“So—Snake Knox and the VK?”
Kaiser taps the palm of his left hand with the back of his right. “I think it’s pretty simple. After Forrest died”—he gives me a quick look to let me know that he knows I killed Forrest Knox—“the Double Eagles began to disintegrate as a criminal organization. I think they relied on crooked cops for muscle, and with Forrest dead, that cadre evaporated. Snake must have had some kind of line into the VK and decided to use them to replace his old muscle. Probably a drug connection, since the biker gangs move a lot of guns and drugs.”
“Where are the VK based?”
“East Texas and Louisiana. They’re not huge, but they’re bleeding-edge violent. Bigger on ideology than most other clubs.” Kaiser points at two Nazi lightning bolts stitched onto the jacket. “SS sig-rune insignia. Typical Aryan bullshit.”
“Why would these guys help Snake, though? Is he paying them?”
“Doubtful. The lightning bolts can mean Klan, as well. The new Klan, of course, not the original. I think it’s the Kennedy angle that gives Snake his cachet.”
“How so?”
Kaiser clucks his tongue as though trying to decide how much to reveal. “I haven’t told you a lot of this . . . you had enough on your plate.”
“Well, I need to know it now.”
“Not long after Snake disappeared, we started seeing some blog chatter about the JFK assassination, and it tracked pretty closely with what Sonny Thornfield told you and me in the Concordia Parish jail on the day he was murdered.”
“About Frank Knox being the second shooter in Dallas?”
“Right. Lots of the same details. That’s like blood in the water to conspiracy theorists, and it made the rounds of all the hate-group websites. There’s no doubt that groups like the VK would have seen it. Snake would be a hero to those guys. And the Knoxes being Louisiana boys would have gotten them really interested. VK bikers meeting Snake would be like stoners meeting Ken Kesey. He was there. Present at the creation. Snake could tell them about all the Double Eagle murders, plus God only knows what bullshit he spun them about the Martin Luther King assassination.”
“So Snake might be hiding out in Texas or Louisiana.”
“It’s possible. But I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
Kaiser hesitates once more, then continues. “Because a ghostwriter named Blair F. Edelman has spent the last two weeks in Andorra.”
Andorra is a small republic on the mountainous border between France and Spain, a notorious tax haven that conveniently has no extradition agreement with the United States. Forrest, Snake, and Billy Knox had always planned to run there if their drug operation ever came under attack, and the FBI has a record of Snake and Billy entering the country by car under their own names. But as soon as they did, Snake promptly disappeared.
“You ever heard of Edelman?” Kaiser asks, leading me back around to the front of the station.
“He’s written some big celebrity bios, right?”
“That’s him. I think he’s been meeting with Snake in Andorra. We only picked up that he was there four days ago, and we’re watching him now. But I think he’s onto us. We’ve seen him with Billy Knox, but Billy claims to have no contact with his father.”
“You think he’s writing about the Kennedy stuff?”
“Has to be. No Double Eagle book would interest Edelman without that. He’s used to seven-figure deals. And Snake wants to make the biggest splash he can. Some of the blog chatter made it into the National Tattler, but that wouldn’t satisfy Snake. I think he wants to go mainstream and take all the credit he can for killing Kennedy.”
“That’s practically begging to get caught.”
“What else does a bitter old bastard on the run have to do with his remaining time? There’s no deal he can cut that wouldn’t involve him dying in prison. This way, he makes a martyr out of his brother, Frank, and grabs some immortality for himself. And if he does end up going to prison, the Aryan Brotherhood will receive him like a god.”
I think about my experiences with New York publishers. “And someone will publish it, all right.”
“You bet your ass they will. After forty years, the definitive truth about Dallas comes out at last? Mobster Carlos Marcello uses ex-Klansmen to kill John Kennedy? Teenage Lee Harvey Oswald sexually exploited by David Ferrie? That’s number one for months.”
“Do you have enough evidence to debunk the story?”
Kaiser takes a deep breath and sighs heavily. “Penn . . . I think the goddamn story is true.”
A chill races over my skin. “Then why not beat Snake to the punch? Go public with it?”
“For one thing, the Bureau can’t make pronouncements like that without rock-solid evidence. Snake, on the other hand, can say any damn thing he feels like. He’s not even worried about libel—hell, he’s wanted for multiple murders. But we’ve drifted afield.” Kaiser wipes his hands on his jacket. “What matters tonight is that the VK involvement is a gift to us. Up to this point, Snake’s been moving completely underwater. But now we can start pressuring the VK. Bring in every member that’s got an outstanding warrant and squeeze them, hard. Sooner or later, somebody will talk.”
“That’s what you said about the Double Eagles.”
“These guys aren’t the Double Eagles. They’re hard-core by today’s standards, but not one VK in fifty could have stood toe to toe with Frank Knox.”
“I hope you’re right this time.”
Kaiser motions for my bodyguard to join us. Tim sidles over and waits to hear what the FBI man has to say.
“I’m afraid these VK assholes are all about payback,” Kaiser tells him. “The fact that you and Penn put down two of them isn’t going to be forgotten. They’ll try to hit back. You need to double up on security for a while. I might be able to augment what you’re doing, but in the end it’s going to come down to more money for private protection.”
“Caitlin’s dad will help out,” I say. “Tell Tim what you think we need. I’m going to get back to Annie and Mia.”
“I’ll handle it,” Tim says. “You take care of those girls, Penn.”
I walk a couple of steps toward the glass door, but before I get out of earshot, Kaiser calls, “Are you sure the guy said nothing else to you before he died?”
I look back at the corpse lying in the dark. “Positive, John.”
After a long look, Kaiser says, “Okay. You’re good to go.”
I walk back into the station, where Annie and Mia sit drinking Diet Dr Peppers. Both have been seriously shaken, but as usual, Mia is doing a good job of managing Annie’s anxiety.
“You guys ready?” I ask wearily.
“Way past,” Mia says. “Let’s get this girl home.”