The Bone Tree (Penn Cage #5) - Greg Iles Page 0,7

the narrow lane that runs along the shore of Lake Concordia. A half mile behind it, three vehicles traveling in train quickly follow. The flashing red arcs are much closer to the road on those vehicles, which means they’re police cruisers. Our window of opportunity to shape history is closing fast.

“I found Brody Royal’s name in Henry Sexton’s journals,” Caitlin says, spinning her story on the fly. “That led me to interview his daughter. Out of fear of her father, Katy panicked and took an overdose of pills before I arrived to question her, but she still implicated Brody in multiple murders. Katy’s husband walked in on us after she passed out—that would have been documented by paramedics, if not police. Up to that point, everything’s more or less true. Royal learned from Randall Regan that I’d questioned Katy, and they retaliated to keep me from publishing what I’d learned from her.”

This fairy tale might convince the Concordia Parish sheriff, but probably not the FBI. “Too many people saw me go into St. Catherine’s Hospital,” I say. “They know I spent twenty minutes alone with Brody. Now that he’s dead, his family’s liable to make all kinds of accusations about me going after him. Kaiser will find out sooner or later.”

“Surely you can explain that conversation somehow?”

“I sure can’t admit that I tried to cut a deal with him.” Under the pressure of the approaching authorities, my mind ratchets down to the task at hand. “What if I pick up where your story leaves off? I went to St. Catherine’s Hospital to make sure Royal wasn’t going to take some kind of revenge against you for his daughter’s suicide attempt. I suspected that he’d ordered several murders during the 1960s, and Katy had verified that to you. I also believed Royal had ordered the hit attempts on Henry at the newspaper and the hospital, and I was worried he’d do the same to you. That makes sense, right?”

Caitlin nods quickly, her eyes on the whirling lights.

I step closer to her. “Are you going to tell the cops about your recording of what Katy said?”

“I might as well, since Brody burned both copies. They’re going to read about it in tomorrow’s paper anyway.”

Closing my eyes, I see Caitlin’s Treo smartphone and my borrowed tape recorder being consumed by the fearsome blast of a flamethrower. “You really don’t have another copy at the newspaper?”

Her look of desolation is my only answer.

The fire engine has reached the head of Royal’s driveway. We only have seconds now.

“What about Brody’s confessions?” Caitlin asks. “That he was behind Pooky Wilson’s death? That Frank and Snake Knox killed Pooky at the Bone Tree?”

“We tell the cops all of that. Every bit of it helps justify what we did tonight.”

Caitlin looks strangely hesitant, which I don’t understand. Even if we tell the police about those confessions, she can still publish the story before any other media outlet gets the information.

“For God’s sake,” I say, “until tonight, no one was even sure the Bone Tree was real. And Royal admitted taking part in the gang rape of Viola Turner. We’ve got to tell them that.”

Caitlin gives me a pointed look. “Brody also told us your father killed Viola. Do you want to tell the police that?”

“Of course not.”

“All right, then. That’s why I’m asking what we hold back. Is there anything else?”

I can’t read her eyes. We’ve kept so much from each other over the past few days that it’s hard to know where our stories might diverge if compared to one another.

“The rifles,” I say softly. “Those two rifles in the cabinet that he showed us just before you held the razor to his throat. Did you see them?”

“Yes, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was waiting for my chance to attack him.”

“There were identifying plaques beneath every other rifle in the gun collection. But on those two plaques there were only dates. Dates, and a small American flag emblem.”

Caitlin shrugs. “So?”

“The dates were November twenty-second, 1963, and April fourth, 1968.”

She blinks in confusion for a couple of seconds, but then her eyes go wide. “No way. I mean . . . do you really—”

“I don’t think so. But if we don’t tell Kaiser about them, whatever’s left of those guns might disappear tonight. And we’ll never know.”

Caitlin gingerly touches the burn on her cheek. “Let’s hope Sheriff Dennis is in one of those cars, and not the goddamn state police. Not that Captain Ozan.”

I reach out