The Bone Tree (65 page)

Terry shook her head like a frightened little girl. “I still don’t like it. You should call the FBI and tell them about this guy. He can take
them
to that Bone Tree.”

“I’m not about to give them this guy. And you’re not either. You hear me? I need two hours to myself. That’s all.”

Terry’s eyes darted back and forth like she was looking for an escape route.

“Promise me, Terry.”

“Do you have pepper spray or something?”

“I’ve got more than that.” Caitlin opened her purse and showed Terry the butt of her 9 mm pistol.

“Oh, my God.”

“Do we have a deal?”

Terry closed her eyes and struggled with her fear. “Okay,” she said finally. “But if you’re not back here in two hours, I’m calling Mayor Cage and the cops and anybody else I can think of.”

Caitlin squeezed her arm. “Good girl.”

She waved at Harold, who walked back to the booth with some chicken fingers wrapped in wax paper.

“We all set?” he asked, sliding into his seat.

“Yep, I’ll be your only passenger. Terry’s staying here to man the phone for me. And if we’re not back in two hours, she’s calling the cavalry.”

Harold looked discomfited by this news, but then he shrugged and said, “You’re paying the fare, you make the rules.”

“Can we make it there and back in two hours?”

“Probably so. Long as we don’t run into company.”

“Is that your boat in the back of your pickup?”

“Yeah. And we’d better get moving, before this rain lets up.”

“I’m ready.”

“One more thing,” he said, his face hardening.

Caitlin raised her eyebrows.

“You got a gun?”

She nodded.

“What kind?”

“Nine mil. In my purse.”

“Okay. I feel better already.”

“Do
you
have a gun?”

Harold looked embarrassed. “All I got’s a .22 rifle, for shootin’ snakes and such. I had to pawn my pistol. But we’ll be all right with your nine.”

“Okay, then. I’ll come out to your truck a minute after you leave.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Harold Wallis walked back to the counter, bought a pack of cigarettes, then sauntered out into the rain as if he had nothing to do for the rest of the day. A man in the far booth watched him for a few seconds, then went back to his coffee.

Caitlin folded the map and slipped it into the side pocket of her purse. Then she looked at Terry and gave her a confident smile. “Don’t worry, okay? Just drive around for a while, walk through a couple of stores. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Terry Foreman looked like she was about to cry. “You’d better be.”

“Two hours from now, you and I are going to be headed into the history books.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“Well, I do. And I sign the checks.”

“Great.” Terry got up so that Caitlin could get out of the booth.

Caitlin shouldered her purse and walked to the door without looking back.

She could hardly contain herself as she trudged through the rain toward the beat-up truck with the knifelike brown pirogue jutting from its open bed. Harold Wallis was already inside, and blue-gray exhaust puffed steadily from the tailpipe. With a silent prayer of thanks, Caitlin climbed into the truck.

DRIVEN BY PANIC
, I crossed the Mississippi River and reached the police barricade at the intersection of Auburn and Duncan Avenues in record time, topping a hundred miles an hour on short stretches, weaving in and out of traffic like a PCP-crazed fugitive on
COPS
. Thanks to a radio call by Chief Logan of the Natchez police, no police cars tried to stop me. I don’t think half the drivers I passed even saw me until I’d blown past them.

My well-known face was enough to get me past the Natchez cops at the Duncan Avenue barricade, but it takes Kaiser to get me past the FBI agents and up to the Abrams house. A bright red fire engine is parked in the driveway, its crew spraying water on the face of the house, which still seems to be standing. As we move closer, I spy Annie and my mother sitting on the Abramses’ front porch, watching the firemen work. Kirk Boisseau leans against one of the porch columns, his pants scorched, his face lined with pain. James Ervin is sitting against the column at his feet, his face covered with soot.

“Daddy!” Annie cries, leaping off the porch and running to me.

I lift her into my arms and squeeze tight. Beyond her, I see tears running down my mother’s face.

