Natchez Burning (Penn Cage)

by Greg Iles

  She knew her disgust showed on her face. “There’s got to be more to it than that. How can he muzzle Shad Johnson? And Sheriff Byrd?”

  Penn laughed with bitter amusement. “I don’t think Shad or Billy would even flirt with the idea of crossing Brody Royal.”

  A sudden wave of nausea nearly made Caitlin double over. Grabbing her lukewarm Mountain Dew, she drank what was left to try to settle her stomach. “I don’t understand. This is exactly the kind of backroom deal you’ve despised all your life.”

  “You’re right. But I had no choice. Why are you so upset? I told you what I was going to do.”

  “You told me you were going to try to get the APB revoked, and Tom into federal custody. But from what you described, Brody’s giving your father a world-class get-out-of-jail-free card. A free pass on everything.”

  “Well, I figured as long as I had him over a barrel, I’d push for everything I could.”

  Caitlin felt her bottom lip shaking. She was usually good at hiding her emotions, but now it was impossible. “Royal’s obviously not going to move heaven and earth for free. What did you promise him in return?” A sickening thought struck her. “Did you tell him you’d give him the tape I made of his daughter?”

  “Of course I did.”

  Stunned by his casual tone, she walked around her desk and sat down, then fixed him with a level stare. “Did you promise that I would keep his name out of the Examiner?”

  Penn didn’t answer immediately. Then he looked off to the side and said, “I had to, babe.”

  She closed her eyes, and a sensation of falling in slow motion enveloped her. “You had no right to do that,” she said softly. Then she opened her eyes, her voice rising. “You can’t make a promise for me. You can’t make a deal with the devil in my name. You can’t sell my soul for me. Only I can do that!”

  “Sell your soul? You’re blowing this out of proportion. This is my father’s life we’re talking about.”

  Galvanized by righteous anger, Caitlin leaned forward and snapped, “Brody Royal’s a fucking murderer. Do you really think your father would want a man who’s killed innocent people to go free to protect him?”

  “I don’t know,” Penn replied in a maddeningly mild voice. “I think Dad’s known some pretty bad things about Brody Royal for thirty-five years, and he kept them quiet to protect our family.”

  Caitlin felt paralyzed; she wished Tom were here to argue for her. “For all you know, Royal is just stalling you. He could be packing his bags for Brazil right now.”

  “Brazil isn’t a nonextradition country.”

  “Oh, stop talking like a fucking lawyer.”

  Penn rubbed the back of his neck, looking more haggard by the minute. “What do you think I’m trying to do here? Sabotage your career?”

  “What are you doing? In the past, your motto was ‘Let justice be done though the heavens fall.’ And I loved you for it. But now that your father’s in trouble, suddenly Albert and Pooky and the others are just regrettable deaths. What about Henry and Sherry, for God’s sake?”

  Penn took his time answering. “Caitlin, throughout my career, I had to compromise. Every single case eventually came down to that. Perfect justice does not exist in this world.”

  “Perfect justice? This is the opposite of justice! It’s a black hole sucking in everything good that comes near it. It’s a singularity of shit!”

  Penn’s nostrils flared, and she almost welcomed the prospect that he’d stand up and fight—but he didn’t. She sensed that he was seeing himself in a new light, and not enjoying what he saw. When he spoke again, it was in a tone of infinite regret. “If justice for those victims and families was truly your goal, you wouldn’t be trying to keep Henry’s files from the FBI. You’d have given Kaiser copies as soon as you got them.”

  She stiffened, feeling her face go red. “I am giving them to him. Jordan and I talked about it tonight. I’m giving Kaiser copies of everything tomorrow morning.”

  Penn was staring at her as though at a stranger. “Everything?”

  God, how well he knows me. “That’s right.”

  He didn’t bother to challenge this. “Maybe I’m not being clear. I’m not asking you to live up to this deal with Royal. I’m asking you to hold off on the man for one or two days.”

