My father’s eyes brighten a little. “That’s one reason I turned myself in. I half hoped that when I showed up at Henry’s funeral, Snake would raise his head and take a shot at me, and Kaiser and his team might get him. But Snake was too smart for that.”

“He’s no fool. Snake had an old Double Eagle murdered after planting a ton of evidence in his house. Framed him for knocking down that FBI jet.”

“I know. Silas Groom. He was one of my first patients in Natchez.”

“Snake killed about a dozen birds with that stone. Now every other Eagle is scared to death of meeting the same fate.”

Dad chews his bottom lip as though silently trying to work out a problem. “I’ve been over everything I ever knew about those bastards,” he says, “all the way back to my days as company physician for Triton Battery. Partly for Kaiser and the Bureau, but also for myself. I remembered one case I’d forgotten, a young woman from Athens Point. She was raped by some white men down in the Lusahatcha Swamp in the midsixties. They killed her husband in front of her. Lynched him. It was a terrible case, but it got very little attention. The young wife never really recovered. Her mother-in-law brought her to me for help, but I couldn’t break through her depression. Eventually, she left town and committed suicide. I always felt like the Double Eagles had been behind that. They had a strong presence in Lusahatcha County, even back then.”

“Shit. When did this happen, exactly?”

“Oh, 1965 or ’66. But I can’t even remember the mother-in-law’s name. They wanted it kept quiet. They were afraid of retaliation, and rightfully so. All the law down there was Klan back then. Even now, I think the sheriff is in with the Knoxes. Or was, anyway.”

“Billy Ray Ellis,” I mutter in agreement. “So, what are you thinking? You want me to kill Snake Knox?”

Dad gives me a tired smile. “Hell, no. I wouldn’t ask that of you. What I would like you to do is go back over Henry Sexton’s footsteps. Go see the old Double Eagles—and not just them. Go see their wives, ex-wives, their children. Talk to them—really talk. If you’ll do that, I believe you’ll end up convincing one of them to testify against Snake.”

His suggestion has stunned me. “Testify in open court? You’ve got to be kidding. The FBI has been working that angle all along.”

“You’re not the FBI. You’re my son.”

“Do you think that grants me some kind of superpower? These aren’t grateful black patients, Dad. These are pissed-off, defiant old rednecks.”

Dad’s eyes flicker with conviction, even excitement. “I believe you can do it. You’ve got a gift with people.”