“Kirk feels really bad,” Annie says in my ear. “But he was awesome.”

She pulls back and begins chattering with eyes so bright and alive that I can only stare. “The house isn’t messed up too bad. The fire department was so close, and the sprinkler system worked just like it’s supposed to. The back looks bad, all black, but the fire chief already said the damage is mostly superficial.”

“Sam Abrams is going to have a heart attack,” I murmur, looking past her at Mom again.

“Tell Dad how Kirk saved you, Gram!” Annie cries. “Come here, Kirk.”

Hugging my mother, I wave at my old friend. After patting Ervin on the shoulder, Kirk limps toward us.

“He got burned bad on his leg,” Annie goes on. “But he pushed Gram back through the door when Spider-Man threw the bomb.”

“Spider-Man?” I ask in confusion.

“The guy who threw the bomb was wearing a Spider-Man mask. Kirk said it was a Molotov cocktail.”

I lower her to the street and reach out to take Kirk’s hand.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I should’ve reacted quicker.”

“Don’t be stupid, man. You did great. I’m just glad you’re alive. You obviously went far beyond the call of duty.”

“He did,” Mom says. “He was wonderful.”

“I’ll second that,” John Kaiser says from behind me.

As I turn back to Kaiser, my cell phone rings. I take it from my pocket and check the LCD, then stop. The screen reads
JORDAN GLASS
.

“Dad, listen,” Annie says, pulling on my arm.

“Hang on, babe.” Jordan must have tried to reach Kaiser and failed, then decided to try me. But if my memory serves, she ought to be winging her way to Cuba now, or at least headed to the airport. I press
SEND
and say, “Hello? Jordan?”

“Penn, yeah, it’s me.”

“What’s going on? Are you trying to reach John?”

Kaiser moves around in front of me, his eyebrows raised.

“No, I wanted you. I’m worried about Caitlin.”

Thirty yards to my right, a window shatters and falls to the ground. I whirl and see a fireman aiming his hose into the new opening in the house.

Kaiser is still looking hard at me, but I signal for him to be patient.

“After we finished with the Lusahatcha sheriff’s people, we split up at an Athens Point gas station. A girl from the
Examiner
had driven down, and she was supposed to drive Caitlin back to Natchez. Her name was Terry. But as I drove toward Baton Rouge, something told me I ought to be sure they’d done that. So I started calling Caitlin.”

“She didn’t answer?”

“No. She could have been busy, of course, but I had a funny feeling. I kept calling, and her phone started kicking me straight to voice mail. I tried five more times before I called you. Have you heard from her?”

“No. I’ve assumed she was on her way back.”

“What’s the cell reception like between Athens Point and Natchez?”

“Good, most of the way. Couple of dead spots.”

“Maybe that’s it. Or maybe she switched off that phone for some reason. But when I started thinking about her being out of range, I thought of that swamp. We had no reception at all at ground level—only in the chopper. And . . . well, I know how badly she wants to find the Bone Tree. I made her swear that she wouldn’t go back until Carl or Danny could help her, but I don’t know. . . .”

“I do. Do you remember the last name of the girl she’s supposed to be with?”

“Terry, that’s all I know. She works in marketing at the paper.”

“Okay, that’s enough to work with. Do you need to talk to John? He’s about five feet away from me.”

“No, listen. I called you because I don’t really have the right to tell John what I know about Caitlin. She has a lead that nobody else did. Henry had found a poacher who claimed to know where the Bone Tree was. The guy didn’t show today, but he sent a map that supposedly showed the tree’s location. Long story short, Caitlin still has that map, or at least a photo I shot of it. Also, she’s not only after old bones from those cold cases. Frank Knox apparently hung on to some kind of document that he used as insurance against Carlos Marcello. It was supposedly written in Russian, and it was supposed to have been kept inside that tree at some point. You know Caitlin. She’s not about to let somebody else get down in there and find that stuff before she does.”