  “One day in my business is like a month in yours. You know that. If we’re not first with a story, we’re irrelevant.”

  Penn turned up his palms. “If Royal doesn’t do what he promised by tomorrow afternoon, you’re welcome to tear him to pieces. You can start posting in your online edition right after lunch.”

  “But what if he does cooperate? You want me to bury the story forever? I can’t do that. I won’t. And what if he just strings you along some more? You’ll be back in here pleading with me to protect him.”

  “No, I won’t. But this is Royal’s only way out, other than running. And if he runs, you can rip him to shreds. But for God’s sake—for Dad’s sake—let Royal pull these strings and remove the immediate threat.”

  “You can’t trust a man like Royal, Penn. Some way or other, he’s going to screw you. You and Tom. Remember what he did to his wife? To his own daughter?”

  Penn let her words hang in the air. Then he said, “You know something? You’re right. My father’s life means more to me than Albert Norris’s. Or Pooky Wilson’s, or even Henry’s. After Dad is safe, I’ll do everything in my power to send their killers to prison. But until then, I can’t worry about them. My father, my mother, Annie, you—all of you mean more to me than anyone else on this planet. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you, and I’m not ashamed of that.”

  A smothering wave of emotion swept through her, for she knew that he meant every word. “I understand,” she said. “But I don’t want to mean that much to somebody. I don’t want a travesty of justice committed in my name. We can’t compound this evil. We have to fight it.”

  “By publishing everything about Brody tomorrow morning?”

  She nodded, her breaths coming shallow. “I’ve already written the story. I would have called and told you, but I assumed you were with Royal.”

  “And you couldn’t wait a few extra minutes to see how that went?”

  She felt her cheeks heat up again. “Not and make my deadline. But truthfully . . . maybe I was afraid I knew how it would go.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “I see. And I suppose it’s just a coincidence that this decision gives you the biggest scoop of your career? On the same morning that a flock of vultures will land here to cover the same story?”

  Her temper finally flared beyond her control. “I’m not going to apologize for doing my job! You think some other media outlet might not get to Katy Royal in the hospital? What if she tells them about her father’s crime?”

  “She’s in a coma! Please tell me this isn’t about hanging another Pulitzer on your wall.”

  His words stung like a swarm of hornets, because they were partly true. He got up and flattened his hands on her desk, his lips pale with emotion. “Are you seriously willing to keep my father’s life at risk so that you can beat everyone else into print with this story?”

  Penn’s unfiltered anger was hard to withstand, but she found strength in her conviction that only the truth could gain justice for the victims who had suffered so long. “I think your father has always had it in his power to resolve this situation. If Tom is going to be saved, it won’t be by us. He’s going to have to do it himself. All we can do is what we think is best, each by our own lights. That’s why I have to write this story.”

  “How can you face Annie and my mother if you do that?”

  She turned up her palms. “I think we’ll both have a lot to explain, if it comes to that.”

  He sagged against her desk. “Maybe it’s a blood thing. Maybe if it was your father running for his life, you’d feel like I do.”

  She was too exhausted to think anymore. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t.”


  Caitlin glanced at her watch. The absolute deadline was coming at her like a train out of a dark tunnel. “I really have no more time. None. Not if we’re going to get this mess out tomorrow.”

  Penn regarded her with disconcerting intensity. “It’s your decision. You know how I feel. Do what you think is right, and we’ll go on from there . . . if we can.”

  She felt dizzy. “Are you serious?”

  He reached out and took her left hand. His skin felt cold. “We’ve been together for most of the past seven years,” he said. “That’s a long time to be involved without getting married. And if we really look at what’s kept us from taking that last step . . . it was your career. We met during the biggest murder case this town ever saw. You won your Pulitzer for your coverage. But deep down, you’ve always felt constrained here. Every couple of years, you’ve had to break out and hitch your wagon to some shooting star of a story to keep from going crazy. And that’s okay. But I also think it says something about what’s most important to you.”

