Natchez Burning (93 page)

Caitlin’s mouth forms an O of disbelief. “What other ‘colored nurse’ could she be talking about?”

“But my scenario explained Dad’s behavior. His willingness to take the fall.”

“Because he believes Lincoln is his son?”

“Right.”

She gives an exasperated sigh. “Maybe Tom does believe that. Maybe Lincoln believes it, too. That explains his willingness to take a DNA test. But
I
don’t. No way is Tom the father of that man.”

“Why not?”

“Logic, for one thing. You told me Lincoln is blacker than Viola was, right? Tom’s ancestors were Scots-English. He’s as light as I am, and that’s saying something.”

“Lincoln says that’s possible. He’s checked the genetics of it.”

“He’s a disbarred lawyer with zero objectivity! I’d prefer the opinion of an actual geneticist on that.” Her voice gains certainty as she goes on. “Lincoln claims your father has known about him for years, right? Again—no way. Tom wouldn’t have kept that secret for forty years. He would have owned up to it.”

“I’m not sure. Dad has his secrets. He’s never told me what happened to him in Korea.”

“A lot of veterans are like that. If you’d been drafted to go fight somewhere, he’d have told you about Korea. Did Lincoln say or imply that your mother knows anything about him?”

“No.”

She gives me a pointed look. “Do you plan on asking Peggy about Lincoln?”

“Hell, no! Not if I can avoid it.”

“Let me give you the female perspective. Viola was terminally ill. She’d had a hard life, and Lincoln’s probably wasn’t much better. At some point, somebody probably told him he was someone else’s kid. Maybe the stepfather. Lincoln would have confronted Viola, asked who his real father was. What’s she going to say? Your father was a Klan rapist from Mississippi? The math is the same as a pregnancy by your father, you know. And a black woman impregnated by a Klansman has a lot better reason to keep a boy’s paternity secret than one pregnant by a white physician she loved.” Caitlin shakes her head with conviction. “No, she lied. She blamed a one-night stand, a long-gone boyfriend from Chicago, something. Because if she’d told Lincoln his father was a rich white doctor, Tom would have heard from the boy long before now. But he
didn’t
.”

Before I can interject anything, she says, “But
later
—after she got cancer—she was overwhelmed by guilt. She’s facing an early death and failure as a mother. Her son’s a disbarred lawyer, no prospects. She wants to leave him some security, give him the best life she can.”

“So she tells him Dad is his father?”

“Yep. But it’s not what she told Lincoln that’s important. It’s what she told
Tom
that matters
.
”

The heat of recognition flushes my skin.

“You know your father. Atticus Finch with a stethoscope. If Viola told him they’d had a son that she’d kept secret for forty years to protect your family—what would he do?”

“Whatever Viola asked him to.”

“Exactly! Tom probably called an attorney the next day to start setting up a trust fund for Lincoln.”

I have the feeling Caitlin’s scenario may be close to the truth. “None of that weakens my theory about Lincoln killing his mother. Both he and Dad would be acting in the belief that they were father and son.”

“I don’t pretend to know exactly how Viola died,” she says. Then she holds up her Treo. “But my money’s on the Double Eagles, under orders from Brody Royal.”

Caitlin seizes my wrist and looks hard into my eyes. “Penn, you’ve got to forget all this Gothic crap. We’ve got a recording of Brody’s daughter saying he committed murder, and Viola’s included in that. The only question is, what are we going to do with it?”

I do my best to suppress my personal issues and analyze the evidence. “The recording is problematic. If Katy doesn’t come out of that coma, she can’t be cross-examined, and she’s clearly got mental issues, as evidenced on the tape. Plus she’s under the influence of a potentially suicidal dose of narcotics. The recording would be a lot more effective with her alive on the stand to verify and elaborate on it.

“
If
she would verify it. She’s clearly been terrified of her father for years. Her husband, too. If she doesn’t wake up from the coma, could this stand as a dying utterance?”

Caitlin’s ambition is like a third person in the car.

“I doubt it. But if you could get it admitted, the circumstances might lend weight to her statements. Except …”

“What?”

“She said her father killed Henry. Didn’t she?”

“Yeah. ‘Mr. Henry,’ she said. Like a little girl.”

“Henry Sexton’s not dead.”

Caitlin shrugs as though this is inconsequential. “I’m sure she meant that Brody
ordered
the hit on Henry. They did try to kill him, right?”

“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?”

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.”

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.