by Greg Iles
With a start Caitlin realized Penn was no longer gazing at the river, but at her. She reined in her thoughts and looked back at him.
“Have you ever found out who’s restoring this place?” she asked.
He smiled. “I have.”
“Is it some actor, like the rumors say? I’ve heard everybody from Morgan Freeman to John Grisham.”
Penn laughed. “No. Morgan Freeman’s staying up in the delta, and Grisham’s still in Charlottesville, Virginia.”
“Just so long as it’s not some out-of-towner who’ll stay for a year and then bail. Although, come to think of it, that might not be bad. We could get it for a steal.”
“We’ll never get this place for a steal. But then again, we don’t have to.”
“What do you mean?”
“We already own it.”
A strange numbness came over her as she tried to figure out whether he was joking. “Penn . . . ?”
“I’m serious,” he said, his eyes shining. “This house is your wedding present. I guess now we’ll call it your Christmas present.”
As Caitlin looked back into his face, a hundred little clues and inconsistencies from the past months suddenly fell into place. Disbelief turned to an effervescent bubble of excitement in her chest. She’d thought herself beyond clichéd romantic reactions, but the bubble pressing upward in her chest broke into a thousand tiny ones, and she felt wetness in her eyes.
“You do remember we were supposed to be getting married next week, right?” Penn asked.
“Oh, I remember.” She smiled broadly. “You’re a better liar than I thought.”
“Well, give me a damn hug or something!”
She wrapped her arms tight around him, but even as she did, the reality of all that had been lost during the past few days crashed down on her. She’d held back so much from him that she couldn’t even begin to explain her feelings. For one thing, he didn’t even know she was pregnant. Talk about being a good liar. Worse, she’d just spent an hour with his father and said nothing about it. The trickle of tears on her face became a stream, and she buried her face in his chest.
“Hey,” he said, squeezing her gently. “Are you okay?”
Caitlin nodded but said nothing. She was standing on the gallery of her dream house, yet she felt miserable.
“Caitlin?” he murmured into her ear. “What’s going on?”
She shook her head against his chest, wondering, How did I get here?
“Talk to me,” Penn said, separating them enough for him to see her eyes, which had probably become the usual raccoon mask of running mascara.
“Are we really going to live here?” she asked.
“Of course we are.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“It’s just everything that’s happened. That’s why I wanted to show it to you. To show you we’re going to get past all this. That normal life is waiting for us.”
Normal life. “Does Annie know?”
“Afraid so.” He grinned. “Mom and Dad, too. Everybody knows but you. I actually hid Mom and Annie here until I moved them this afternoon.”
Caitlin thought back to Tom asking her about her pregnancy at Quentin’s house. Even knowing that, he hadn’t breathed a word to her about Edelweiss.
“Don’t you want to see the inside?” Penn asked, obviously itching to show her all he’d done to the place. “It’ll take your breath away.”
“No!” she said quickly.
His smile faded. “Why not?”
“That’s like the groom seeing the bride before the wedding. It’s stupid, I know, but I don’t want to jinx anything.”
“Okay, okay. I guess I can wait. Annie would want to be here anyway. I just wanted you to know that it’s ours.”
Caitlin shook her head, still unable to believe that he’d done this, or that the family had managed to keep it from her. “I really can’t process it,” she said, still crying.
“But you’re okay with it, right? You’re happy?”
She nodded.
“Well, let’s get out of here before you go into terminal depression.”
He led her to the head of the right-hand staircase, where she paused. Miles of empty space opened to the west of them, seemingly endless darkness broken only by twinkling lights. She looked upriver and thought of Tom, hiding in the deep forests of Jefferson County with Melba Price.
“Are you really all right?” Penn asked. “Is there anything you need to tell me?”
For a few seconds she considered telling him everything. Penn would be furious, of course, but in the end he would be glad she’d told him the truth. Yet something kept her silent. She supposed it was her promise to Tom: the twenty-four hours of peace she’d sworn to give him. But truth be told, she wasn’t sure.
“What are you thinking about?” Penn asked.
The truth pressed against the back of her throat like a lump of food that refused to go down. “I’m just worried about Tom. I’m sorry.”
“I’m worried, too. Let’s just hope Walt is back with him.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed Penn lightly. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
“Oh, God,” she groaned, as she always did when he showed sentimentality.
He laughed so hard that he didn’t notice the cars racing up Broadway, but Caitlin could see them over his shoulder. Seconds later the sound of roaring engines made Penn whirl.
A sheriff’s cruiser screeched to a stop in front of Edelweiss. The second vehicle, a white pickup that Caitlin felt strangely certain belonged to Lincoln Turner, stopped some fifty yards back, beyond the head of Silver Street.
Sheriff Billy Byrd got out of the cruiser, looked up at the gallery, then crossed the sidewalk and marched up the right-hand staircase. He was red-faced and out of breath by the time he reached the main floor.
“What do you want?” Penn asked him.
“Your father,” Sheriff Byrd said. “Go inside and tell him to come out.”
Penn looked at Byrd like he was crazy. “What are you talking about? Who told you he was here?”
