The Bone Tree

by Greg Iles

  “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.”

  John Kaiser clears his throat and turns his gaze on Ozan. “Just what do you think did happen out there, Captain?”

  Ozan smirks, emboldened by his successful intimidation of Kaiser earlier tonight. “Well, I’ll tell you, Agent Kaiser. We’ve got one of Mr. Royal’s security personnel lying dead out by Mr. Royal’s driveway, his throat cut. Then we’ve got an elderly African-American gentleman gunned down outside the house. The firemen just dragged two more bodies clear of the wreckage, one of whom has a massive shotgun wound. And then there’s the basement, which appears to contain the remains of three people—one of whom might be Brody Royal. It’s still too hot to get down there to get a positive ID. But however you slice it, that’s a multiple-homicide scene, and Barney Fife here hasn’t got the experience or the budget to properly investigate it.”

  Kaiser looks sharply at Sheriff Dennis, hoping to stop him from doing something that could cost him his job. “Captain, under what authority are you taking over Sheriff Dennis’s jurisdiction?”

  Ozan barks out an incredulous laugh, then hooks his thumbs in his trousers and turns to give Kaiser his full attention. “I thought we’d straightened this out back at the hospital. Murder’s a state crime, and that’s the end of it. You didn’t argue then, and I don’t expect any lip now.”

  To my amazement, Kaiser’s face remains calm. In fact, I see what looks like a trace of anticipatory pleasure in his eyes.

  “I’m going to have to take exception with your opinion, Captain,” he says in a tone of mild regret.

  Ozan draws back his head, squinting. “Exception to what? You federal boys ain’t got a damn thing to do with murder, unless you’re invited in by local authorities. Even then you’re only there to advise. We say who comes and goes from that crime scene. We handle all the evidence. And we make the arrests. By the way, I’m gonna be detaining both Mayor Cage and his girlfriend for questioning right now. Questioning as suspects.”

  “What?” Caitlin cries, her face going red.

  Kaiser holds up a restraining hand.

  “I’ll use one of the sheriff’s rooms to start,” Ozan continues, “but if necessary, I’ll have them transported to Baton Rouge.”

  Everyone in the hallway is watching Kaiser, wondering if he’ll keep playing out the milquetoast role he began at Mercy Hospital. For a moment he purses his lips as though considering Ozan’s argument. Then he steps squarely into the state trooper’s space and speaks with the calm authority of a military officer addressing a subordinate.

  “In conventional situations, Captain, you’d be correct. But as Ms. Masters informed you earlier this evening, the murder of Henry Sexton was a hate crime. That gives the FBI automatic jurisdiction over that case. As for Mayor Cage and Ms. Masters, they were victims of a kidnapping and attempted murder tonight. That kidnapping was instigated by Brody Royal and Randall Regan. While they were hostages, Mayor Cage and Ms. Masters heard Royal confess his involvement with the Double Eagle group dating back to 1964. They also witnessed Mr. Royal murder the black man you mentioned, whose name is Marshall Johnston, Junior, nickname ‘Sleepy.’”

  While Ozan blinks at the flood of details coming from Kaiser’s mouth, the FBI agent says, “You may not know it yet, but the Double Eagle group has been designated a domestic terror organization under Title Eight of the USA PATRIOT Act. Under the provisions of that act, the FBI has assumed full primacy of authority over any and all investigations pertaining to that group. Tonight’s events fall directly under that umbrella. The Royal house on Lake Concordia is now a federal crime scene. Should you choose to interfere with our investigation, you will find yourself subject to severe disciplinary measures, beginning with immediate incarceration at the facility of my choosing, without due process. Right now, I’m thinking Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.”

  Ozan’s face has gone even darker than the sheriff’s did. He’s spitting mad, but Kaiser presses on relentlessly.

  “Further, under Title Eight of the Patriot Act, kidnapping in connection with terrorism has been reclassified as a terrorist act. The Bureau will be taking the lead on that investigation as well. It might also interest you to know that under last year’s Intelligence Reform and Terrorism Prevention Act, special anti-methamphetamine initiatives were passed into law, and those will be vigorously pursued in relation to any and all members of the Double Eagle group, their families, and criminal co-conspirators.”

