threaten me further, I simply walk past him and down the hall. A rush of footsteps comes after me, and a hand jerks me around.
It’s Portman, his face livid. “You fucking dilettante—”
“You’re not a judge anymore, Portman. You’re a civil servant, serving at the pleasure of the President. And presidents are pretty sensitive to negative publicity.”
His grimace morphs into a twisted smile. “You don’t know what power is, Cage. But if you keep pushing, you’re going to find out.”
“All this over a little Mississippi murder,” I murmur. “I push in Natchez, you feel it in Washington. I find that very interesting. I think a lot of people will.”
This time when I walk away, Portman doesn’t follow.
As I descend the staircase and cross the dark pavement outside the death house, I feel my pulse pounding in my temples. There’s nothing quite like threatening the director of the FBI to get the blood circulating. I quicken my steps toward the parking lot, wanting to get out of the prison as swiftly as I can. Life is back at the hotel with Annie and Caitlin, not here at the Walls.
But Portman won’t leave my thoughts. I can’t shake the feeling that he came to Huntsville specifically to see me, and not Arthur Lee Hanratty. He knew he could speak to me here without appearing to have sought me out. His ruthless punishment of Peter Lutjens proves that my interest in the Payton murder has touched a bureaucratic nerve, at the very least. And at worst? I can’t even guess. Anything is possible.
As I near my rental car, a couple of reporters from the witness room start shouting questions at me. Do I really believe the death penalty is a deterrent? Am I absolutely convinced of Hanratty’s guilt? What were John Portman and I talking about? What was the FBI director doing here at all? I climb into the car, resisting the temptation to pour gasoline onto the fire of the Payton case. I need to think. I need to see Annie and Caitlin.
As I drive through the gate of the Walls, passing the now silent crowd standing their candlelight vigil in the rain-swept darkness, one thing comes clear to me. This is the last trip I will make to this prison. The yellow glow of the candles grows smaller in my rearview mirror. Three more men pass their days on death row because I put them here.
They will die without me present.
When I reach the hotel, Caitlin is waiting for me with a cold can of Dr Pepper and a chicken sandwich. I’m starving. It took two hours to get back to Houston through the rain and traffic, but knowing that Annie might not go to sleep without me close kept me from stopping for food. I shouldn’t have worried. She is sound asleep in one of the double beds, while the television plays CNN in muted tones. Caitlin is wearing silk pajamas that somehow look demure and sexy at the same time. I collapse at the table by the window and devour the sandwich, then drink the Dr Pepper in a few gulps. Her instincts are as accurate as always; she says nothing while I eat.
“Thank you,” I tell her, tossing the sandwich wrapper into the wastepaper can. “Really.”
“I saw a clip of you coming out of the prison. Was it bad?”
“Bad enough. That’s the last one I go to.”
“Let’s change the subject, then. Annie only woke up once, and I rubbed her back till she fell asleep again.”
“I really appreciate you staying with her.”
“No problem. She’s great.” Caitlin reaches out and touches my knee. “You really look tired. You want me to go to my room so you can crash? Our flight to Gunnison leaves at eight-thirty.”
We’re renting a Cherokee in Gunnison for the drive up to Crested Butte. “I don’t think I can get to sleep yet.”
“Okay.” She scoots back in her chair and folds her legs beneath her. “Let’s talk business, then. Your assistant called. Your ATF friend called her and confirmed that Payton’s car was destroyed by C-4 plastic explosive. They found traces of something called RDX in the shrapnel. He said there should be plenty more embedded in the metal of Payton’s car. No problem to prove in court.”
Half my fatigue disappears into the shot of adrenaline this produces. “So, Ray Presley planted the blasting caps and dynamite. And someone falsified the lab report.”
She nods. “I’ve been studying your copy of the police report. It’s mostly gossip really. Wild theories. The interesting thing is that there were rumored suspects the detectives never talked to, local guys who had done other race crimes. Almost as if Creel and Temple knew those suspects weren’t guilty.”
“Presley may well have planted that C-4 himself. He’s killed before. But for money usually. If he killed Payton, it wasn’t on his own hook.”
“You think he killed Payton for Leo Marston?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you first get the idea Marston was involved?”
“From the deputy who saved us the other night. Ike Ransom.”
“Well … I hope you can trust him. Because I’ve got to tell you, everything my people have found on Marston indicates that he’s a liberal, as far as race goes, anyway.”
“I know. I think the murder might not have been about race at all.”
Her mouth opens slightly. “What else could it have been about?”
“I don’t know yet. Have your people learned anything about Dwight Stone?”
“Yes. One of our reporters in Alexandria, Virginia, says Stone was dismissed from the FBI in 1972 for alcohol-related problems.”
“Anything else?”
“He was second-generation law enforcement. His father was a state trooper in Colorado. Stone himself served with the marines in Korea and won a handful of medals I don’t know the significance of. He went to law school after he got out of the service, and joined the Bureau in 1956. He spent sixteen years in, and received several commendations before being dismissed.”
“Althea Payton told me Stone was sympathetic to her, that he really wanted to solve the case. I wonder if the fact that they both served in Korea was the root of that?”
“I guess it could be.”
“Something strange happened at the prison tonight, Caitlin.”
“What?”
“The director of the FBI showed up.”
“John Portman? Why would he show up at the Hanratty execution?”
“To warn me to stay out of the Del Payton case.”
“What?”
“Portman and I have a history. When you asked about the Hanratty case on the plane, I left out some details. When Hanratty committed that first murder in Compton, he was seen by a dozen witnesses
