The Bone Tree

by Greg Iles

  “You’d have to take me to a black site to keep me from telling what I know.”

  Kaiser groans angrily. “Goddamn it.”

  I look at my watch. “Okay, let’s say you succeed in flipping Sonny. If he agrees to a deal with you, will you send him back and ask him to see if he can find out where Snake sent Dad?”

  The FBI agent runs his fingers along the rolled towel that contains the tattoo. “Maybe. If you can come up with an approach for Sonny that will convince Snake he’s not a traitor.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it. Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “I’m going to watch you try to flip Sonny. That tattoo’s my ticket, and you know it.”

  “From the observation room,” Kaiser says. “That’s as close as you get.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  BEYOND THE ONE-WAY WINDOW of the observation room, Sonny Thornfield stares anxiously at the rolled white towel in Kaiser’s hands. It probably reminds him of the towel Walt slung over the pipe in the utility closet. If he knew what that towel contained, it would scare him more than being hung from a pipe.

  “Sonny?” Kaiser says gently. “Mayor Cage and the sheriff just searched a fishing cabin over on Old River. They didn’t find Dr. Cage there. But they did find two bottles of his medicine, and signs of a struggle.”

  Sonny blinks and swallows involuntarily. “If the doc ain’t there, I don’t know where he’s at. Snake must have moved him. Or else Forrest found him again.”

  “Once you get back to the cellblock, I’d like you to find out which.”

  Sonny looks at Kaiser like a little boy whose father has asked him to stand up to a bully in the schoolyard. “You got no idea what you’re askin’, mister.”

  “Yes, I do, Sonny. But before you go back to your comrades, we need to address a different issue. Mayor Cage also discovered a footlocker in your cabin.” The old man’s chin begins to quiver, and the blood slowly drains from his face. He looks like a patient waiting to hear a terminal diagnosis from his oncologist. Kaiser posted a deputy trained as a paramedic outside in case Sonny has another heart attack, and it’s looking like that was a good idea.

  “Apparently, your footlocker contained all sorts of memorabilia. Your marine forage cap and battle ribbons, a Ku Klux Klan hood, an old pistol, and a Playboy magazine from 1953.”

  Beads of sweat have popped out on the old man’s wrinkled forehead. “That locker ain’t mine,” he says.

  “No? It has your name on it, and your marine discharge inside it.”

  Sonny’s pale lips move, but no sound emerges.

  Kaiser lays the rolled-up towel on the table between them. “I’m going to unroll this cloth, Sonny,” he says gently.

  “Don’t,” the old man whispers.

  “I have to.”

  “How come?”

  “You know why.”

  Thornfield wipes his eyes. “I can’t help you. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”

  Kaiser sighs softly. “Yes, you can, Sonny. You can send Billy and Snake to death row. Forrest too, unless I miss my guess. And you can spend all the years you have left with your family. Safe from harm.”

  Sonny bends his head and covers his eyes with a shaking hand.

  As a prosecutor, I saw many men confronted by the evidence of their most secret sins. Some showed no emotion; others, those like Snake Knox, actually laughed at photographs of dead or mutilated victims. But a few, like Sonny Thornfield, enter something like a fugue state. The knowledge that their most depraved act on earth will be revealed to all is more than they can endure.

  He’s going to break, I realize. When he sees that tattoo, he’s going to fall apart. The only problem is, he’s the wrong target. Sonny doesn’t know where my father is. Only Snake knows that.

  Kaiser slowly unrolls the cloth.

  “Please don’t,” Sonny whispers again, begging now.

  Why did Sonny keep that tattoo? I wonder. An FBI agent asked the same thing when I showed it to Kaiser in Dennis’s office. Because that’s what men do, Kaiser answered. Didn’t you ever keep something that belonged to a girl you had sex with? A lost earring? An article of clothing? Blood rose into the agent’s cheeks when Kaiser said that, but the old profiler was already rolling the swatch of skin into the towel.