  Now Ozan’s face is losing color.

  “Title Five of the Patriot Act,” Kaiser continues, “stipulates fifteen-year prison terms for any public official found to have taken a bribe. Any offender’s personal assets can be seized under this act. In that connection, under a Title Five National Security Letter, the Bureau’s New Orleans SAC has already requested that all state police telephone, wireless, personnel, and computer records on both you and Forrest Knox be delivered to me by four P.M. tomorrow.” Kaiser looks purposefully at his wristwatch. “Correction, that’s four P.M. today. While I’m not legally required to inform you of this, I’d like you to pass the information to your boss at the earliest opportunity.” Kaiser let his words hang for a couple of seconds. “Just so we’re all clear on where we stand.”

  After gaping dumbly like a punch-drunk boxer, Ozan shuts his mouth and starts working himself up for a fight, but at the last second his judgment gets the better of his hormones, and he confines himself to a low growl. “You ain’t heard the last of this, Jack. This is a states’ rights issue.”

  Kaiser actually smiles at this. “The last time you boys had a serious states’ rights problem with Washington, it was 1861. That didn’t work out so well for you. But if you want to push it, we’ll be happy to oblige.”

  Ozan looks slowly around at the rest of us, then focuses on the FBI man once more. “You know something, hotshot? The last thing you want to do is make this personal. Especially while you’re living down in New Orleans. That’s our neck of the swamp.”

  Kaiser gives me a momentary glance. “Mayor Cage, did you just hear Captain Ozan threaten a special agent of the FBI?”

  “I did.”

  “And will you testify to that fact in a court of law?”

  “I will.”

  “Thank you. Captain, I suggest you avail yourself of the opportunity to leave before I have the sheriff jail you.”

  Ozan shakes his head as though in disgust at a world turned upside down. Then he turns on his heel and marches away without another word.

  “I’ll be goddamned,” Sheriff Dennis marvels. “He looked like a dog shittin’ peach pits. Shakin’ all over. In all my years on the job, I’ve never seen nothing like that.”

  Jordan Glass laughs out loud, apparently happy to see her husband shed his girdle of self-control.

  Kaiser gives Dennis a wry smile. “It was time to send Forrest Knox a message. And I’d had about enough of Ozan’s dime-store Nazi act.”

  I ask, “Did your SAC really request National Security Letters on Knox and Ozan?”

  “Not yet. I tacked that on to give Ozan the runs. But after tonight, we’ll get them. Too many people are dead. And I want Knox to know that I know what he is. Maybe that’ll give him pause before killing anybody else.”

  Kaiser takes a step toward Walker Dennis and slaps him on the shoulder.

  “Sheriff, I look forward to working with you on the Royal case, and I feel sure I can count on the same hospitality you’ve shown us so far. In exchange, I can promise you full Bureau support, should you have any problem with your comrade
s from the state police.”

  Sheriff Dennis gives Kaiser a respectful salute. “I appreciate it, Mr. Kaiser. And I’ll be happy to buy you a drink, first chance we get.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  Kaiser is playing this about as subtly as a used-car salesman. Sensing that Walker Dennis and I are allies beneath the surface of things, he figures that in the glow of his public spanking of Ozan, Dennis might confide our secrets to him. One look into the sheriff’s eyes tells me Kaiser’s instincts are dead-on. Walker even gives me a questioning look, as though asking for permission. He’s probably thinking how much harder we could hit the Knoxes if we had Kaiser on our side.

  Before Walker can speak, I say, “I was just telling John he ought to hit the Double Eagles as hard and fast as he can with the meth stuff, while they’re off balance. Maybe we’d get one to flip on Forrest, to save himself from dying of old age or worse in Angola.”

  Kaiser practically whirls on me, frustration in his eyes. “We already went over this, Penn. Give it up, will you? There’s no point.”

