wounded. I didn’t feel I had a choice.”
My face is hot, and my heart has begun pounding. “Wounded how?”
“Through-and-through gunshot. Left shoulder. I treated him, and Melba nursed him until last night.”
My eyes switch to Melba Price. “And you couldn’t call me?”
Melba closes her eyes in what appears to be shame.
“Tom specifically asked me not to,” says Drew.
“So? You think he’s in his right mind right now?”
“He appeared to be.”
“Jesus . . . we’ve been friends since we were kids.”
Drew turns up his palms. “Tom’s my partner, Penn. I’m sorry. I see now that it was probably a mistake. Especially since . . .”
“Since what? What’s happened?”
“I don’t think he’s there anymore. Melba was with him until last night, like I said, but he sent her away.”
Dad’s nurse looks at the floor and nods.
“Melba?” I prompt.
She looks up at me with eyes no one could argue with. “He needed my help. You know your father. I wasn’t about to say no.”
“Did he give you any idea of his plans?”
“Captain Garrity drove to Baton Rouge to meet with the head of the Louisiana State Police. I know that much.”