  Now the tattoo lies exposed under the harsh UV light—a thing that has probably haunted Sonny Thornfield since the day he cut it from a living man. Did Sonny really slice off that skin? I wonder. Or was it Snake? I remember reading about the Hells Angels, and how it was actually a small core of sadistic members who carried out punishments like rape and savage beatings. I’d be willing to bet the Double Eagles worked in a similar way. I can see Snake Knox laughing as he cut a man’s balls off, but it’s hard to imagine this shivering old man mutilating an innocent victim. Killing one, yes, out of some twisted sense of mission. But not torturing for pleasure—

  “Sonny?” Kaiser asks, his voice still gentle. “Can you hear me?”

  The old man’s shivering has grown more pronounced, and as I look beneath the hand shielding his eyes, I see tears dripping down his wrinkled face.

  “Nod if you can hear me,” Kaiser says in a louder voice.

  The old man’s head bobs once, like he’s ducking a blow in slow motion.

  “That tattoo came from the arm of Jimmy Revels. We know it, and you know it. DNA testing will prove it. This little souvenir is your ticket to the lethal injection chamber. But you’re in a special position today. You’re in a position to trade this ticket in for a very different one. You can trade it in for freedom.”

  “No, I can’t,” Sonny whispers. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with, mister.”

  “I know it very well. I know Forrest Knox is standing in the shadows behind you. I know he’s got a knife at your back. And behind him you see Snake, Frank, and even old Elam Knox. You’ve known some depraved men, Sonny. And you’ve done terrible things yourself. But now you have a chance those men never had, or will. A chance at redemption. At peace. I can give that to you. I can protect you, Sonny.”

  Thornfield actually laughs at this, a dry sound like rustling leaves.

  “Have you ever heard of the Witsec program?” Kaiser asks.

  Sonny doesn’t respond.

  He’s shuddering violently, and I wonder how much stress he can stand before he throws a clot and dies right in front of us.

  “No jargon,” I whisper from the observation room, urging Kaiser to speak as plainly as he can.

  “The Federal Witness Protection Program,” Kaiser clarifies. “I’m sure you’ve seen shows about it on TV. Nod if you know what I’m talking about.”

  It’s as though the man inhabiting the body across the table from Kaiser has dropped down some hole of pain and grief from which he might never emerge. I’ve seen this before, and Kaiser has, too. In normal circumstances, you send the guy back to his cell and give him time to adjust to the new reality, but thankfully Kaiser seems to understand that, on this day, we don’t have that time.

  With slow deliberation, the FBI agent leans across the table and speaks just above a whisper. “Do you want to die in prison, Sonny? Do you want to ride the needle?”

  “It don’t matter,” Sonny croaks. “I’m dead either way. All I care about now is my family.”

  “What if we could protect your family too?” Kaiser asks.

  Thornfield slowly looks up, his desolate eyes now alive with a glimmer of hope. “All of them?”

  It’s all-or-nothing time, and Kaiser knows it. “You’ve got one daughter and two grandkids. Right?”

  Sonny nods quickly, surprised by Kaiser’s knowledge. “My grandson’s got a baby on the way. A boy.”

  “Where do they live, Sonny?”

  “My daughter lives in Oklahoma. Her girl lives there, too. But my grandson’s in the service, been going back and forth to Iraq.”

  “Is he stateside now?”

  “He’s just about to ship out for another ro
tation. He’s in California.”

  “That’s everybody?”

  “Everybody I care about. Or that cares about me.”

  “Do you think they would be willing to enter witness protection? Would they change their identities in order to protect you from retaliation? Or to protect themselves?”

  Thornfield sighs wearily. “I don’t know. My daughter and me have had some hard words between us. She don’t like me much. You’d have to talk to her.”

  “She has a phone, right?”

  Sonny shakes his head. “We’re not doing this by phone. No way, no how. You gotta bring ’em here. Use a phone, and Forrest would know about it before you could say ‘boo.’”

  Kaiser looks exasperated. “We’re the FBI, Sonny. We have some very secure communications gear.”

  Sonny snorts. “Says you. No, you want a deal with me, you bring my kids here.”

  “It would be tomorrow at the soonest before we could do that. Do you really want to go back into the cellblock with your Double Eagle buddies?”

  The old Klansman laughs again. “Man, I been living with them guys my whole life. I reckon I can make one more night. But if you get my grandson and granddaughter here, and lemme talk to ’em, I believe they’ll do it. My grandson don’t want to do that last rotation. Not with that baby on the way. He’s afraid he’ll catch a packet this time.”

