“I’m pretty sure this is the one that had the MLK date under it,” I say, pointing to a lever-action hunting rifle. “What is it?”

“Winchester Model 70,” says Kaiser. “Classic sniper rifle. What about the one dated November twenty-second?”

After narrowing the remaining weapons down to two, I point at the one that looks most like the image from my memory. “This one.”

Kaiser gives a half smile. “Right both times. That’s a Remington Model 700. A hot load in that rifle drives a bullet close to four thousand feet per second, depending on the caliber. Perfect for the Kennedy head shot. And that’s one of the rifles we found. Minus the incinerated wooden parts, of course.”

“Then why the hell are you making such a fuss about the Mannlicher-Carcano from Royal’s study?”

“Because it raises so many questions. And if I’m right, it’s going to connect the Royal-Knox-Marcello group directly to Oswald and Dallas. I’ll bet you any amount of money that the final shipping destination of that rifle was Louisiana, Mississippi, or Texas.”

“I told you, John. Not interested.”

“Hold up a second,” says Sheriff Dennis, his eyes on Kaiser. “Are you saying Brody Royal had something to do with the assassination of President Kennedy?”

“I am. But that’s confidential case information, Sheriff. And not just Brody Royal.”

“Who else? The Knoxes?”

Kaiser shakes his head. “I shouldn’t say more at this time.”

“He thinks the Knoxes and Carlos Marcello had a hand in it,” I say. “Crime of the century.”

Kaiser glares at me, but Sheriff Dennis is studying the FBI agent intently. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Do I look like a joker to you, Sheriff?”

“No, sir, you don’t. And I know a little bit about the Marcello clan. If you really believe you can solve the Kennedy case, I can respect that. But you’ve got to grant me the same courtesy. You probably don’t know it, but I lost a cousin to these bastards in a drug buy gone bad a couple of years back. A dirty cop killed him. And Forrest Knox covered for that bastard. I mean to make those Knoxes pay, you hear? We’ve put up with their crap for too long in this parish. I drew the line this morning, and there’s no going back. So, I wish you well with your work. If there’s any way I can help you with your case, I will. But I won’t stop my own work on the Double Eagles. And you’d do well not to try to interfere. Okay?”

Sheriff Dennis doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns and walks back through the door to the treatment room, where one of the deputy’s sons is crying.

“Small-town sheriffs,” Kaiser mutters.

“Didn’t I hear you started out as one?”

He gives another exasperated sigh.

“We’re moving forward, John. You can either get in the game with us or sit on the sidelines and watch. Either way, Forrest Knox is going to feel the heat.”

Kaiser steps close to me. “If you keep pushing Forrest—and Snake and the others—this morning’s casualties won’t be anything but a warm-up for the main event. Take a word of advice, Penn. Hide your family in a deep hole. Because there’s nothing Forrest won’t do to stop you.”

In my mind I see Annie and my mother looking worriedly after me as I left Edelweiss and headed out to my car. “I’ll do that.”

Kaiser turns without another word and walks toward the exit. Before he passes through, he turns back and says, “Let me know if Dennis gets an answer from the Double Eagles on that voluntary questioning.”

“I thought you said there was no chance.”

“Yeah, well . . . this is Louisiana. Crazier things have happened.” He shakes his head miserably, then walks out.

I follow Walker into the treatment room and find him sitting with the two young boys. Their wounded father is wearing an oxygen mask over his mouth. Walker is holding the hand of one of the boys. His face is wet, and his big neck is bright red. With embarrassment I realize that the wife is saying a prayer beside the bed. I bow my head.

After she finishes, Walker rises and leads me back to the main ER area.

“How are you going to contact the Eagles?” I ask him.

“I’m gonna call Claude Devereux, their lawyer. That Cajun bastard has always been too slick for his own good. If he doesn’t cooperate, I’m gonna find a way to lock him in the trap with the rest of them.”

This is actually a good idea. “Kaiser’s probably right about Snake and Sonny being in Texas. Surely Devereux will tell them to stay put?”

“If they stay in Texas, that tells us something, doesn’t it? Meanwhile, I’ll be grinding away at the punks we brought in this morning. Sooner or later, one of them’s gonna want to trade something.”

“Do you want me to help you with the questioning?”

“Not after what happened at the warehouse. Too many people will be watching me. You steer clear for today. If somebody decides to flip on a Double Eagle, I’ll call you. Fair enough?”

“Yeah. I need to tighten up my family’s security anyway, and I’ve got a huge backlog of work at City Hall. I’m sorry again about your men.”

I start to leave, but Walker takes hold of my arm, then steps even closer, his eyes hard on mine. “How come you didn’t tell me about that JFK angle?”

“Because it’s just a pig trail. Even if Kaiser is onto something with that rifle, it’s ancient history.”

Dennis clucks his tongue twice. “Murder’s never ancient history, Penn. You know that. And that one caused more harm than most. A lot more. If there’s a chance of finding out who really killed the president that day in Dallas—or why—I’m all for it. I’ll do anything I can to help.”

“I hear you, Walker.”

The sheriff lowers his big head another inch. “Don’t keep anything else from me. Okay?”

“I won’t.”

After a long moment, he nods, then walks back to his injured deputy’s cubicle.

Small-town sheriffs, I say silently. Jesus.

CHAPTER 21

WALT GARRITY HAD been staking out Forrest Knox’s house since before dawn, and he was tired of waiting. Knox’s wife was asleep inside, which prevented an immediate search, and there was also a large pit bull penned in the backyard. Forrest himself had driven from Valhalla to Baton Rouge at about 5 A.M., and Walt had followed the whole journey on the GPS tracking scope Mackiever had given him. The new toy was nice, but Walt was worried that his target intended to sleep the morning away. That might seem improbable to some people, given the present situation, but in Walt’s experience career criminals often possessed the ability to sleep through anything.

As Walt cruised past Knox’s well-tended ranch house, his burn phone pinged. Picking up the TracFone, he saw a text message from Tom. The message contained only a sequence of numbers, as Walt had instructed him to use, but the mere sight of those numbers relieved some of the strain Walt been suffering since he’d heard Tom had a hit man tied up in his backseat.

Pulling out of the affluent neighborhood, which stood less than a mile from the university, Walt turned into a service station and parked near the car wash. He felt reasonably secure in the truck, since he’d stolen a new plate from a similar model in a Lowe’s parking lot. Satisfied that no one was watching, he took a notepad from his bag and began decoding Tom’s message. A minute later, he read the words: Safe. Loc to follow aft new fon. He wished Tom had gone ahead and given him his location, but his old friend was wisely waiting until he had a 100 percent secure telephone. Taking one of Tom’s cigars from his shirt pocket, Walt lit the expensive beast, then settled back in his seat and watched the entrance to the quaint little haven that sheltered the most dangerous cop in the state.