“Because that’s what guys like them do. They follow the rules, observe the social niceties. And that makes it easy for us to pick them up.”

“Are we going to hit them at the funeral?” Alois asked, his eyes wide.

“Depends on who else is there. We might do it there, or right after. Or we might wait and stage something interesting. But either way, we move today.”

CHAPTER 84

WALT FELT MORE than a little anxious crossing the river back into Louisiana after killing the state trooper only four days ago. Thankfully, Darius had agreed to drive them (and in Flora’s Lincoln, not Pithy’s Bentley, which would have been like driving through India in Queen Elizabeth’s golden carriage). Walt had tried to enlist Pithy in his effort to dissuade Tom from visiting Henry’s remains, but as he’d feared, the old woman had predicted that no evil would come from Tom paying proper respect to the dead. This hadn’t reassured Walt, but neither Tom nor Pithy had paid him any mind. He felt like the insignificant shield bearer that Pithy seemed to think he was.

The miles flowed by under Darius’s sure hands and feet, Tom as silent as a pilgrim nearing a holy shrine, and soon they reached the west side of Ferriday, where Early’s Funeral Home stood. The business occupied a columned two-story Greek Revival house, while the owner lived in a simple ranch-style home next door, a bass boat parked on a trailer to the side and martin boxes on poles in the yard.

Walt felt some trepidation as Darius went to the door to summon Mr. Early to the Lincoln, but once the owner of the funeral home stopped gawking at Tom’s missing beard, he couldn’t move quickly enough to please his guest. Two minutes after they’d pulled up, Jim Early was letting them into the funeral home through the back door.

Tom thanked Darius and asked if he’d mind going to a convenience store and picking up a couple of Diet Cokes, and their driver agreed without a word. Walt didn’t like the idea of losing their transportation, but once again Tom ignored his concern.

Mr. Early led them to the room where the pre-service visitation was to be held for Sexton. A gleaming metal casket lay at the head of the room, already surrounded by flowers. By necessity, Early informed them solemnly, the funeral would be a closed-casket affair. The reporter had been burned beyond all recognition. Brody Royal had suffered the same fate. After shaking both their hands, Early excused himself to begin preparations for the day’s operations.

Walt told Tom to get on with his business, since they were basically sitting ducks. Tom had already arranged his surrender to the FBI, but Agent Kaiser didn’t expect him to turn up until midway through the church service, after the crowd had been seated. Walt had brought a pistol along, but he knew better than to think he’d get the drop on another state trooper like he had with the one by the borrow pits. This time, if the staties came, it’d be the SWAT boys with body armor, tactical sights, and pump Remingtons.

Tom walked up to the casket and laid his hand on the lid, right about where Henry’s chest would be. He was speaking softly when a woman who had to be eighty entered the back of the room. She started when Walt nodded at her, as if shocked to find someone here. But then, after staring at Tom’s back for a while, something in her gaze softened, and she shuffled forward.

Walt followed softly behind her, more out of curiosity than anything. As she neared the coffin, Tom turned and looked at her. Walt saw then that his friend’s eyes were wet. Tom held out his right hand to the woman.

“Hello, Virginia.”

The newcomer gave Tom her quivering hand, and Walt saw that it was a working woman’s hand, callused and scaly from many washings.

“Dr. Cage?” she said hesitantly. “Is that you?” She laughed self-consciously. “I didn’t recognize you at first.”

“It’s quite all right, Virginia. I shaved my beard.”

Mrs. Sexton looked blankly around the room, then shook her head like someone lost. “Lord, Doc . . . you’re one of the few people I could stand seeing right now. What are you doing here?”

Tom’s face reddened. “I came to pay my respects to your son. You may have heard that the police are looking for me, and I hope you’re not offended.”

Mrs. Sexton dismissed his concern. “No, no. I’m glad to see you. You were so good to us back in the old days. It meant so much to me, and to Henry.”

“I was just doing my job, Virginia.”

“Oh, no. You do your work the way my Henry always did his. It’s not a job to you. It’s a calling. That’s mighty rare these days, I’m sad to say.”

Tom nodded. “Henry was working with my daughter-in-law, you know. Caitlin Masters. Or my future daughter-in-law, I should say. I lost her yesterday. She was killed by the same bunch that got your boy.”

Mrs. Sexton laid her hand on Tom’s forearm and squeezed, and her eyes said, Have strength.

“Caitlin loved to chase big stories,” Tom said. “And she was good at it. But your son was different. He reminded me of my boy, actually. Henry was a crusader, like Penn. He didn’t work for the glory, but for truth. For real justice. That’s what’s rare in this day and age. You taught him well, Virginia. Henry believed right and wrong are as plain as day and night, and it’s a man’s duty to stand up and be counted, no matter what the cost.”

Tears welled in Mrs. Sexton’s eyes, then slid down her cheeks. She did not wipe them. “You’re right, Doc. But Lord, what that costs.”

“The last full measure,” Tom said softly.

“Beg ’pardon?”

“I was quoting President Lincoln. Henry gave the last full measure of devotion to his cause.”

“Oh . . . yes. I remember now,” Mrs. Sexton said in a voice of detached wonder. “Did I have to memorize that in school?”

“You probably did.”

Virginia Sexton looked over at Walt, who smiled awkwardly, being a stranger. Then she said, “Dr. Cage, I wonder if I could ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“It would mean the world to me if you would say a few words over Henry. It would have meant a lot to him, too.”

Tom looked stunned by her request. “Actually—”

“Don’t say no, now. I struggled and fretted over who to ask for a eulogy, and I’d about decided on his publisher. But somehow I just haven’t felt settled with it. And the way you put that just now . . . that’s what I want people to understand about my boy. And coming from you, well, it would really mean something. Everybody knows what kind of man you are, no matter what any law says. Folks know you. And they care about what you say.”

“Actually, I came here expressly to ask you if I might say a few words during the service.”

The old woman’s eyes brightened. “Really?”

“Yes. Henry’s passing affected me a lot more than you might suspect. It made me realize some things about myself.”

Mrs. Sexton looked flabbergasted by this turn of events. “Well, I never . . . of course. You say whatever you feel called to.”

Tom took Mrs. Sexton’s hands in his and squeezed them. “I’m going to leave you alone with him now, Virginia. But I’ll see you at the service. And if you would, please don’t mention to anyone that I’ll be speaking. I’ll have Mr. Early inform the pastor.”

“I understand. But . . . could you stay here a little longer, Doc? You see, I don’t have anybody left now that Henry’s gone.”

Tom looked back and gave Walt an apologetic glance, then put his right arm around Mrs. Sexton and stood before the coffin in silence. Walt wondered what his friend was thinking. Tom never went to funerals, seeing them as a reminder that in the end, a physician always lost his battles with death. For his part, Walt was thinking about the hours still to pass between now and the moment when the FBI would take Tom into protective custody. So long as they were in Louisiana, someone could alert Forrest or Snake Knox to that fact. And if they did, then Mr. Early would be doing a land-office business in caskets before the day was through.