Natchez Burning (Penn Cage)

by Greg Iles

  “Yes, but that’s a big problem, as far as using this recording as trial evidence. It calls everything else she said into question. God, I wish she’d spoken Viola’s name.”

  Caitlin turns and stares out at the darkened courthouse. “Are you saying I shouldn’t use it?”

  “No. But what are you thinking of doing with it?”

  “If this were any other case . . . I’d go straight over to St. Catherine’s Hospital and interview Brody Royal right now—if he’s even there. That’s what Henry would do, if he could.”

  I strive to keep my voice level. “But this isn’t any other case. And given Royal’s past, and what you just did to his daughter—and her husband—that could be suicidal.”

  Caitlin whirls on me. “I’m sorry the woman tried to kill herself, okay? But she’s been mentally unstable for years. And I see no reason not to use this recording as the linchpin of tomorrow’s stories.”

  I draw back in surprise. “You want to publish the contents of this recording? Tomorrow?”

  “Maybe,” she says defiantly.

  As I try to think of a way to prevent this, a revolutionary idea comes to me. “You know something? From an evidentiary point of view, that recording has serious problems. But as an existential reality . . . it’s one hell of a weapon.”

  She looks suspicious. “What exactly do you mean?”

  “I know you’re focused on tomorrow’s story. But tomorrow is a world away right now. At this moment, Dad and Walt are being hunted as cop killers. Their lives are measured in hours, maybe minutes. The only way to save them is to get that APB revoked. And the only way I can see to do that is to go to the very men who want Dad dead and blamed for Viola’s murder.”

  Caitlin’s eyes narrow still further. “Brody? And . . .?”

  “Forrest Knox. Knox issued the APB. They’re the only ones with the stroke to change the public narrative and stop that manhunt.”

  “Bullshit! I can change the public narrative. With this recording, and with Henry’s files.”

  “Not fast enough to save Dad.”

  When Caitlin covers her eyes with her hands, I know it’s all she can do not to hit me in the face.

  “There’s more,” I go on. “Earlier today, I got into a fight with Randall Regan myself. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. But it was brutal. Now you’ve driven Brody’s daughter to suicide, and fired a gun at Regan in his own house. Do you really think they’re going to sit around and wait for you to destroy them in tomorrow’s Examiner? We really shouldn’t even be sitting out here on the street.”

  As though realizing the danger for the first time, she scans the dark street around us.

  “To save Dad, we’ve got to go straight at them,” I tell her, squeezing her arm. “Right now. They won’t expect that, and it’ll give us the initiative.”

  “But why would they agree to help Tom?”

  “Because I’m going to show them a greater threat than Dad. Between what you’ve got on that phone, what I know from Henry, and some exaggerations about witnesses, I can make them see that killing Dad isn’t worth what it will cost them in the end.”

  “What witnesses are you talking about?”

  “Huggy Bear. Walker Dennis got a call today from a guy who claims he saw Brody and Regan burn the Beacon last night. He didn’t give his real name, but I think it’s the same guy who saw Brody burn Norris’s store forty years ago—only he’s a man now.”

  Caitlin’s eyes flash with interest, but then she settles back into her seat, her jaw muscles flexing. “I don’t like this. It sounds more like bribery than intimidation. Those bastards aren’t going to give you anything without getting something in return. You know that.”

  “Who cares! The point is getting Dad safely into federal custody. After that, you can throw Brody to the wolves. You just might have to wait a day to do it. That’s all. For them to call off the dogs, and for me to get Dad safely in.”

  Her cheeks go red. “Now you want me to hold off publishing for a day? This afternoon you were demanding that I publish everything immediately!”

  “Don’t postpone the story. Just leave Brody and the tape out of it for a day. Those old murders have waited nearly forty years to be solved. They can wait another twenty-four hours.”

  There’s a war going on inside Caitlin, her code of honor and blazing ambition on one side, love for my father on the other.

