“And what’s come of it? Nothing but talk. Not one prosecution. Not even an arrest.”

“That could change overnight, son.”

Forrest Knox smiled, probably at the idea of being seen as young. Devereux figured he was about fifty-five.

“And you think burning the goddamn Beacon is going to help your cause?” Forrest asked. “That fire was like a Jumbotron screaming, This reporter’s on the right track! Brody, before that fire I had a direct digital line into Sexton’s computers. I saw everything that fool was going to publish, days before it appeared. You’ve destroyed all that. Worse, Randall’s rookie crew failed to finish Henry off. Now we have no way of knowing what he’s telling the FBI.”

Royal lifted the glass of single malt whisky Claude had poured him earlier and drank it off neat. Then he spoke with an unnerving precision that silenced even Forrest Knox, his eyes never leaving Knox’s face.

“You don’t know as much as you think you do, Lieutenant. For instance, are you aware that Sexton interviewed my daughter, Katy, at her home only one week ago?”

Forrest blinked but said nothing.

“He arranged the interview under false pretenses, then questioned her about that young nigger Wilson, and Albert Norris.”

Forrest looked intrigued. “What did he ask her, exactly?”

“Enough to upset her greatly. My daughter is fragile, Lieutenant. I’m not sure what she remembers about that period, but I do know that further questioning of that kind could dredge up information that none of us wants exposed.”

Forrest nodded slowly. “I see. Well, I can pay you back for that tidbit. A week ago, some nigger showed up at the deathbed of Pooky Wilson’s mother. He knows all about what you and Daddy did back in sixty-four. In fact, he saw you and Daddy jump from Norris’s store window, and he saw Randall drive you away.”

Claude felt his stomach tighten. This was the first he’d heard of such a potentially devastating witness.

“Sexton’s been looking all over for him,” Forrest went on, “only he doesn’t know the man’s name. The mama died before he could get it out of her. But now that you’ve cut off my line into the Beacon, we won’t even know if Henry finds him.”

“All the more reason to deal with the problem at its source!” Royal leaned over his desk, his face darkening with passion. “Do you remember being three years old, boy?”

Forrest looked perplexed by this question.

“I do,” Brody said. “It was 1927, and my mama was standing on tiptoe, holding me over her head while the floodwater rose up to her mouth, then her nose. My daddy was diving down to try to find an axe to hack through the roof. If he hadn’t found it, we’d all have died that day.”