Natchez Burning (94 page)

“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 what 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.

“Still got some left,” she said. “Any takers?”

Walt groaned and rubbed his belly. “If I eat another bite, I’ll pop. You did a fine job, Melba.”

The nurse smiled and laid a hand on Tom’s good shoulder. “How bad’s that pain, Doc?”

“Nothing two more Lorcet wouldn’t fix.”

Melba humphed like chiding nurses around the world. “Two more Lorcet and you’re liable to quit breathing when you doze off on that couch.”

Tom winked at Walt, who smiled briefly, then wiped his hands on a paper towel, stood, and flattened his trousers. “I hate leaving you two, but until I meet Colonel Mackiever, we’re not going to have a prayer of leaving this place.”

“You’re sure it’s not a trap?” Tom asked.

“Mac and I Rangered together. That’s the best answer I can give you. Anyway, he’s the only man in this state who can cancel that APB.”

“But you think he wants some kind of quid pro quo in exchange for helping us?”

Walt nodded. “Sounded to me like Mac’s got a Knox problem. Which is exactly what we’ve got. So maybe things’ll fit together just right for all of us.”

“How long will you be gone?” Melba asked.

Walt looked at his watch. “I figure six hours. Ninety minutes each way, plus whatever it takes to deal with Mac. I can’t risk getting pulled over by a Louisiana highway patrolman. He might just put a bullet in my ear. I could be back in five hours, if nothing unexpected happens.”

“What if it does?” Tom asked.

“Put it this way: I’ll be back by dawn no matter what happens. Will you two be all right? Or should we try to get some kind of guard help over here?”

“We’ll be fine,” Tom said, hoping it was true. “The fewer people who know we’re here, the safer we’ll be.”

Walt nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“I hate for Melba to be here. There’s not only the legal risk for her, but the physical one, as well. I think you should drop her in Natchez on your way through.”

Melba put her hands on her generous hips and glared at Tom. “And what do you plan to do after you have a heart attack and pass out? You going to call the ambulance with ESP?”

“She’s got you,” Walt said. “And be glad for it. I couldn’t leave you here alone.”

In the awkward silence that followed, Walt looked uncomfortable. He wasn’t the type for small talk or long good-byes. “I’d better get moving. You two kids don’t get up to nothin’ while I’m gone, tempting as it might be.”

While Melba shook her head, Walt picked up the small bag he’d packed for the ride, then went to the door. “Back before you know it,” he said.

As he walked out of the lake house, Tom felt the way an old bomber pilot he’d known had described feeling when the P-47s reached the limit of their range and peeled away, headed back for England, leaving the bombers alone for their final push into Germany.

“I guess it’s just you and me now, Mel. Let me give you a hand with those dishes.”

“Stay where you are,” she replied. “I’m used to doing dishes. We’re gonna be just fine, Doc.”

“I know we are,” he said, smiling. “Just like always.”

When Melba turned to the sink, Tom’s smile died, leaving dread and regret in its place. Something told him they were never going to see Walt Garrity alive again.

EIGHTY-FIVE MINUTES AFTER HE
passed out, Henry Sexton began to stir in his bed. Caitlin’s heart began to race, and she rushed to finish the text she had been writing to Tom. She’d slept fitfully for much of the past hour, despite her intention to work on her master story. A steady flow of nurses and aides had cycled through the room, checking tubes, taking readings, and monitoring the catheter and drain bags. One had even gotten Henry awake enough to check his vital signs, but he’d fallen right back to sleep. Caitlin had hit the pain pump at least three times while he slept—probably not as often as Sherry would have done, but as cruel as it might seem, she hadn’t wanted to miss her chance to speak further with him alone.

She doubted Tom would even see her text message, since he’d probably switched his phone off, but she wanted to do what she could to prevent some cop from shooting him as a fugitive. Though no one else knew it, Caitlin had unique leverage over her future father-in-law, and she meant to use it. Her text read:

Tom. Whatever happened the night Viola died, you don’t have the right to sacrifice yourself, because I’m pregnant. Penn doesn’t know. I’m telling you because my child needs you in his life. It’s time for you to come home. This family can get through ANYTHING together. Caitlin Masters Cage (
your future daughter-in-law).

Henry started awake and called out for Albert Norris. Caitlin pressed
SEND,
then leaped out of her chair and took his hand, reassuring him that he wasn’t alone.