  Caitlin was trembling. She knew he could feel it through her hand. “That’s really going around the world for an insult. I think I’ve made my case tonight. And I think a lot of people would say my motives are purer than yours.”

  “Now who’s talking like a lawyer?” he asked gently. “You’re right about one thing: this story is huge. But what matters in it are the people involved, not the articles written about it. You know me, Caitlin. I won’t let Brody Royal escape punishment for the things he did.”

  “You promised him that you would.”

  “I’m not bound by a promise to a murderer. In the end, justice will be done, no matter who prints the story. I’ll make sure of that. Kaiser will, too.”

  “What’s written about it matters,” Caitlin insisted, her voice quavering. “The story matters.”

  Penn nodded, but she could see that he didn’t agree. Not really. And if she were brutally honest with herself, she didn’t only want the story told; she wanted to be the one to tell it.

  “Tell me one thing,” she said. “Did you mention ‘Huggy Bear’ to Royal? Or ‘Gates Brown’? Did you tell Royal there was a witness who could put him inside Albert Norris’s store on the day of that murder?”

  “Yes. I had to frighten him into a corner.”

  Her cheeks felt cold. “Did you promise to give Royal that man’s name?”

  “I don’t even know his name!”

  She shook her head slowly. “Brody might not need the name. You know? Just the Detroit Tigers baseball cap, or the Detroit connection. That might be all a man like him needs to find and kill that man, whoever he is.”

  “I didn’t give him that stuff!”

  “It won’t be hard for him to find out. That’s why I haven’t published a plea for ‘Huggy Bear’ to come forward, or to call my cell. I knew the risk was too great.” Caitlin suddenly knew what she had to do. “I’m standing by my story,” she said in a flat voice. “I’m printing it all in tomorrow’s edition. I’ll show it to you now, if you want to read it.”

  Penn dropped her hand and stared at her in disbelief.

  “I protected your father. But I didn’t spare Brody Royal anything.”

  She stepped behind her chair and laid her quivering hands on its back, as though it were a shield. “I’ve got editors standing by at nine papers, and every one’s on overtime. I’m seriously pissing my father off to make all this happen. Please let me get on with it.”

  Penn walked to the credenza, picked up his pistol, and went to the door. With his hand on the knob he let out a long sigh, then turned back to her. “Are you coming home tonight?”

  “I can’t—not with all this going on. As soon as the story goes up online, we’re going to have people calling from around the country. Around the world, probably.”

  Penn only nodded, but his eyes said, Which is exactly the way you want it. You and your paper at the center of a media storm.

  “Please don’t leave this building by yourself,” he said. “If you do decide to come home, get one of the guys to drive you.”

  “I will.” She stood in the awkward silence, searching for words that could magically separate them without pain. “I hope Forrest Knox cancels that APB, anyway.”

  Penn started to speak, then apparently thought better of it and went out, quietly closing the door behind him.

  For the first time in what seemed a very great while, Caitlin felt tears running down her cheeks. As she tried to catch her breath, Jamie Lewis flung open her door and walked in, a sheaf of paper in his hand.

  “Shit!” he cursed. “I thought you guys would never finish. Where are you on the hub story?”

  Caitlin shook her head, then looked up and tried to blink away the tears.

  “Jesus,” Jamie said. “Are you crying?”

  CAITLIN LEFT HER EDITOR standing openmouthed in her office and raced for the back door, hoping to catch Penn before he left the employee parking lot. She didn’t really expect to overtake him, but when she threw open the door, she saw him standing about ten feet away, as though waiting for her. Blessed relief surged through her, until she saw two men standing beside Penn with pistols in their hands. There was blood over Penn’s left eye, and a cop lying prostrate on the ground behind him. She felt herself backing up even before she knew what she was doing.

  “If you go back inside,” said one of the gunmen, “we’ll shoot him right here.”

  “Go, Caitlin,” Penn said firmly. “Right now. Lock the door and call 911.”

  The older man raised his pistol and pressed the barrel against Penn’s right temple. The gunman’s face was pale and bland beneath his long hair, and appeared to be without mercy or even concern.

