Caitlin slowly shakes her head, her eyes burning with desire to strike back at anyone who would threaten us. Her fierce resolve gives me more inspiration than Henry’s noble but slow-burning commitment. Caitlin stirred to action is an unstoppable force. Two months ago, she was compelled to listen to a woman being raped in a room next to the one in which she herself was being held captive. Since then, she has become a tireless crusader for victims of sexual violence, raising money and awareness on a national scale.

“There’s one more thing,” I say softly. “I’m breaking my word to Henry to tell you, but this bears on Lincoln’s paternity.”

“I understand.”

“Viola Turner was gang-raped by the Double Eagle group just before she left Natchez. On two different occasions. Henry thinks one of those rapists is Lincoln’s biological father. I just thought you should know. For Dad’s sake.”

Caitlin opens her mouth but says nothing. Her chin is quivering like Annie’s did an hour ago, and her eyes blaze with a hatred I can scarcely imagine. “Anything else?” she asks hoarsely.

I shake my head. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

She drops her towel to the floor and walks stark naked into my bedroom to get dressed. Paradoxically, I’m reminded of nothing so much as a soldier girding herself for war.

CHAPTER 30

DRIVING TO MY parents’ house, I call Henry Sexton to let him know Kirk Boisseau will be diving the Jericho Hole at dawn. The reporter sounds beside himself with excitement. He’s already informed the FBI of Glenn Morehouse’s death and relayed the Double Eagle’s confirmation of the murder of Bureau informant Jerry Dugan in 1965. As a result, at least one Bureau agent has promised to look into the Morehouse case immediately, and Henry believes he meant what he said. Before he lets me go, Henry apologizes for calling my father’s honor into question, and I tell him I’ve never developed the habit of shooting the messenger. By the time we hang up, I’m nearing my parents’ house, so I call ahead.

“Dr. Cage,” says the confident baritone that’s greeted every late-night caller for the past forty-three years.

“It’s me.”

“The garage door’s open. Come in that way. I’m in the study.”

“Is Mom all right?”

“More or less. You know your mother.”

Yes. Her picture is in the dictionary under “steel magnolia.” “I’ll see you in a minute.”