“No, shit. But how could she get back into the swamp?”

“That I don’t know. But if there’s a way—”

“She’ll find it. Thanks, Jordan. I’ll call you if I reach her. You do the same.”

I hang up without waiting for a good-bye, then dial Caitlin’s office.

Kaiser lays his hand on my forearm. “What the hell was that about? Where’s Jordan now?”

“Headed to the New Orleans airport.” I give him the quickest summary I can, omitting any mention of Frank Knox, but my narrative is terminated by a chipper female voice saying, “
Natchez Examiner.
”

“This is Penn Cage. I need to speak to Jamie Lewis, immediately.”

While the call is transferred, I tell Kaiser that Caitlin might be trying to get back into the swamp.

“This is Jamie Lewis.”

“Jamie! I need to know which female employee Caitlin took out of marketing today, and I need her cell number right now.”

“Ah . . .”

“This may be life or death, Jamie. Don’t fuck around.”

“It was Terry Foreman. She hasn’t come back yet. It may take me a minute to get her cell number.”

“Hurry.”

Kirk, Annie, my mother, and Kaiser close around me as I wait for the number, then dial it. The worry in my mother’s eyes looks deeper than I would have expected, but Annie’s face is almost bloodless.

“This is Terry,” says a young female voice.

“This is Mayor Penn Cage. I need to speak to Caitlin. Immediately.”

“Oh. Uh . . . she’s doing an interview right now. She told me not to disturb her until it’s over.”

“Drop the lie, Terry. Jordan Glass called me, worried sick. Are you with Caitlin?”

She hesitates only a moment. “No, sir.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Not really. To be honest, I’m scared myself. Caitlin told me not to worry, but I’m not used to this kind of stuff.”

“What kind of stuff? Did she go back into the swamp?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How could she do that?”

“A black guy was going to show her where it was.”

This answer throws me. “A black guy? Was it Carl Sims?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Was he a deputy?”

“Oh, no. No way. He was just a guy at a gas station. The Crossroads Café. He was some kind of fisherman or something.”

Oh God
. . . “Why didn’t you go with them?”

“There was only room for two in the boat. Seriously. It was the littlest boat I ever saw. He called it a pee-row, I think. It was a Cajun boat.”

“A pirogue?”

“That’s right.”

“Where are you now, Terry?”

“I’m still at the Crossroads Café. That’s where she told me to wait for her.”

“Have you tried to call her?”

“Yes, sir. I can’t reach her.”

I close my eyes and try to stay calm. “I want you to stay right where you are, in case she comes back. If she contacts you by phone, call me right away. I’m coming straight down there, and I’m going to get the police involved. They’ll probably come by the station to talk to you.”

“Oh, God. I knew she shouldn’t have gone with that guy. I’m so sorry—”

“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have stopped her. Tell the police everything you remember. Even the smallest thing could be important. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I was just trying to help Caitlin.”

“I know. You sit tight. We’re going to find her, Terry.”

As soon as I click off, my mother asks me to explain the situation, but I’m too freaked out even to summarize it.

“I’ll go with you,” Kaiser says. “I’ll bring in Bureau assets.”

“I won’t turn down FBI agents, but if you’re going to protect Sonny, you need to keep questioning the other Double Eagles.”

“I know. I intend to. But I’m going to try to expedite some air assets down there. I’ll also call ahead and inform the Highway Patrol you’re going to be coming through, but don’t kill yourself.”

“Oh, Lord,” my mother intones. “There must be some other way.”

“Daddy, is Caitlin really in trouble?”

I clench my daughter in a tight hug. “She’s just exploring in the woods, babe. She’s fine, but I want to make sure she doesn’t get lost. I’m going to find her. You take care of Gram while I’m gone.” Reaching to my right, I squeeze Kirk Boisseau’s hand.

The marine shakes his head and says, “You don’t think I’m staying here, do you?”

