Henry folds his arms over the face of his guitar and looks hard into my eyes. “No one can offer a man immunity against death. And death is the only thing motivating this source. Fear of Hell with a capital H.”

Ever since I talked to Dad, the simmering anxiety in my chest has threatened to boil into panic. Henry’s refusal to confide in me isn’t helping matters. “Henry … with all due respect, are you being honest about your reason for holding back this witness? Are you afraid I’m going to tell Caitlin about him? Because I absolutely won’t do that.”

“I believe you. But your sole priority right now is your father. You desperately want to save him. And I can’t risk you scaring off this source by trying to rush him. You might even accidentally expose him to the Eagles and get him killed. We can’t blow the chance to solve a dozen murder cases just to get your father clear of trouble a few days faster.”

I have to admit that Henry is making sense. It’s not his fault that Dad won’t speak up in his own defense. But something about Henry’s thesis doesn’t make sense, though I can’t quite put my finger on it.

“Did any of this come up with Shad today?”

“I told him about the 1968 threat.”

“How did he respond?”

“Wasn’t interested. Shad said if the Eagles were still active, they’d have killed me a long time ago, not some old nurse who was already dying.”

“That actually makes sense.”

The reporter gives me a sour look. “Not really. Until about a month ago, I didn’t really know enough to hurt them. Not seriously. Unlike Viola Turner.”

I grunt noncommittally.

“I’ll tell you something Shad doesn’t know,” he says. “The Eagles are no stranger to drugs. I’d heard rumors, but today my source confirmed it. The Eagles are heavy into the crystal meth trade statewide. They could easily have gotten ahold of something that would kill Viola.”

“Why haven’t you told Shad this?”

“Because I promised I wouldn’t reveal anything my source told me until after he’s dead. And because he’d deny it, if I did.”

“They’re into the drug trade now?”

“Yes, with their sons. And they would be far more likely to make a mistake with them than your father.”

The idea of the Double Eagles dabbling in the drug trade tickles something deep in my mind, but Henry’s mention of my father blanks out all intuition. The logical flaw in Henry’s theory of Viola’s murder is flashing like an electrical scoreboard behind my eyes.

“Henry, we’re missing the forest here.”

“What do you mean?”

“If the Double Eagles killed Viola, then why is my father acting the way he is? If he’s innocent … why is he acting guilty?”