“That makes no difference. Open the door.”
Penn considered the order for a few seconds, then said, “Go back to your office, Sheriff. You’ve got no business here.”
Byrd took a step closer to the big cypress door. “I said open that house.”
Penn moved between the sheriff and the door. “Do you have a search warrant?”
Something in Penn’s posture made Caitlin’s stomach flutter.
“I don’t need a warrant,” Sheriff Byrd said. “I’ve got probable cause.”
“Not from where I’m standing.”
Caitlin’s heart began to pound. If she hadn’t known Tom was hiding in the next county with Melba Price, she would have assumed, like the sheriff, that Penn’s behavior meant Tom was inside the chalet.
“I’m the sheriff of this county, Cage,” Byrd said, hitching up his gun belt. “Being mayor don’t mean shit compared to that. Open the door, or I’ll open it myself.”
Caitlin heard a door slam at street level. Looking down, she saw Lincoln Turner climbing out of his truck, his eyes on the gallery.
She whipped her head to the left. Penn had backed against the door as though he intended to die defending it. Why is he doing this? she thought frantically. But almost as quickly, she knew the answer. Penn had felt impotent for so long in this battle over his father that a corrupt sheriff had become the focus of his frustration. He would make a reckless stand over something meaningless in order to gain some control over the situation.
“I’m going around the back!” Lincoln called from the ground. “Dr. Cage might be trying to get out that way.”
“Who’s down there?” Penn asked Caitlin.
She dreaded answering, but she knew she had to. “Lincoln Turner.”
Penn shook his head and glared at Byrd. “Is that who’s calling the shots over at your office now?”
“Get out of my wa
y,” the sheriff said, his right hand settling on his pistol. “I have reason to believe you’re aiding and abetting a fugitive wanted for killing a Louisiana State Police officer. I’m going to search these premises no matter what you say.”
“Let him search, Penn!” Caitlin cried. “Your dad’s not in there. What does it matter?”
Byrd looked back at Caitlin as though suspicious she was playing him. Then he turned to Penn again. “Listen to her, Mayor.”
“This is my property,” Penn said evenly. “I’m refusing you entry without a search warrant. Now, get off my porch.”
“Boy, you’ve lost your mind,” said Byrd, disbelief in his voice.
“I told you to get off my property, Sheriff.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Take it as you will.”
For a few seconds Sheriff Byrd seemed nonplussed by Penn’s defiance. Then he backed up two steps and lowered his gaze to Penn’s feet. “Are you armed, Mayor?”
“I’m licensed to carry a firearm.”
“Goddamn it!” Byrd cursed, jerking his pistol out of his belt. “Get on the floor! Get down, I said!”
Penn didn’t move. Caitlin had no idea what to do. Her own pistol was in her purse, back in the car. She was about to ask Penn to do as Byrd had ordered when tires screeched in front of the house. She looked down and saw Shad Johnson leap from his black BMW and run to the foot of the nearest staircase.
“Hurry!” Caitlin shouted, amazed to find herself relieved to see a man she despised.
The DA froze when he reached the top of the steps. “Why is your gun out, Billy?” he asked.
“Cage is packing!” Byrd snapped. “I told him to get on the floor.”
Shadrach Johnson held up his hands as though to calm both men, but it was Penn’s unnatural calmness that was actually driving the crisis.
“Put your gun away, Billy,” Shad said. “Right now. Put it away and go back down to your car.”
“The hell I will! You don’t give me orders.”
“I’m the district attorney of Adams County, Sheriff. And I’m telling you to go back to your car.”
“I take orders from the governor, not you.”
“Tonight you take them from me,” Shad said, with surprising steel in his voice. “Move your ass, goddamn it.”
Shaking his head as though the world had turned upside down, Billy Byrd stumped over to the stairs and, after one last look at Penn, marched back down to ground level.
Still keeping his hands up, Shad took two steps toward Penn and said, “What’s going on, Penn? Are you okay?”
Penn shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Is your father in this house?”
“No.”
Shad turned to Caitlin. “Is he?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then what the hell is this about? Why wouldn’t Penn let him in?”
“Penn bought me this house as a wedding present. It was a secret. He was showing it to me for the first time, as a surprise. Suddenly Billy Byrd showed up and started acting like Dirty Harry. That’s all I know.”
Shad studied Penn with apparent concern. Unlike Billy Byrd, he was perceptive enough to see that all was not right with the mayor.
“I tell you what,” Shad said. “I’m going to send Billy back to his office, and I’m going to go back to mine. You two take a few minutes together, and then one of you call me and let me know everything’s all right. Okay?”
Caitlin nodded quickly, thankful for the DA’s restraint.
A deep voice shouted, “What the hell’s going on up there? Make him let you in!”
Shad turned and yelled over the gallery rail at Lincoln Turner: “If you don’t get out of here right now, I’m ordering your arrest.”
Caitlin expected Turner to stand his ground, but he apparently heard the same resolve in Shad’s voice that she had. After a few seconds, Lincoln turned and walked back to his truck, then started the engine and drove away.