“Hell, yes. You’ve done enough for one day.”

“You need to get to an ER,” Kaiser tells him. “And don’t worry about the Cage ladies. They’re going to have a steel curtain around them.”

Before Kirk can argue, Kaiser’s cell phone rings, and he answers with such authority in his voice that everyone falls silent. I give him a
quick salute and start to move past him, but he grabs my arm and holds me in place. When I try to pull away, he tightens his grip, forcing me to look into his face, which has gone pale.

“Forget that,” he says sharply. “Forget the bombs, forget the crowd, forget everything. Get into that cellblock and get Sonny Thornfield out of there.”

Bombs?

“I don’t give a damn about an escape! Get Thornfield secured!”

“What happened?” I ask, after he slaps the phone against his thigh.

“Some kind of explosive attack on the courthouse. And since the courthouse is attached to the sheriff’s department, they had to evacuate it. I’ve got to get over there.”

“What in God’s name is going on?” my mother asks.

Kaiser drops my arm. “Call me from the road, Penn. Let me know what you need.”

“I will.”

After giving Annie and Mom a final hug, I sprint toward the police barricade, speed-dialing Carl Sims on the way.

WALT HAD FINALLY MASTERED
the art of driving with his left hand while monitoring the GPS tracker that he held in his right. He’d followed Forrest and Ozan along Highway 61 as it wound through the pine and hardwood forests between Natchez and Woodville, then watched them turn east toward Athens Point. When the cruiser passed the turn to Valhalla without slowing, Walt feared the worst. His secret hope had been that Tom had been moved from Sonny’s Old River fishing cabin to the hunting camp. But if Knox and Ozan weren’t stopping . . . then he was probably elsewhere.

The next time Walt looked down at the tracking screen, he did a double take. The cruiser had turned east off Highway 61 on a road about two miles past the turn to Valhalla. Maybe it led to some other destination on the camp property? He felt a fillip of excitement in his chest, but also concern. They might be nearing some hiding place unknown to anyone. In a matter of minutes, he might have to decide whether to try to rescue Tom himself or call for backup and hope for the best.

Walt made up his mind then and there that if the pair led him to Tom,
he would go in with his pistol-grip Benelli shotgun and finish them once and for all. The time for talking was done. It was kill or be killed.

The question was, would he even get that chance?

THE GERMAN AUDI S4
can do 180 miles per hour, but my American version is computer-limited to 135. Despite a lightly falling rain, I’ve hit the maximum several times during the past ten minutes, especially on the long stretch where Highway 61 climbs from Adams County into Wilkinson. I’ve spent much of the drive on the phone.

Carl Sims quickly located Terry Foreman at the Crossroads Café. Reviewing the security footage there, Carl found video recordings of Caitlin speaking to a young black man inside the café, then getting into his truck in the parking lot. A Cajun pirogue was clearly visible in the back of his truck. A teenager eating in the café identified the black driver as Harold Wallis, a local fisherman, poacher, and sometime drug dealer. Carl told me that Caitlin didn’t look as though she was under duress at any point on the tape.

Carl also told me that Danny McDavitt was ready to do anything he could to help me locate Caitlin, but that Sheriff Ellis hadn’t yet okayed the use of his chopper. If the sheriff stalled much longer, McDavitt would take me over the swamp in his own fixed-wing plane.

I’ve tried to call Caitlin several times from the road, but she hasn’t answered once. As I roar past the private prison north of Woodville, Mississippi, my cell phone rings again. My heart leaps, but it’s only Kaiser again.

“What have you got?” I ask.

“Sonny Thornfield’s dead.”

“No. How?”

“They got him in his cell. Someone opened the cells during the mandatory evacuation. There goes our star witness.”

“Jesus, John.” I don’t remind him of my warnings that the extra time he took with Thornfield would put his life in jeopardy.

“Oh, and the meth Dennis planted was stolen from the evidence room during the alarm.”