“That’s him,” Henry says with distaste. “And he’s a piece of work. Devereux represented not only Dr. Robb, but also several Klan members and Double Eagles over the years. I don’t think Robb knew that, though. Because when he couldn’t stand keeping the secret anymore, it was Devereux he confided in. I’m sure Devereux told him Brody Royal couldn’t possibly have been involved in Albert’s death—poor old Albert had surely been ranting on morphine, out of his head. Devereux probably promised to make discreet inquiries about Frank Knox, even though he’d represented Knox in court before.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. Years passed. At that point, either guilt finally overpowered Dr. Robb’s fear, or Robb started to suspect that Brody Royal was screwing his wife.”

“What?”

“Are you really surprised? This is Louisiana, man. I’ll explain that in a minute, but whether that was true or not, Dr. Robb decided to confide his secret in someone besides Devereux—someone he knew he could trust.” Henry straightens up and looks hard into my eyes. “I think he chose your father. Tom Cage, M.D., the well-known paragon of rectitude.”

Of course. Who else? “How well did Dad and Robb know each other?” I ask, looking down at the photo of my father by the plane.

“Robb and your father attended several antique gun shows together around this time. Robb would fly them there in his plane.”

“Henry, are you suggesting that my father has known for forty years who murdered Albert Norris? And he’s never told anyone about it?”

The reporter holds up his palms. “You’re here talking to me because your father is keeping secrets from you. When you first came in, you told me you thought he might have killed Viola.”

“Technically. Under the law.” My cheeks are burning. “But I don’t consider mercy-killing murder. This is something else altogether.”

“Let me finish my story. Then make up your own mind. I think that when Dr. Robb came to him, your father instantly realized how dangerous the information was. He probably urged Robb to talk to somebody with real authority. I think Robb chose Orrin Dixon, a young congressman from Tennessee. Robb and Dixon had been fraternity brothers at Vanderbilt. Dixon had recently started voting moderately on race, and he’d also become close to President Johnson. Plus, Robb and Dixon had kept up their friendship over the years, and they’d been on several fishing trips in various states.”

“Accompanied by young women?”

“Let’s just say that the girls who died in the crash had both worked as interns for Congressman Dixon in Washington in the past.”

“Democracy in action.”

“On this occasion,” Henry goes on, “the girls were already in Louisiana. Dixon was scheduled to fly in on another plane, then the whole party would leave for Arkansas the next morning. A private camp up in the Ozarks.”

“Five people, total?”