by Greg Iles
“How long ago was this? You’re not that old.”
Harold shrugged. “Fifteen years, maybe.”
“Did you ever see it up close?”
“Yes, ma’am. One time. And that’s all I ever wanted to see it.”
“Is it hollow, like the legends say?”
Harold nodded. “I shined a light through the crack in that big trunk.”
Caitlin’s pulse quickened. “What did you see?”
“A pile of bones.”
She looked past Harold at the men in the booths. No one seemed to be eavesdropping. “Human?” she asked.
“Some was. I saw a skull. But I saw deer bones, too. Set of antlers. Looked like a mess up in there, and I didn’t look long. Granddaddy was about to skin me.”
“Where’s Toby Rambin now?”
“Gone. Took off somewhere, I heard. He long gone.”
“Why?”
“Chicken, maybe. Or smart. I don’t know.”
“What’s he scared of?”
Harold shook his head slightly. “Not in here.”
Caitlin leaned toward him. “Do you know why I want to find that tree?”
He nodded. “You lookin’ for them dead boys.”
“What boys?”
“Them musicians from Ferriday, went missing back in the sixties. Used to play the blues clubs round here.”
The men in the nearest booth got up and went to the cash register, keys jangling on their belts.
“What else do you know?” Caitlin asked.
Harold shrugged. “More boys than that got killed back in that swamp. Newspaper say you lookin’ for them, too. That’s what Stoney told me.”
“Stoney who?”
“Stoney Jackson. He go to Reverend Sims’s church.” Harold suddenly looked nervous, or maybe just impatient.
“Do you think those bones are still where you saw them?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t they be? ’Less somebody moved ’em. And why would they do that?”
“Because they know the FBI is looking for them,” Caitlin said.
Silent laughter animated Harold’s dark face. “The men who own that hunting camp down there ain’t scared of no FBI. They got senators and governors coming down here to hunt and get wit’ women. Besides, the FBI didn’t find nothin’ back in the day, so why should they find anything now? Sheriff Ellis ain’t gonna help ’em none. And without help, they couldn’t find their way out, if they ever did get in. That swamp ain’t hardly been logged, lady. You saw it. It’s like a dinosaur movie. You got to know exactly where you goin’ to get anywhere.”
“How do you get in and out?”
“Boat. That’s the only way.”
“Do you have a boat?”
“Got a pirogue. For settin’ out trotlines and such.”
Caitlin tried to imagine what a pirogue might look like.
“So . . . you wanna see them bones or not?”
“Why are you willing to take me to them?”
A cagey look came into Harold’s face. “I hear you gave Mose a grand to take you through the game fence on that map.”
“I see. You want money?”
“Who don’t?”
“What do you want it for? Drugs?”
“Hell, no. I want to get out of this town, just like everybody else. Everybody black, anyway.”
Caitlin spoke so softly she doubted the boy would be able to hear. “Mose told me the Bone Tree is behind that fence. He said there was no way through without cutting it.”
Harold smiled. “Mose don’t know half of what he think he does. I know where there’s a hole. Deer know it, too.”
“Are you a poacher, Harold?”
The smile disappeared. “I do what my granddaddy taught me. I live off the land. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that. You want to see that tree or not?”
Caitlin didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“A grand ain’t gonna cover it. I need double that.”
“Two thousand dollars?”
“Hazard pay. Soon as I bring you back, I’m blowing town. Won’t be able to stay after that. Once you get the police in there, the men who use that tree gonna start looking for whoever showed it to you. I got to be long gone by then.”
“Are you sure you’re not just trying to screw me out of this money you think I have?”
The look of hurt pride on the boy’s face actually made her feel guilty. “If all I wanted was your money, I could just run you off the road and take it—which some brothers around here would be happy to do. Crackers, too. I’m only askin’ what’s fair. You’ll see what I mean when you see where we got to go.”
Caitlin nodded. “All right. Two thousand. But that’s it.”
Harold thought about it, hard. “Okay,” he said finally. “It’s a deal.”
Caitlin turned to Terry, whose eyes were as big as fried eggs. She laid her hand on Terry’s arm. “You told me once that you envied the reporters, who get to do important work. Well, this is it.”
Terry swallowed hard but said nothing.
“Can we go today?” Caitlin asked.
Harold looked at the big window to their left. An MP&L truck rumbled up to the nearest gas pump, water steaming off its hood.
“It’s rainin’ again. But that’s the best time for us. Won’t be nobody else back up in there.”
“The sheriff’s men are down there, working a crime scene.”
Harold smiled. “If they are, they won’t stay. Not in this rain. Even the men at the huntin’ camp will stay inside. But once this rain stops for good, you don’t want to be caught back there. We could all wind up like that boy you found.”
“Give us a minute to talk,” Caitlin said. “Go to the men’s room or something.”
Harold looked at Terry for a couple of seconds, then got up and went to the quick-serve food counter.
“Oh, my God,” Terry said. “I know you’re my boss, but are you crazy? That’s the guy who was staring at us before we came in here!”
“I know. I need you to calm down, Terry.”
“I’m not going down into that swamp with that guy.”
“That’s right, you’re not.”
Terry’s eyes narrowed, then went wide. “You’re not either!”
“Yes, I am. I need you to stay here and field my calls. There’s almost no reception down in that swamp, not unless you’re in a helicopter. I’m going to text Jamie to route all my calls to you. If Penn calls you while I’m gone, tell him I’m interviewing somebody and I can’t talk to him until I’m done.”
Terry grabbed her wrist. “Caitlin, you can’t do this. You don’t know this guy, and even if he’s okay, you know that swamp is full of crazy rednecks.”
“That swamp has about as many living people in it as the Natchez cemetery. I’ll be fine.”
“Oh, this is not happening.”
“Terry, how do you think people like Jordan Glass got famous? You think she went back to her hotel whenever the bullets started flying?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t want to.”
“Well, I do. She got where she is by going farther into the shit than anybody else was willing to go. Compared to that, what am I doing? Taking a boat ride with a poacher. You’ve seen the guy’s face and read his driver’s license.” Caitlin lowered her voice to a whisper. “He’s black, for God’s sake. He’s not about to take his boat where the Knoxes can find us. Okay?”
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 p
istol.
“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.
CHAPTER 67
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 to
day, 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.”
