“Where do you live, Mr. Devine?”

“Concordia Parish. Across the river. All my life.”

“Did you know a man named Frank Knox?”

“Yessir. Grew up with him.”

“How old are you, Mr. Devine?”

“Seventy-nine years old. One year younger than Frank would be if he was alive today. I was just behind him in grade school, when we wasn’t in the cotton fields.”

“Are you aware that Frank Knox was once a member of the Ku Klux Klan?”

“He was for a little while. I was in there with him. The White Knights, not the UKA. That’s United Klans of America.”

“Did Frank Knox leave the Klan?

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Just a second.” Devine slides the mask back over his face and takes a couple of greedy breaths.

Lord, is he milking this act . . .

“Frank thought the Klan was too soft,” he continues. “Both the White Knights and the UKA was et’ up with federal informants, and they was shying away from using violence. Frank believed in direct action.”

“What did he do about that?”

“He formed his own group.”

“Did that group have a name?”

“Yes, sir. The Double Eagle group, he called it.”

“And were you a member of that group, Mr. Devine?”

“Yessir, I was.”

The silence in the courtroom is absolute. Most natives of the surrounding counties know that a confession like this can still bring swift death to the man who makes it.

“For how long?”

“Well, technically, I’m still a member. It’s a ‘once in, never out’ kind of deal.”

“I see. And why have you come here today?”

“Because of Dr. Cage. I know he’s being tried for murder, and I couldn’t sit by and watch him go to jail without telling some things I know. I don’t want to betray my brothers, ’specially the ones I fought with during the war. But I’ve lived long enough to see that we were wrong about some things. I don’t have much time left till I stand before the Lord, so I want to do right by a man that I know did good while he could, even if it costs me dear.”

“What might it cost you, Mr. Devine?”

The old man swallows hard, then speaks softly. “Well . . . according to the bylaws, by revealing anything about what we done back then, I forfeit my life. My family’s, too. That’s why we’re going into the witness protection program, at least until certain folks who are still active aren’t a threat no more.”

This time the hum of voices rises until Judge Elder warns the crowd.

“Still active,” Quentin echoes, glancing at the jury box. “I see. Are any of those folks in this room with us?”

“Could be,” Devine says cryptically.

“But you won’t say?”

“Not just yet, if you don’t mind. I’m not right in my heart about that yet.”