The Bone Tree

by Greg Iles

  “Smart thinking.”

  “Frank didn’t miss much, boy.” Sonny looks anxiously around the interrogation room. “Is that enough? Can I go back to the brig now?”

  Kaiser shakes his head. “Not yet. You haven’t told us where he shot from. Was it the grassy knoll?”

  Kaiser is testing Sonny again. There’s no way the kill shot could have been fired from the grassy knoll. In my view, this testing is a waste of time. Thornfield is obviously telling the truth as he knows it. The real question is, Was Frank Knox telling Sonny the truth when he told him all this?

  “Sonny?” Kaiser prompts. “The grassy knoll?”

  “Hell, no. That’s Hollywood bullshit. Frank shot from the building next to the Book Depository. Catty-corner to it. The Dal-Tex Building.”

  “How do you remember the name?”

  “I’ve seen some TV shows about it. Documentaries. Hell, I watch the History Channel. It’s pretty funny, the stuff they come up with, when you know what really happened. Everybody overthinks it, you know? Frank always took the shortest path between two points. I can’t tell you how many times he said to me, ‘Simplest is best, Son.’ From back when we were kids, all the way to the Pacific . . . he lived by the same rules.”

  “How did he get into the Dal-Tex Building?”

  Sonny chuckles again. “He went in as an elevator repairman, with a toolbox.”

  Kaiser thinks this over. “And how did he get out? The Dal-Tex Building was one of the first to be shut down after the shots were fired.”

  “As a cop,” Sonny says, amazement in his voice. “Isn’t that great? What could be simpler? He carried a Dallas police uniform in with him in the toolbox, wrapped around his rifle parts. Kept the gun from rattling. He put on the cop’s uniform as soon as he got to the office he shot from. After he fired, he just walked out carrying the rifle. Everybody assumed he was part of the security detail, hunting for the shooter. Even the Secret Service. Always hide in plain sight, right?”

  “Did he carry the toolbox out?”

  “Nope. He left it in the elevator machine room. Empty.” Sonny looks at me, then back to Kaiser. “Can’t I go? This is taking too long. And the mayor wants to know about his daddy, don’t he?”

  “Yes, he does,” I say in a taut voice, my eyes on Kaiser.

  “Just a little longer,” says Kaiser, not looking at me. “Tell me about Oswald, Sonny. Was Frank meant to fire the kill shot all along, or was he a backup for Oswald?”

  “Backup. See, Ferrie thought Oswald could make the shot. Shows you how much he knew about rifles. Frank said the way that scope was attached, Oswald was lucky he hit anything. With only two mounting screws, you couldn’t even zero the damned thing.”

  Yet another perfect correlation with Stone’s theory. “Did they mean for Oswald to be captured?”

  “Found dead, more like.” A new light shines from Sonny’s eyes. “That was where the operation went wrong. Frank was supposed to kill the idiot right after the hit. Oswald was told to meet him in that stockyard parking lot behind the Book Depository, but on the day, he didn’t show up.”

  “Why not?”

  “Frank figured that when Oswald saw the president’s head explode in his scope, he knew he hadn’t made that shot. And that scared the shit out of him. That’s why he panicked and ran home to get the pistol he hadn’t even brought with him to Dealey Plaza. The one he used to shoot that cop later. Tippit.”

  “If Oswald didn’t know anything about Frank, who did he think he was going to meet in the stockyard parking lot?”

  “Ferrie, of course. That fool thought Ferrie was going to fly him to Havana! What a joke, right? But Frank told me Ferrie had actually run guns to Cuba, back before Castro allied with the Russians. And Oswald knew that. So maybe he wasn’t so dumb to believe it.”

  “All right,” I say in the most conclusive tone I can. “You’ve got what you wanted. Time to get on with the next act of this show.”

  Kaiser looks at his watch. “I think we’re okay, Penn.”

  I try to mask my growing anger. “Sonny’s not. Wanting doesn’t make it so, John. Time’s passing. Send him back to the cellblock with Snake and give Dwight his victory call. That’s the gift you wanted to give him, and he deserves it. Then start interrogating all the other Eagles. Spend just as much time with each of them as you did with Sonny. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll get away with this.”

