I shake my head. “We didn’t find this bone, Walker. A local scuba diver did. A recreational diver. Under a rusted convertible, as Henry said.”

Walker Dennis closes his eyes and shakes his head. “That’s not a bone. That’s a stick of dynamite. And it could blow us all to hell.” He gives me a sharp look. “Especially you and me.”

“Well, we’re not putting it back under the water. And there are a lot more where this came from. We’ve even got one with a bullet embedded in it. This is a very important find, Sheriff. A major discovery, both historically and legally.”

Dennis takes off his hat and rubs his thinning hair. “Jesus H. Christ, Penn. What do you propose I do with this?”

“Drain the Jericho Hole,” Henry says, as though proposing that the sheriff empty a horse trough with a sump pump.

“Drain the …? Shit, you’re crazy.”

“It’s probably going to have to be done,” I tell him. “Unless you bring an expert team of divers in here, and heavy salvage equipment. The only question is, will it be done under a state warrant or a federal one?”

Sheriff Dennis lifts an Ole Miss coffee mug off the desk and spits tobacco juice into it. “I like spitting on the Rebels,” he says distractedly.

“I have a feeling I know which warrant it’s going to be,” Henry says. “Let’s go, Penn.”

“Damn it, Henry,” the sheriff says wearily. “Take it easy. You boys sure know how to screw up a pretty day.”

“We just wanted to give you the chance to take the lead on the investigation,” I tell him. “If you wanted to.”

Walker stares at the bone another few seconds, then looks up with rueful eyes. “I sure appreciate it, Mayor. But I wouldn’t want to take all the credit for something like this. Besides, my office isn’t equipped to handle it. The logistics alone are overwhelming. And then the forensic side … No, I think the FBI is the proper outfit for this case. This is right up their alley. I’ll be glad to lend all the support they ask for, but they definitely ought to be the lead agency on this.”

In any other circumstances, this answer would be stunning. For a local sheriff to voluntarily cede jurisdiction to “the feds” is almost unprecedented. But the subtext here is plain: civil rights murder. In a parish with these demographics, Sheriff Dennis’s decision is the prudent one Kirk Boisseau predicted.

I give him a knowing smile. “I hear you, Walker. But there’s one other thing I’d like to discuss with you. Henry already knows about it, so consider this a private conversation. This problem is a lot more suited to your … outfit.”

Dennis looks downright afraid now. “What’s that?”