  Kaiser gets to his feet and stares down at the old man, his eyes like lasers. “If I do this, Sonny, it will cost the taxpayers a lot of money. Millions of dollars over the years. Before I can commit to that, you have to convince me I’m not wasting that money.”

  Sonny looks up at the FBI agent, his face as sincere as any child’s. “You protect my family, mister, and I’ll do whatever I gotta do to keep them safe. I swear.”

  Kaiser’s gaze hasn’t wavered. “I’m afraid I need you to be more specific than that. I need you to convince me, Sonny. I need you to tell me what you know.”

  The old man shakes his head. “I can’t do that till you live up to your end of the deal. You keep your promise, I’ll keep mine. Ain’t that how it works?”

  This stumps Kaiser for a bit. He stares at Thornfield for several seconds, then looks up at the window and motions for me to come in. I dart to the door before Kaiser can second-guess himself. As I enter the interrogation room, Sonny’s eyes go wide in panic, but Kaiser quickly reassures him.

  “Mayor Cage is only here to observe, Sonny.”

  “I don’t know where Dr. Cage is at!” he cries. “I told you!”

  “We know that,” Kaiser says, signaling me to keep my distance. He sits again, then says, “I tell you what. I’m going to mention some crimes, and I want you to nod if you know who’s responsible for them. Okay?”

  The old man’s cheek twitches. He looks like a retiree suspicious of a loan officer’s pitch. “I guess.”

  “First and foremost, the Double Eagle murders. I’m talking about Pooky Wilson, Albert Norris, Joe Louis Lewis, Jimmy Revels, Luther Davis—”

  “You already know who killed Albert and Pooky,” Sonny breaks in. “That was in the paper yesterday morning. Brody Royal was behind that.”

  Kaiser nods. “But the Double Eagles did the dirty work. What about Jimmy and Luther? And Joe Louis Lewis, the busboy?”

  After several seconds of hesitation, Sonny nods once.

  Kaiser turns to me, his eyes glinting with excitement, but I feel like throwing up. We’re nowhere close to saving my father, assuming Dad’s still breathing.

  “Okay,” says Kaiser. “Let’s move forward in time a bit. How much do you know about Forrest Knox?”

  The old man starts shaking his head before Kaiser can get the whole name out.

  “Come on, Sonny. I already know a lot about him. I know he started taking part in Eagle operations when he was a teenager, and I know he was party to some of the worst crimes. But I’m just as interested in his present-day drug business, and also his activities during Hurricane Katrina. Can you link him to that?”

  Thornfield looks surprised by the extent of Kaiser’s knowledge. “Would I have to testify in court?”

  “Probably so, yes.”

  Sonny closes his eyes like a man asked to confront Satan incarnate. “I ain’t saying shit about Forrest, man. Not until me and my family are safe and living under new names.”

  Kaiser grimaces, then tries another tack. “I know Forrest means to take over the state police. What about his ties to the power brokers in Baton Rouge and New Orleans? Can you identify any of the people he’s been dealing with in that regard?”

  Thornfield rakes his wrinkled hand over his chin, but then he shakes his head. “Nothing about Forrest. Not until the deal is done. Don’t waste your breath.”

  “All right, then. Let’s talk about Dallas.”

  Sonny blinks as if he doesn’t understand the word. “Dallas?”

  “Yeah. President Kennedy. Dealey Plaza.”

  Sonny shakes his head as if he’s clueless.

  Kaiser smiles as if in appreciation of good entertainment. “Come on, Sonny. I know all about Frank drawing the three K’s in the sand on the sandbar. The day he founded the Double Eagles? I know about Carlos Marcello. I know about the Rose Garden photo and the red circles. JFK, RFK, MLK? Right?”

  Sonny’s eyes have gone wide. “Where’d you hear that? Did Glenn Morehouse tell you that?”

  “He told Henry Sexton.”

  “Jesus. Glenn really lost it at the end, didn’t he?”

  “He couldn’t live with himself anymore. Can you blame him?”

  Thornfield shrugs sullenly.

  “Tell me about Dallas, Sonny. About Frank.”