  Caitlin and Jordan freeze, their eyes darting from Kaiser to me, then back.

  “The Double Eagles are tighter than the Mafia about secrecy,” he goes on, looking at Sheriff Dennis. “They’re like Islamic fundamentalists.”

  “They can’t all be,” I say evenly. “Not at the street level.”

  “Street drones won’t know anything about Forrest. It’s all compartmentalized.”

  “Somebody on the street will know about the Double Eagles.”

  Kaiser turns back to me. “So what? No Double Eagle is going to talk, not even to save himself a jail term.”

  “Glenn Morehouse did.”

  “To make peace with God, not to send his war buddies to death row. And even if one decided to cut a deal, Knox would kill him before we could get what we need.”

  “What’s going on, guys?” Jordan asks sharply. “What’s wrong?”

  “Penn’s worried about his father,” Kaiser says wearily. “Understandably.”

  I need to cement Walker’s mistrust of Kaiser once and for all. “Okay, John. If you believe forcing a plea bargain won’t work, then go another way. Direct attack.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Use me to sting Forrest. I can do what you think I did with Brody Royal: offer to keep his name out of the papers in exchange for saving my father. And you can record everything he says.”

  “No!” Caitlin snaps, horrified that I’d even consider repeating this disastrous tactic, or offering compromise in her name. “That’s a total nonstarter.”

  Kaiser’s shaking his head. “You haven’t heard a word I said. You want to wear a wire on Forrest Knox? He won’t say one incriminating word on tape, but as soon as the heat’s off—he’ll kill you.” The anger bleeds out of Kaiser’s face, and he speaks with exhausted conviction. “This is a dangerous time to be Forrest Knox’s friend, much less his enemy.”

  “I’ll bet I can make him talk.”

  “Even if Forrest agreed to talk to you,” Kaiser goes on, “he’d never believe you could muzzle Caitlin and her newspaper.”

  “And he’d be right,” she says, looking stricken. “I can’t believe this.”

  Sheriff Dennis is watching Kaiser with sudden wariness. I only hope Walker has the intestinal fortitude to go ahead with tomorrow’s raids as planned.

  “Enough of this,” Kaiser says. “The bottom line is, thanks to that dead state trooper, Forrest can kill your father with no worries at all. And he means to. All he has to do is find him.”

  “John!” cries Jordan.

  “I’m sorry, Penn,” Kaiser says, sounding as though he means it. “But you’ve got to accept reality. The only good you can accomplish at this point is to find your father and convince him to turn himself in to me. You do anything else—anything related to Forrest Knox—and I’ll have to arrest you.”

  Sheriff Dennis’s mouth drops open.

  Kaiser nods for emphasis. “I could make an obstruction case right now, and you know it.”

  “Go ahead. You haven’t exactly handled this case by the book yourself.”

  “You’re right. My ass is on the line, too, thanks to what happened tonight. But you’d better pray that Washington doesn’t pull me out of here. Because whoever they send to replace me will see you as an absolute liability. They won’t give you the time of day, much less help your father.”

  I wave my hand dismissively and walk toward the hall that leads to the exit. “Can somebody give me a ride to City Hall? Royal’s men stole my Audi, but I’ve got a city car I can use.”

  “I’ll drop you when I take Caitlin,” Jordan Glass calls from behind me.

  “Thank you.”

  Kaiser starts to protest, but Jordan shushes him.

  After I round the corner, I pause and lean against the cold wall. Jordan Glass’s angry voice floats around the corner.

  “John, that was too much.”

  “Somebody’s got to save him from himself,” Kaiser replies. “Caitlin, are you really okay? I heard it was pretty bad in Royal’s basement.”

  “I’m fine,” she answers in a taut voice.

  “They got Henry’s files, huh?”

  She doesn’t answer at first. Then she says, “I saved the box with the burned journals in it. But there’s not much left.”

  “Penn told me Royal paid somebody to delete your backup files from the newspaper’s computers?”

  “That’s right.”