  At this moment Kaiser regrets bringing me into this room. But at some level, he brought me in here to keep him from losing sight of his priorities.

  “Then it’s time for the big question,” Kaiser says. “Sonny, you’ve given me a lot of details today, and I appreciate it. But do you have any way of proving anything you’ve told me? Anything besides what you say Frank told you?”

  Sonny looks perplexed. “Like what? Like something physical?”

  “Exactly.”

  “You know . . . I think there was something he kept. Frank never told me about it, but Snake said something once.”

  “What are you talking about? Something besides the rifles?”

  “Yeah. A letter, maybe. Some kind of insurance.”

  “A letter written by Frank?”

  “No, no. Somebody else. Ferrie, maybe. Or even Oswald. It sure wouldn’t be Carlos. Carlos was like Frank. He never wrote nothing down. He was famous for that.”

  “How would Frank get a letter from Lee Harvey Oswald?”

  “I don’t know. But he followed the kid around for a while. A day or two, maybe. With Frank, you never know. I wouldn’t be surprised if he screwed Oswald’s Russkie wife while he was in town. That’s how Frank rolled.”

  Kaiser isn’t laughing. “You’re joking, right? Because that’s just absurd.”

  “Hey, I was just thinking out loud.” Sonny shrugs. “You had to know Frank. He was something else.”

  Kaiser finally turns to me, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you have a question for Sonny?”

  I close my eyes and ask myself if I want to give Sonny another opportunity to implicate my father. But in the end, I guess I have no choice. Standing and moving into Thornfield’s sight line, I say, “Did my father have any connection at all to this plot?”

  Sonny looks confused by my question. “Dr. Cage?”

  “Yes.”

  He looks blank. “Not that I know of. What could he have had to do with it?”

  “Some people say he had a relationship with Carlos Marcello when he lived in New Orleans as a young man. And he was the company doctor for Triton Battery, right? He knew Frank.”

  “Sure, yeah. He took care of all of us.” Sonny suddenly holds up a forefinger. “Wait. . . . I believe Doc did sign Frank’s sick card for the time he was gone.”

  My stomach flutters at his memory of this detail. “Did Frank mention that specifically?”

  “Yeah, he did.”

  Kaiser gives me a regretful glance.

  “Wasn’t no big thing, though,” Sonny says. “Frank spun Doc a story about having an affair with some floozy, said she was going to blow up his marriage unless he stayed with her awhile and calmed her down. So Doc just put what he wanted on the medical excuse.”

  The relief that flows through me is like a powerful narcotic. Forty years ago, any male, even a doctor, would have accepted a story like Frank’s without question, and many would have provided the requested cover. When I turn to Kaiser, he’s looking at me with an expression I can’t read. Does he accept this as exculpatory evidence? “That’s all for me,” I tell him. “Let’s get him back to the block.”

  “Just one more question,” says Kaiser. “How did Frank get to Dallas and back?”

  “Shit, come on,” I mutter, imagining Dad in a diabetic coma somewhere.

  “Ferrie flew him out there,” Sonny says. “Snake flew him back.”

  Kaiser nods slowly. “And how did Frank get around while he was in Dallas?”

  A faint smile widens Sonny’s mouth. “He used a car that some of Carlos’s people
left for him.”

  “What people?”

  “The Dallas mob out there, you know. I forget the name. Something that ends with a vowel.”

  “Civello, maybe?”

  Sonny shrugs. “That sounds right. An Eytie name like that.”

  “And Frank was out there the whole week?”

  “I don’t know for sure. But at least from Wednesday on he was. He reconned Dealey Plaza the first day he got there. Then he staked out Oswald. He wanted to know who the other shooter was, see? He wanted to be sure he killed the right guy.”

  “Frank was a detail guy,” Kaiser says with only light sarcasm.

  Sonny gives Kaiser a hopeful look. “Are we fuckin’ done now?”

  I rise from my chair and retrieve my cell phones from the box where Sonny asked that I put them. The first one I switch on is the StarTac that Walker Dennis took off Deputy Hunt when he caught him this morning. I can’t deny that I’m hoping for a message from Forrest, but the screen only reads out the time.