  The old man looks cagey now. “How much does it mean to you?”

  Kaiser cuts his eyes at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . if I could tell you who killed Kennedy, would that be enough to get my family federal protection without going to court against Forrest?”

  “Fuck, no,” I snap. “Tell him, John!”

  Kaiser holds up his hand to silence me.

  “Ask him who killed Viola,” I bark, moving toward the table. “He knows that much, and there’s not one reason he can’t tell you right now.”

  “Stay over there, Penn,” Kaiser orders. “Or get out.”

  I force myself to stop and back up a couple of steps. I don’t want Kaiser to have me removed before Sonny says something I can use.

  “What about that, Sonny?” Kaiser asks. “Do you know who killed Nurse Turner?”

  Sonny cuts his eyes at me, then looks back at Kaiser and gives a slight nod.

  “I want a name,” Kaiser says.

  Thornfield shakes his head.

  At last Kaiser sighs in frustration. “Compared to what you say you know, that’s nothing, Sonny. If you don’t give me that name, you’re not getting any deal at all. As of now, naming Viola’s killer is the price of me calling your family.”

  Sonny stares at the table for a while. Then he looks up at Kaiser, the tight smile of a mischievous little boy on his face. “No, it ain’t,” he says softly. “Because I’ve got the first-class ticket now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The big D, boss. I can tell you about Dallas. And about Frank. I can tell you all about it. And then you can be a big hero up in Washington. They’ll probably make you the head of the goddamn FBI, after I tell you what I know. That’s my ticket out of this place.” Sonny gives Kaiser a smirk. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “You’re wrong, Sonny.”

  The smirk doesn’t falter a bit. “No, I ain’t. I may not be no rocket scientist, but I know that much.”

  THEY HAD FOUND WHAT had drawn the attention of the buzzards. Jordan had been right. Beneath the circling carrion birds, the body of a Caucasian man lay wedged among the limbs of a fallen tree. The reek of death was suffocating. Mose Tyler had stopped his boat thirty feet from the mostly submerged corpse, but even from here Caitlin could see that the dead man was missin
g his head.

  “I ain’t goin’ no further,” Mose said flatly. “Not for all the damn money in the world.”

  “Yes, you are,” Caitlin said, her heart hammering in her chest.

  “No, I ain’t.”

  “Jordan,” Caitlin said, peering over the water, “Dr. Cage couldn’t have been killed more than . . . I don’t know, fifteen or sixteen hours ago. Could his body already stink like that?”

  “I wouldn’t think so. Not with the temperature this low.”

  A new terror struck Caitlin. “But other people have gone missing over the last few days. Those three boys from Concordia Parish, remember?”

  “I didn’t pay much attention to that.”

  “They worked for Brody Royal’s oil company.” Though Caitlin couldn’t let her mind rest on the thought for more than a split second, some part of her was already certain that the dead man in the water was Tom Cage. “They might have dumped Tom where other victims were dumped earlier this week.”

  “Don’t borrow trouble. Let’s just get over there and find out.”

  “You gonna have to swim,” Mose said.

  “For God’s sake,” Jordan snapped, “he’s just a man who drowned.”

  “No, he ain’t. A blade cut dat head off. See dat dere?” He pointed at the severed neck, but Caitlin had already noticed the wound. “They used to hunt men back in here in the old times, you know.”

  “How long ago were the old times?” Caitlin asked.

  “Back in the twenties, I know. Maybe the forties and fifties, too. My daddy told me about the year of the Great Flood, how they brought colored men in to hunt that year. And in slave times, too, he told me. A man ain’t the fastest or the strongest game, but he’s the smartest. And some men got a taste for dat meat. Call it ‘long pig.’”

  “I don’t care,” Caitlin said. “You take us up to that body so I can try to identify it.”

  “No, ma’am. I ain’t got to do dat. I’m takin’ you back to your car.”

  Almost crazed with fear and exasperation, Caitlin remembered the radio Carl had given them. “Jordan, call Carl and tell him to get his ass back here.”

  Jordan wasted no time, and she seemed quite at home with the radio. But when Carl’s voice came from the speaker, Caitlin’s feeling of dread only deepened.