  “Penn . . . Brody Royal is like a cobra in tall grass. Regan, too. You’re saying you want to walk into the grass with them and make some kind of deal—then go back on it and nail them. I say the only way to get them is to slash and burn their cover, expose them for everyone to see. That’s the only way to stop monsters like that. If you try your way . . . I’m afraid you’ll wind up like Henry, or worse.”

  Reaching into my coat, I take out the straight razor I carried up to the selectmen’s meeting and open my palm. “I went to see Pithy Nolan yesterday. She gave me a little present. Be careful with it.”

  Caitlin takes the gleaming object from my hand, runs a fingernail down the groove between the handle and blade.

  “Brody Royal gave Pithy that just after World War Two. For her protection, he said. He was hoping to marry her, but she saw him for the gangster he was.”

  Caitlin sucks in her breath as she flips the ugly blade from its silver handle. “Jesus.”

  “Pithy gave that to me as a reminder of who I was dealing with, if I chose to go up against Brody.”

  Caitlin squints at the handle in the dim light. “What does this inscription say?”

  “ ‘A Lady’s Best Friend.’ Can you imagine? Brody gave that to a Natchez belle.”

  Caitlin clucks her tongue softly. “After reading Henry’s journals . . . I believe it.”

  Taking back the razor, I carefully fold it closed. “I haven’t forgotten what Brody did to those black boys, or those women who tried to go to the feds about the insurance fraud. I don’t have any illusions, and I won’t confront him or Regan alone.”

  Caitlin sighs and lets her head fall on my chest. “Who would you take with you? John Kaiser?”

  Wanting to embrace her, I slip the razor into my back pocket. “Kaiser wouldn’t let me try something like this. His goal is to put the Double Eagles in prison, and maybe Forrest Knox. He’s going to go by the book, more or less. He has no choice.”

  “Who, then?”

  “I think Kirk Boisseau will go with me.”

  She blows out a rush of air. “Where would you confront them?”

  “The hospital, if that’s where Brody is. If he’s not with his daughter, then some other public place.”

  Her right forefinger rises to her philtrum, then runs down the sculpted curve. “Does Kirk understand the risks?”

  “I’ll make sure he does.”

  Her eyes find mine again. “What if you play Brody Royal that tape, and he decides to unplug his daughter’s ventilator because of it?”

  I’ve never considered this. “I don’t think he will. Royal thinks he’s invincible. All his life experience up to now has confirmed that belief. He’ll think he can deal his way out of this, and I’ll confirm that instinct.”

  She grunts skeptically. “I think when he’s threatened, he lashes out.”

  I take her hand and squeeze it hard. “You may be right. But I know one thing for sure: if we do this by the book, Dad’s never coming home again.”

  Her eyes focus somewhere above me. She looks like she’s performing a complicated equation in her head. After a long silence, she says, “We can make a copy of the recording at the paper.”

  A flood of relief goes through me. “Thank you.”

  “Are you going back up to the selectmen’s meeting?”

  “Only to adjourn it. I’ll be back down in two minutes.”

  She leans over the console and hugs me, then draws back, her eyes wet. “Do you want me to wait, or should I go on over?”

  “Do you still have your gun?”

&n
bsp; She reaches down to the floor and pulls up the black .38 Special my father gave her seven years ago. “Only fired once in anger.”

  “Take off the second I step out of the car.”

  She nods. “I’ll have the copy made by the time you get there.”

  CHAPTER 77

  WALKING DOWN THE hall toward Henry Sexton’s hospital room, Caitlin saw the deputy guarding the door watching her approach. He was sitting in the same high school desk, his cell phone glowing on the desktop like he’d been playing a game on it. His eyes followed her as surely as any high school boy’s would have, and his mouth hung just as slack. She smiled as she signed her name in his notebook, but her mind was otherwise engaged. She’d gotten her press operator to drive her to Ferriday in his car, hoping to evade anyone watching the Examiner building. Penn would scream to high heaven if he knew she’d left the building, but she meant to get all she could from Henry before tomorrow.

