Greg Iles 3-Book Thriller Collection: The Quiet Game, Turning Angel, The Devil’s Punchbowl

Dad nods. “Physically, he could do it. He’s a lot more able than I am. What about Marston?”

“Leo Marston knows everything that goes on in this town. He wouldn’t dirty his hands with the actual deed, but he’d order someone to do it.”

“I hate to think Ray would go that far. Kidnapping Annie … my God. What do you want to do?”

“Let’s get settled somewhere first, get the security in place. Then we’ll talk about it.”

He opens the chapel door and nearly walks over Livy, who’s standing in the hall. She backs up so that we can exit, and as we do I see my mother and Annie waiting at the end of the hall, by the wide ER doors.

“Tell me what I can do,” Livy says. “Your mother said you’re going to a motel.”

“For now. We need to get Annie settled. She—”

Suddenly the ER doors swing open, and Caitlin Masters runs up the corridor with a camera swinging around her neck and her black hair flying behind her.

“I just came from your house,” she says. “Penn, I’m so sorry.”

“Caitlin—”

“I need to talk you and your father. Right now.”

“What is it?”

She looks at Livy. “Could you excuse us for a moment, Mrs. Sutter?”

Livy bristles and looks at me, expecting me to tell Caitlin she can stay.

“Why don’t we go in the chapel?” I suggest. “We’ll just be a minute, Livy.”

Livy starts to say something to Caitlin but doesn’t. Instead she bites her bottom lip and watches us walk into the chapel.

Caitlin’s energy is like a flame inside the little room. She can’t remain still, and her eyes simmer with anger. “Someone kidnapped Annie?” she asks. “Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And they brought her back? With a warning note?”

“Yes.”

“The same person who set the fire?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Okay … okay.” She nods furiously, then paces out a tight circle. “That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Caitlin, what’s going on? Why are you so worked up?”

“I’ll print the story.”

“The story. About the fire?”

She blinks in confusion. “The fire? Hell, no. The slander. Marston being behind the Payton murder. You say it, I’ll print it. In type big enough to give him a coronary over breakfast.”

I simply stare at her.

“Maybe that’s the answer,” Dad says. “Last night we thought it was.”

“Last night you had a house,” I remind him. “What changed your mind?”

Caitlin stops pacing and looks me dead in the eye. “Annie, for one thing.”

“This girl is good people,” Dad says, squeezing her shoulder.

“For another, my instincts have started humming. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. Maybe because this happened two days after we went to see Stone, and Stone says Marston was behind Payton’s death. Maybe because John Portman threatened you, and we know he worked the Payton case in sixty-eight. And we know Marston and J. Edgar Hoover were friends. Maybe it’s because I get a funny vibe from Marston’s daughter. All I know is that I’m not sitting still while these bastards go after people I care about. They want to play hardball? They’re going to get the game of their goddamn lives.”

My father looks like he wants to kiss her.

“What time is our deadline?” I ask.

“Just call me after you guys get settled somewhere. I’ll come to you.”

“I don’t know what to say. Just … thank you.”

When we leave the chapel, Caitlin walks past Livy without a word. She hugs my mother by the ER doors, kisses Annie, then slips through the doors and disappears.

Livy keeps pace with Dad and me as we walk down the hall and join my mother and Annie.

“Where do you think we should go, Tom?” Mom asks.

“The Prentiss Motel is right up on the highway. Let’s stay there tonight. We’ll worry about the long term tomorrow.”

As Dad opens the ER doors, Mom follows him through with Annie on her hip, leaving Livy and me alone on this side. The awkwardness between us is palpable. Two hours ago we were in each other’s arms. Now …

“What can I do?” she asks. “I’ll help with Annie, go out for food. Whatever you need.”

“I think it better just be family tonight,” I say gently. “Thanks for offering, though. Thanks for today too.”

Her eyes cloud with frustration and confusion. “Penn, for God’s sake … what’s happening here?”

“Maybe you should ask your father.”

TWENTY-SEVEN (#ulink_7546590d-d0d3-55b5-9e69-a02a12557bfe)

When the Examiner hit the driveways at four this morning, it polarized the town. Caitlin’s words entered the public consciousness like electrodes dipped into water, ionizing opinion to positive or negative with no neutral between, the opinions predictable in most cases by the simple indicator of skin color. The process took about three hours: from the time the insomniacs, farmers, and shift workers walked outside to read the front page by street lamp until the last Washington Street matrons toddled downstairs to read what the maid had laid out beside their morning coffee. By seven a.m. telephones were ringing all over town, and by eight every conversation from the sewer ditches and oil fields to the paper mill and the hospitals was centered on two men: Leo Marston and Penn Cage.

My only contributions to Caitlin’s story were the actual accusations against Marston, slander per se if I ever heard it. Of course, my slanderous charges became libel per se—meaning that the libeled party would not have to prove damages—the moment Caitlin printed and distributed them. My phrases, preserved for the ages, ran as follows:

There is no doubt that Delano Payton was murdered on May 14, 1968. It is just as certain that former State Attorney General Leo Marston, known locally as “Judge” Marston because of his stint on the state supreme court, was the man behind the conspiracy that resulted in Payton’s murder. Under Mississippi law, that makes Marston as guilty of murder as the man who planted the bomb. Murder by explosive device is a capital crime in this state, and there is no statute of limitations. I urge the local district attorney to reopen the Payton case. If he does, he will quickly find enough proof to send Leo Marston to death row at Parchman.