  “Hey,” Sonny says to Kaiser. “You were being straight about my grandson, right? About getting him out of that second tour? ’Cause he’s really scared about going back to Iraq.”

  Kaiser gets to his feet. “That’s one thing I can do, Sonny. I’m the government today, and we are definitely making a deal.”

  “It really messed him up when his buddy got hurt like that. I saw that kind of shit all the time in my war, of course. Back then, you just had to choke it down and go on. But these kids today didn’t come up the way we did, through the Depression. They’re not as hard. I don’t judge ’em. I’m glad, you know? But they can’t stand the same stuff we could.”

  Kaiser gives him an understanding nod. “I hear you, Sonny. And after you sign that plea agreement, I will take care of him like he’s my own. You have my word.”

  “I just hope my daughter doesn’t screw this thing up.”

  “Me, too,” Kaiser says worriedly. “I think we’re done, Sonny. Let’s get you back to your cell.”

  The old man grins. “I’m ready, believe it or not.”

  “I’m going to have a word with Mayor Cage outside. My guys will be in to take you back. If you get anything from Snake about where Dr. Cage is, act like you’re having another heart attack. I’ll get you out of there quick.”

  “Got it.”

  Kaiser follows me into the hall, where the electromechanical sounds of the open office out front filter back to us. Phones, printers, HVAC, the dispatchers’ radio—

  “Do you realize what we just heard in there?” Kaiser asks, his eyes glowing with excitement.

  “Yeah, I heard it.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think he was telling the truth. The question is, was Frank Knox telling him the truth?”

  “But the details—”

  “I know. It’s like you and Dwight scripted everything he said. I’d say you guys had it figured pretty close. I’m glad Dwight’s going to hear that before he goes under. Hopefully it’ll help him through.”

  Kaiser nods like someone who can’t quite believe he’s been so fully vindicated. “And good news about your dad. How do you feel about that?”

  “Compared to his present crisis, I don’t much care what he did forty years ago.”

  “I understand. Well, with luck, Sonny can get Snake to tell him where Dr. Cage is.”

  “Maybe. But how long will it take him?”

  Kaiser shrugs. “With Snake, Sonny gives us a better chance than using a car battery and jumper cables. Where will you go in the meantime?”

  “No idea,” I answer truthfully. “I can hardly think right now.”

  “Go see your little girl, Penn. I swear I’ll call you the second I have any news. You did good work today, buddy. It was the tattoo that broke him.”

  Kaiser grips my shoulder, then steps back into the interrogation room and closes the door. As I make my way through the open area of the office, I recognize few of the remaining deputies, but Spanky Ford gives me a thumbs-up as I pass and walk through the main doors, out into the winter sun.

  CHAPTER 64

  “IF I HADN’T had tickets on that flight to Cuba,” said Jordan Glass, “I think that redneck sheriff would have kept us in his office all afternoon.”

  “Cuba wasn’t what did it,” Caitlin countered. “If you weren’t married to an FBI agent, good old Billy Ray Ellis would have jailed us as commie sympathizers.”

  Jordan laughed and led them out to her car, which Carl Sims had kindly sent a deputy to retrieve.

  Caitlin looked back at the sheriff’s office, thinking of the hour of her life she had wasted inside it. Billy Ray Ellis had a lot in common with Billy Byrd, and during his rather hostile interrogation, she’d gotten the feeling that he had spoken to his Adams County colleague. The only kindness he had shown was to give Caitlin a prison jumpsuit to wear while a matron dried her wet clothes.

  “Look at that building,” Jordan said. “It looks like four glorified mobile homes nailed together, but he’s got a concrete helipad with klieg lights, a windsock, and the biggest Mississippi flag I’ve ever seen.”

  Caitlin looked up at the Stars and Bars in the corner of the state flag, which hung just below an equal-size version of the Stars and Stripes.

  “The only good thing I got out of there was the peppermints,” she said. “I’m still starving.”