  She’d hoped to find him alone, but her luck wasn’t running that way. Sherry Harden was still here, guarding her man with bleary eyes. Henry’s hospital room looked messier than it had during the morning, though with a lot more flowers. Henry’s eyes were half open but dull, and his bruises darker than before. When he saw Caitlin, he moved his hand on the coverlet and gave a guttural moan that resembled speech, but Caitlin couldn’t distinguish the words. As she moved closer to listen, Sherry raised herself higher in her chair like someone startled out of a nap.

  “His pain is worse,” she said, recognizing Caitlin. “They’ve got him on Dilaudid. But the swelling in his mouth has gone down some. He can talk a lot better, when he’s not too drugged up.”

  Henry tried to speak again, and this time Caitlin translated the sounds as “Learn anything new today?”

  She wasn’t about to show Henry what she’d come to ask about with Sherry in the room, so she stalled as best she could. “Not much. Background, mostly. Catching up on your magnum opus.”

  “Are you printing a story tomorrow?”

  “Probably. Penn thinks that printing the story will reduce the danger to all of us.”

  Henry inclined his head a quarter of an inch. “He’s right.”

  “I suppose. But he wants me to hold back some of my best information.” Caitlin tried desperately to think of a way to get Henry’s girlfriend out of the room. Almost anything she might say about confidentiality was bound to offend Sherry. “Anyway, that’s why I’m here. I was hoping to verify some things before publication. Do you feel well enough?”

  “Feel like . . . what the cat drug up and the dog wouldn’t eat.”

  “You’re speaking more clearly, though.”

  Henry grunted. “How do I look? Sherry won’t show me a mirror.”

  Caitlin glanced back at Sherry, whose face tensed. Caitlin considered lying, then gently laid her hand on Henry’s arm and said, “You look like crap, dude.”

  Henry closed his eyes, but a faint smile touched his swollen lips. “Honest woman.”

  “He was about to take a nap when you came in,” Sherry said. “Dr. Elliott isn’t as worried about the head injury now, so he upped the limit on the pain pump. He’ll probably feel better tomorrow, if you want to come back.”

  Caitlin wasn’t about to leave without speaking to Henry alone. “I’d like to stay, if you don’t mind. I can wait until he wakes up if I have to. I can work on my stories in the waiting room. I really need to be sure of my facts. I won’t bother him until he’s ready, I promise.” Caitlin could see she was making no headway with Sherry, so she threw out some bait for Henry. “I could even read him some of my story, if he wants to hear it. I’d love to get your input, Henry.”

  Before Sherry could argue, Henry said, “Yeah . . . sit with me awhile. I want to hear.”

  “Have it your way,” Sherry said. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds, and when she opened them, Caitlin saw not anger, but something else. Cabin fever, she realized.

  “Actually,” Sherry said, “if you can sit with him awhile, I could run home and pick up some things. I haven’t had a shower or seen my son since yesterday. He’s sixteen, but he still needs me.”

  Trying to conceal her elation, Caitlin gave what she hoped was an accommodating smile. “Of course he does. I’m happy to stay. Take a couple of hours if you need it.”

  Sherry took the pain pump controller from Henry’s hand and pressed its button once. “Hit that every twelve minutes if he falls asleep,” she said. “He can’t OD from it. The maximum dose is preset. But you don’t want to get behind the pain curve.”

  “Every twelve minutes,” Caitlin promised.

  Sherry hiked her purse strap over her shoulder, then walked to the window ledge and picked up a vase of bloodred roses. As she passed Caitlin, she took the plastic card holder from among the flowers and held it up for her to see. The card read: To the World Champion Nigger-Lover. Die soon, okay?

  “I didn’t show him this one,” she whispered.

  “We need to give that card to the FBI. Do you mind?”

  Sherry shrugged.

  Caitlin took the plastic rod with its three-pronged pitchfork end and stood it upright inside her purse.

  “What are you girls talking about?” Henry asked in a jealous tone.

  “None of your beeswax,” Sherry said. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t you hit on this pretty girl while I’m gone.”

  Something like a laugh came from Henry’s puffy lips.

  Then Sherry was gone.