  Go, Penn mouthed silently. I love you.

  “What is it you want?” Caitlin asked.

  “Mr. Royal wants to talk to you,” said the younger gunman, who had a crew cut and looked slightly less ruthless than his partner. “Both of you.”

  Brody Royal. Caitlin saw a van parked beyond the men, smoke puffing from its tailpipe. Penn stared into her eyes with chilling urgency. Then he shook his head.

  “I’ll go with you,” he said, “but she stays here. If we don’t go soon, one of Chief Logan’s squad cars is going to circle through this lot.”

  “He’s right,” said the younger man.

  “Just a second,” said Longhair. He was looking at a cell phone while he covered Penn with the gun in his other hand. “This is going to be good. Watch.”

  “Go, Caitlin,” Penn said again. “Right now.”

  She wanted to obey, but deep within her brain, a bundle of nerve fibers told her that if she tried to flee, the tall man would kill Penn while his partner went after her. Penn’s eyes fairly blazed out an order to run, but before she could make a decision, someone flung her purse through the door behind her, then pulled it shut. She heard the bolt slide home.

  What the hell? she thought, unable to believe that one of her employees would participate in her kidnapping. Then a thought flashed through her—

  My .38’s in that purse! Her heart began to pound. Should I grab for it, or just act like I’m casually picking it up?

  The younger gunman made the decision for her. Aiming his automatic at her head, he lunged forward and snatched up the purse.

  “Get in the fucking van!” he shouted.

  With a last desolate look at Caitlin, Penn turned and walked to the van’s side door as though in complete surrender. As Longhair slid the door open, Penn hurled himself backward and shouted, “Run, Caitlin! Run for the street!”

  She broke to her left, then hesitated as Longhair hammered his pistol against Penn’s neck, knocking him to the concrete. Her hesitation doomed her. The younger man was two steps faster than she, and fifteen yards down the wall he rode her into the cement. When she struggled to her knees, he punched the side of her head, and she felt her jaw rattle. Blinking away tears, she tried to clear her head, then toppled over like an animal darted with a tranquilizer.
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br />   The hands that grabbed her armpits felt made of stone, and they lifted her without effort. The last thing she remembered was the sound of duct tape being ripped from a roll.

  CHAPTER 89

  WHEN HENRY’S MOTHER finally reached his secret treatment room, she took off her 1950s-vintage hat and began sobbing as though he were dead. He tried to reassure her, but any embrace was prevented by the hastily assembled equipment that surrounded his hospital bed.

  “Do you know what the FBI agent outside told me?” his mother asked, after they’d both regained their composure.

  “What?”

  “Not to tell you Sherry had passed away.” His mother suppressed another sob, wiped her eyes. “As if I would lie to my own son.”

  Henry nodded. The FBI still seemed intent on keeping him in the dark about Sherry’s fate. They probably meant well, but he resented it nonetheless. “I guess they think I’m a basket case,” he said. “And maybe they’re right.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” she said, her jaw setting with anger. “They’re the ones who let you get shot!”

  “You’re right.” They fell into a tense but companionable silence. After what seemed to Henry a couple of minutes, he said, “Did you bring the things I asked for?”

  She nodded, worry etched in her face.

  “Good. We may not have much time. Can you help me with these IVs?”

  A retired nurse, Mrs. Sexton had no problem removing the IV lines from his hands, then placing bandages over the infusion sites. “Compress that left one,” she said. “The problem is your cardiac leads. As soon as we disconnect them, somebody’s gonna come running.”

  Henry had already solved this problem. “Uh-uh. You’re going to put them on in my place. You know exactly where they go, don’t you?”

  His mother sighed, then nodded in resignation. “I hope you know what you’re doing. You know I don’t believe in violence. Not without grave provocation, anyway. Old Testament provocation.”

  Henry met her gaze and uncloaked a small fraction of his anguish.

  His mother shut her eyes, then turned away.