  “If you’d like, I can send you some Bureau techs who might be able to reconstruct those files. If you’re still willing to share them, of course.”

  “Seriously? They can do that?”

  “Maybe. Since 9/11, we’ve spent billions on technology aimed at restoring lost data, or partially destroyed evidence.”

  “I won’t turn down the help.”

  “Good,” Kaiser says, sounding like a kid who’s been told he can open his Christmas presents early. “I’ve got two techs here in town, and if we need more talent, I’ll get some headed this way from D.C.”

  “Okay. Look, I really need to get back to the paper now.”

  “All right, but I need to drive Penn myself. He and I aren’t finished, as much as he might wish we were.”

  At these words I nearly bolt from the building, but something keeps me in the hallway. If Kaiser wants to keep talking, he either needs to ask me something more or reveal something he hasn’t given up yet. I hope it’s the latter.

  By the time they round the corner, I’m far down the hall, waiting by the front door. Jordan has taken Caitlin by the arm; she looks like she’s escorting an accident victim through a hospital. Jordan smiles as they reach me, but the expression looks forced.

  “Hold up, Mayor,” Kaiser says from behind them. “I’m going to drive you.”

  I’m too tired to argue, even for show.

  “Hey, Penn!” Sheriff Dennis calls from around the corner. “Come back down here a sec. I forgot to get you to sign a form.”

  “Go on to the car,” I tell Caitlin.

  She gives me a fragile smile, and before Kaiser can stop me I trot back to Sheriff Dennis’s office. The rusted-spring sound of the front door opening follows me around the corner, and then I see Sheriff Dennis moving quickly up the hall, his big legs churning, a white piece of paper in one hand and a pen in the other. As he reaches me, I hear Kaiser’s footsteps behind me.

  Walker hands me a pen, then holds the paper up against the wall for me to sign. He’s standing so that his big body will be between me and Kaiser, should the FBI agent come all the way around the corner.

  “That sucks about your car,” he says in a conversational tone. “I’ll see if we can find it for you. Those assholes probably dumped it somewhere not too far from Lake Concordia.”

  “I just hope it’s not in the river,” I reply loudly. Then I whisper, “Is tomorrow’s raid still on?”

  “You bet your ass. Be here five hours
from now, ready to rock and roll.”

  “You going to tell Kaiser about it?”

  “Not on your life, kemosabe.”

  My heart swells with gratitude. “Thanks, Walker.”

  Kaiser’s footsteps round the corner.

  “Get some sleep, brother,” the sheriff says in a man-to-man voice. “You earned it tonight.” Then he calls to Kaiser: “You guys keep your eyes open out there.”

  Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I walk past Kaiser without a word. Seconds later, the FBI agent catches up to me at the front door. When I push it open, a blast of cold wind hits my face, then cuts through my collar like a blade.

  “I wonder where Ozan’s got to,” Kaiser says. “Wherever he is, he’s talking to Forrest Knox, you can bank on that.”

  “I feel like I can still smell the fire,” I say to myself, “even though it’s ten miles away.”

  “Closer than that, as the crow flies,” says Kaiser. “But you’re smelling yourself. That wind stirred it up.”

  Raising my coat sleeve to my face, I realize he’s right. “So what’s this about? I thought we’d said all we had to say.”

  Kaiser turns and gives me a piercing look that has nothing to do with officialdom. “Unfinished business. We’re about to go through the looking glass, Mayor. And on the other side, we both tell the truth, regardless of consequences.”

  He seems to want a response, but I offer nothing.

  “What do you say to that?” he asks.

  “It’s about fucking time.”

  CHAPTER 9

  “COLONEL, WE GOT trouble.”

  On the roof of state police headquarters, Forrest Knox pressed a satellite phone harder against his good ear—most of the other he’d lost in Vietnam—and spoke in a controlled voice. “Give me specifics, Alphonse.”

  “I went to the CPSO,” Ozan explained, “just like you said, and I tried to take over the case.”

  “But?”

  “That Agent Kaiser was there, the same FBI prick who was at the hospital after Sexton was shot.”