  Caitlin opened her computer case, took out two photographs, then moved quickly to the right side of the bed and leaned over Henry. She figured she only had a couple of minutes before the Dilaudid knocked him out. “I needed to see you alone. Don’t speak any more than you need to. Just lift your hand to show you understand or if you mean yes. For no, move your hand sideways. Okay?”

  Henry lifted his bandaged hand slightly.

  “Good. I’ve been through almost everything from your safe-deposit boxes.”

  Worry flickered in Henry’s eyes.

  “Sherry doesn’t know about Swan Norris, does she?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll make sure she never does, if that’s how you want it.”

  He nodded.

  “But I did something big today, Henry. I want you to be the first to know. I have proof that Brody Royal killed Albert Norris. Pooky, too.”

  The reporter’s eyes went so wide that it frightened her.

  She touched his wrist. “Take it easy. I went back and saw Katy Royal, and she opened up about her father. She told me she’d been sexually abused in that sanatorium in Texas. Then she implicated her father in Albert’s and Pooky’s murders. Dr. Robb’s, too. She even said that Brody killed her mother. Drowned her in the bathtub. And that’s how she died, all right. I checked. But the main thing is, I recorded almost every word of it.”

  A high color had come into Henry’s cheeks. “My God . . . after all this time. On tape, you said?”

  “Well, on my phone. And that’s not all. Katy also blamed her father for the attack on you, and for Viola’s death.”

  Henry looked more confused than incredulous, and Caitlin realized from the rapid ping of his monitors that his heart rate had increased. “Henry, please try to calm down. You’re in a vulnerable state, and we don’t want the nurses coming in here, do we?”

  “I’m all right,” he croaked. “Just . . . I’ve waited so long for this. To get that . . . monster. And you did it in one day.”

  “Well. My news isn’t all good, I’m afraid.”

  “Whassa matter?”

  Caitlin almost couldn’t bring herself to say the words. But having come this far, she had to tell the rest. “Katy took some pills, Henry. A lot of pills. She attempted suicide. She’s over in St. Catherine’s Hospital—alive, but in a coma.”

  He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “I knew she was . . . fragile. But I can’t blame you. I tried to go back to her myself.”

  “I know. I was just trying to do wh
at I thought you’d do.”

  Henry’s eyes remained closed. The corner of his left eye expressed what looked like a tear, but she couldn’t be sure. “Henry?”

  “Nnhh?” he groaned sleepily.

  The Dilaudid was kicking in. “I brought some things to show you. I found some old photos in one of your notebooks.” She didn’t want to mention the fire, in case no one had told him about it. “Would you look at them for just one second?”

  The reporter opened his eyes with difficulty. Caitlin held the first snapshot up and tilted it so the overhead light shone on the paper.

  “This is Tom Cage with Brody Royal,” she said. “In a fishing boat. Can you see it?”

  “Don’t need to.”

  “Why was Tom with Royal?”

  “Don’t know. That picture always worried me. . . .” Henry blinked and opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

  “Henry?” She fought the urge to shake him. “Can you hear me?”

  “Doc . . . never let me . . . interview him. I . . . gave Penn copy.”

  Caitlin’s mouth fell open as Henry groaned. One more thing Penn had withheld from her.

  “Doc told Penn . . . wasn’t nothing. One-time . . . thing.” Henry jerked as though at a sharp pain. Her stomach clenched in sympathetic reaction.

  “There’s some writing on the back of the picture,” she said in his ear. “It says ‘BT,’ and then ‘T. Rambin.’ Henry,” she said sharply, feeling him slipping away. “Henry! Can you hear me?”

  “Unnhh,” he moaned. “Bad now . . . push the pump.”

  Caitlin sighed and pressed the pain pump three times in quick succession.

  Henry murmured something, but she couldn’t make out the words Then his eyes slowly closed, and he began to snore. The Dilaudid had overcome both pain and consciousness.

  Caitlin prayed he would awaken before Sherry returned.

  TOM AND WALT LOOKED at each other over empty Chinet plates that smelled of fried fish and ketchup. Melba walked over to them with the flat paper bag she’d used to blot the grease from the bream fillets and french fries.