  Jordan laughed and pulled a handful of cellophane-wrapped peppermints out of her pocket. “Me too. I emptied that secretary’s jar.”

  “We need to get some lunch.”

  Jordan shook her head and moved on toward the car. “I don’t have time. If I don’t leave in the next twenty minutes, I’ll miss my flight.”

  Caitlin felt an anticipatory sense of loss at the realization that she would soon be without Jordan. She had already called Terry Foreman, a girl from the Examiner’s marketing department, to pick her up at a local service station, but Terry was no substitute for Jordan Glass.

  When they reached the car, Caitlin stood rather awkwardly by the door and stared at her friend across the roof. “I can’t tell you how much today meant to me.”

  Jordan waved her hand dismissively. “I’m glad I came. But the day’s not over yet. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

  Caitlin was confused. “Surprise?”

  Jordan gave her a mischievous, almost elfin look. “You’re about to owe me sooo big. Before you jumped in the drink, I shot two pictures of Toby Rambin’s map.”

  “What?”

  Jordan’s eyes twinkled with pleasure. “While you were studying it earlier, I shot a couple of pics and made sure we had a copy. I didn’t tell you in the boat because I didn’t want Mose to hear.”

  Caitlin still couldn’t work it out. “But Sheriff Ellis had us searched when we got to his office.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “He confiscated your memory cards.”

  “He confiscated a memory card.”

  Excited laughter burst from Caitlin’s throat. “Where was the real one?”

  “They were both real. But while we waited to see the sheriff, I figured he might try something like that. It’s what all third-world policemen do. So I put the card with the most pictures on it where they wouldn’t find it and left the other one in the camera for him to steal.”

  “You are crazy.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. When I went to the bathroom, I stepped into an empty office, plugged the card into a computer, and printed you a copy of the map.”

  Caitlin gasped in disbelief. “Oh, my God.”

  Jordan pulled a folded sheet out of her back pocket and passed it to Caitlin. “I’m pretty sure you can see everything.”

  Caitlin unfolded the page and saw a high-resolution copy of Toby Rambin’s map, her own thumbs showing above it on either side.

  “You’re a superhero,” she said. “Seriously.”

  “Well, don’t show it to every deputy in the parking lot.” Jordan unslung her camera bag and tossed
it into her car. “Come on. Let’s get you to your new wingman.”

  “Wait a second. Where did you hide that memory card?”

  “Trade secret.” Jordan winked. “Let’s go.”

  SONNY THORNFIELD TURNED HIS head slightly to the left as a big deputy named Isbell led him into the cellblock and toward his cell. When Snake caught Sonny’s eye through the bars, Sonny winked, then put his eyes front again.

  “Open number seven!” Isbell barked.

  Someone outside the block pressed a button, and the door to Sonny’s cell opened. He went in and sat on his cot without looking back at the deputy.

  “Close seven.”

  A deep buzzer sounded repeatedly, then the heavy motorized door slid down its track and clanged shut.

  “Hey, Sonny, when the fuck we gettin’ outta here?” asked Skillet McCune, a flat-faced welder who had once been a Double Eagle squad leader. “They can’t keep us here like this without a phone call.”

  “FBI says we can,” Deputy Isbell cut in. “Patriot Act. They can leave you in this hole till Judgment Day if they want. They can pull out your fucking fingernails, too. They can waterboard your ass, and the Supreme Court can’t say shit about it.”

  As the deputy passed Snake’s cell, Snake said, “What’s that chubby wife of yours get up to while you’re standing guard over drunks and crackheads, boy?”

  The deputy’s baton was off his belt in less than a second. He cracked the wood against the bars of Snake’s cell, only missing his fingers because Snake jerked them clear in time. Snake got a good laugh from that. Isbell whacked the bars twice more, but Snake only laughed louder. The red-faced deputy cursed and stomped out of the cellblock.

  Sonny lay on his cot with his hands behind his head. He felt like a man balanced on a tightrope, with hell on one side and purgatory on the other. As a Baptist, he didn’t believe in purgatory, but he felt like that intermediate state of punishment was about the best he could hope for, given his past sins, with the hope of getting into heaven someday if he could atone in the time he had left.