“Okay,” Shad said. “I’m going now. Call me and let me know everything’s okay.”
“I will,” Caitlin promised.
“Dr. Cage isn’t in there, right?”
“No,” said Penn. “I don’t know where he is.”
“That’s cool. Okay.”
With that the DA turned and retreated down the stairs.
Caitlin rushed to Penn and hugged him, then reached behind him to open the door. His body felt unnaturally stiff, and the door was locked. She rattled the knob hard, her whole body shaking.
“Take it easy,” Penn said, taking his keys from his pocket.
“Take it easy? What was that? Huh? What the fuck was that?”
Penn shrugged again. “I’d just had all of that son of a bitch I’m willing to take.”
“Oh, really? Well, that stupid redneck could have shot you. He would have! Are you really carrying your gun?”
Penn lifted his right leg and placed her hand on his ankle, where the bulge of a heavy revolver suddenly became obvious. This hard proof of what had nearly happened made her dizzy.
“Why?” she asked. “Why would you do that?”
“I told you.”
“Oh, come on. Has something happened that you haven’t told me about?”
“No.” Penn’s eyes didn’t waver.
“Did Dwight tell you something upsetting about Tom?”
Penn shook his head.
Caitlin hugged him again, but as she laid her face against his chest, she wondered if she could continue to keep Tom’s location from him. If Tom being missing had made Penn this irrational, then shouldn’t she do what she could to defuse that tension? Yet almost as soon as she had this thought, another more insidious connection closed in her brain. If she did tell Penn where Tom was, then father and son would be joined within an hour. And if that happened—against Tom’s will—there would be two men trying to persuade her to give up her coverage of the Double Eagle murders while Tom tried to cut a deal with Forrest Knox. Last night Penn had proved that he was willing to try to bargain with the devil to save his family, and his effort had nearly killed them. Now Tom wanted to go down the same road, one that almost certainly led to death. She could not let Penn join him on that journey.
“Why don’t you show me the house?” she said, not knowing what else to say. “I do want to see what you’ve done to it.”
“I thought you didn’t want to jinx it.”
“Oh, I was just being stupid. You’re right, we need to be reminded of normal.”
Penn laughed as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Then he put a big square-headed key in the lock and opened the door to what had once been her dream house. When he turned, lifted her effortlessly, and carried her over the threshold, she felt wings beating wildly in her chest. Passing through the door, she realized that the first time someone had done that in this house, Queen Victoria had been sitting on the throne.
Caitlin smelled new paint and plaster, lemon oil and varnish. Yet as Penn carried her deeper into the house, she had a sense that dreams and reality had begun to diverge at some inaccessible level where nothing could be influenced by human action. Whatever was going to happen had been determined at some point in the past—perhaps decades ago, or maybe only a few hours—but either way it was irrevocable. From this point forward, she sensed, choice was illusory. All they could do now was ride out the waves of consequence.
“What do you think?” Penn asked, his eyes filled with pride.
She blinked and tried to focus on her surroundings, but all she could think about was tomorrow’s rendezvous with Toby Rambin, the poacher who had sworn to guide her through the trackless swamp to the Bone Tree.
“I don’t want to think,” she whispered, recalling this afternoon at Penn’s house, when she’d used sex to stop him asking questions about the Bone Tree. Now she needed it to take her mind off the same thing, and to connect with the man she felt slipping away from her. “Is there a bed upstairs?”
“Of cou
rse. This is a wedding present.”
She looked up the long, narrow flight of steps that led to the third floor. “Can you carry me up those?”
Without a word he swung her in a circle and started up the stairs, his legs pumping as though they would never tire.
Caitlin shut her eyes like a little girl on a carnival ride, but inside she felt like a traitor.
CHAPTER 40
FORREST KNOX HAD not yet gone to Concordia Parish, as he’d told Snake he meant to do. After pulling back onto Highway 61, he’d decided to return to Baton Rouge and check on how things were progressing at headquarters without Colonel Mackiever, then go home to pack a bag and make sure his wife hadn’t been too rattled by the kiddie porn she’d seen on his desk. He also packed a briefcase with sensitive material he had removed from Valhalla, and to this he added certain files and digital media from his home. He would deposit the briefcase in a nearby storage unit that he rented under another name. Given that he was locked in battle with Colonel Mackiever, he could not risk a surprise search turning up material that could destroy him.
When his bags stood packed by his office chair, he began skimming the online edition of the Natchez Examiner for updates. He’d scarcely gotten through page one when his departmental cell phone rang.
The caller was the duty officer of the tech division at LSP headquarters, a man from Shreveport named Keith Caton.
“Sir, I’ve been going back over all the digital records on Dr. Tom Cage. His family, known associates, some patients—everybody we know about.”
“And?”
“On Monday, Dr. Cage made two calls to an attorney named Quentin Avery. Those were cell to cell. I’ve recently gotten the phone records of City Hall in Natchez, and I show a flurry of calls to Quentin Avery from there also, to three different numbers. One was to his cell, another was to his residence in McLean, Virginia.”
“And the third?”
“To a house in Jefferson County, Mississippi. Avery’s got a residence there also.”