The old man’s eyes narrowed. Then his hand went limp, and Henry jerked back his own. “How?” asked Morehouse.

“I’ve got a witness.”

Morehouse looked genuinely surprised. “If that’s true, what do you need me for?”

“Because you know everything, and from the inside. You know exactly who did what, and when. And most important, you know why.”

After a long series of wheezing breaths, Morehouse shook his head in apparent surrender. Then he mumbled, “Frank was there, all right. He ran that whole operation.”

Henry’s pulse quickened. “For Brody Royal?”

Morehouse waved this question away. “Leave it, Henry.”

But Henry couldn’t. “You’re never going to be tried for this stuff, Glenn. Royal won’t know you implicated him until you’re … beyond his reach. Please confirm that Royal was there that night. And tell me which others were. Without the names, all this is meaningless.”

“Names, names!” Morehouse mocked in a high voice. “You think it’s easy betraying men I fought with through unshirted hell? You don’t know nothin’ about it! Those men are my brothers, man. The shit we done and seen, the horrors …” He trailed off, breathless again.

Henry wanted to point out that murdering defenseless Americans had nothing to do with war, but instead he said, “Is Brody Royal your brother?”

“Fuck Brody Royal!” the old man bellowed. “Brody’s so far above the likes of you and me, the devil himself will have to deal with him. And I’m fine with that.”

Henry looked down at his watch. Wilma Deen was due back in forty-five minutes. If he overstayed his allotted time, she would see him, and that would quash any chance of further access to Morehouse. Henry owed it to Jimmy Revels to learn what he could about his fate. And after what had happened to Jimmy’s sister this morning, Henry couldn’t in good conscience leave this room without probing Morehouse about that. Yet even a cursory discussion of those cases would eat up the remaining time.

“What’s the matter?” Morehouse asked. “You look like you swallowed a bad oyster.”

“There’s something I don’t understand, Glenn. You called me here, okay? You told me you needed to unburden your soul. Well, here I am. We’re alone. But the only people you’ve implicated are yourself and Frank Knox, who’s been dead for thirty-seven years. I don’t see how you’re going to feel any better after this. In fact … it’s almost like you’re just reminiscing about these crimes. Bragging, like.”

The old man’s face drained of blood, and his chin quivered with anger. “I ain’t braggin’, damn you!”