The Bone Tree

“Are you serious?”

Kaiser nods. “Will Devine. The guy was scared to death, especially after what happened with So

“Your code of ethics seems to have relaxed a bit since yesterday.”

The FBI agent sighs deeply. “I’d rather not discuss that just now. What matters for you is the new narrative. The official story. Now it’s Mackiever—not Walt—who discovered the key, hunted down Forrest’s storage unit, found the evidence, and contacted me about the Oswald letter.”

“Okay. But I still don’t see how that gets me out of here. Sheriff Ellis from Athens Point has game camera photos of me at Valhalla right around the time of death.”

Kaiser gives me a strange smile. “Does he? Well . . . the significance of those photos is all in the interpretation, isn’t it?”

“Come on, man. Out with it.”

“This is where another friend of yours proved to be a great help. Carl Sims? The former marine sniper?”

“How did Carl help?”

“Once Sheriff Ellis issued the APB on you for killing Knox, Carl decided he had information I might need to know. And he was right. Carl told me that if I poked my hand into certain holes, I’d find evidence tying Sheriff Ellis and his department to the Knox family and Valhalla. Turns out Ellis went on all-expenses-paid hunts in Alaska and Canada every year, on the Knoxes’ dime. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. A lot of drugs move through that county, and a lot of murders have gone unsolved. Turns out, I didn’t have to work very hard to convince Sheriff Ellis that a double murder in his county involving endemic police corruption wasn’t something he wanted me looking into too closely. He was perfectly willing to take my word that your presence at Valhalla was wholly unrelated to the crime.”

This statement leaves me almost breathless. “How the hell is that possible? Who killed Forrest, then?”

A self-satisfied grin animates Kaiser’s face. “As a novelist, you’ll appreciate this. Captain Alphonse Ozan is now the hero of this revised opera. Ozan was the brave internal affairs officer assigned by Colonel Mackiever to infiltrate Forrest Knox’s cabal of corrupt cops. Earlier today, Forrest discovered that Ozan had been working against him for months, and the two men killed each other in a vicious hand-to-hand struggle.”

I can hardly get my mind around this revision of reality. “Mackiever’s going to stand by that?”

“He’s drafting his statement as we speak. Spear-versus-sword makes pretty compelling news. The media’s going to eat it up.”

My brain has gone into overdrive. “Okay, but . . . even if Dad and Walt are cleared of the Du

Kaiser nods with somber deliberation. “Mackiever’s got no control over that, Pe

“Oh, but I enjoyed it.” I sigh heavily, then lay my hands on the scarred table. “How soon can I get out of here?”

“It shouldn’t be long. I’m about to go downstairs and give Billy Byrd a heads-up on what to expect. He won’t like it, but I’ll make him take it. Also, Mackiever tells me that he may have some leverage against Shad Johnson.”

This takes me by surprise. “What kind of leverage?”

“I don’t know. But he told me to tell you, ‘Every dog has its day.’”

A slow smile spreads across my face. “I think I know.”

“All right. Well, just sit tight and don’t assault anybody else, no matter how badly they provoke you.”

“Don’t worry.”

He reaches up to the wire screen and flattens his hand. “I know this is a fucked-up time, but I’m glad for you, Pe

With an almost overwhelming rush of emotion, I raise my hand and press my palm against his. “Thanks, John.”

“I’m so sorry about Caitlin,” he says, his jaw set tight. “But you know what? She went down swinging. What more can any of us do?”

I nod but say nothing. I don’t trust myself to speak.

CHAPTER 92

THE NEXT TIME a deputy tells me I have a visitor waiting, I assume it’s Quentin Avery and follow him without question. But this time my surprise guest truly stuns me speechless. The black man sitting in the adjacent room is not Quentin, but Lincoln Turner. Lincoln offers us an expansive smile.

“I’ve got nothing to say to this man,” I tell the deputy, a comically ski

“Can’t do it. Sheriff says you gotta stay here ten minutes.”

Thanks, Billy. “The sheriff can’t make me see a civilian I don’t want to see.”

“He’s your goddamn brother,” says the deputy, backing through the door with a smirk on his face. “You don’t have to say nothin’ to him if you don’t want to. But you gotta sit there.”

“What about these?” I ask, holding up my handcuffs.

The deputy grins, then closes the door.

Lincoln’s smile has vanished. Now he simply watches me through the wire screen, his face inscrutable. Just as I did in the black juke out by A

“I don’t know why you’re here,” I tell him. “But you pushed that case against my father for the wrong reason. He’s not your father, no matter what your mother told you. You’re going to find that out eventually.”

Lincoln shakes his head as though he’s dealing with an idiot. “I guess you haven’t heard.”

“What?”

“Dr. Cage had a DNA test done on some baby teeth of mine that Mama kept. He got the results back today. It was positive. He’s my father for sure.”

I don’t want to believe him, but I see no a trace of deception in his face.

Lincoln’s eyes play over my face like those of a man trying to read a hidden code. “I had a feeling he might not have told you. You never really believed it, did you? That you and me were brothers.”

“Half brothers, you mean. No. I guess I didn’t.”

He shrugs again. “Blood don’t lie, man.”

“Well . . . now you’ve told me.”

Lincoln just sits there staring as though he has all day to study me. “Maybe you know how I feel now,” he says at length. “That Knox guy killed your woman, and you killed him right back. Well . . . Dr. Cage killed my mother, and I feel that same hole. I want him to pay, too.”

“I don’t believe you,” I say in a flat voice. “I know you’re hurting, but you’re hiding something. I’ve dealt with too many witnesses in my day, Lincoln. Dad may be your father . . . I can believe that. But there’s more to it somehow. I know there is. And if you push this thing, the rest of the story’s going to come out, I promise you. I hope you’re ready for that, because it always does.”

A resentful hardness comes into his eyes. “Well, you won’t have to worry about it. You’ll be on trial yourself, for murder.”