Greg Iles - The Quiet Game

He waves his hand dismissively. “The presidential primaries. Bobby Kennedy had jumped into the race as soon as Eugene McCarthy proved LBJ was vulnerable. After Kennedy came in, Johnson announced he wouldn’t run for reelection. Del Payton was killed on the day Bobby won the Nebraska primary, and he’d won Indiana the week before. Kennedy was shaping up as the likely Democratic candidate in November.”

“I’m not following you. What’s the connection?”

“Hoover, Cage. Compared to the presidential race, Hoover didn’t give a damn what happened to some black factory worker in Mississippi. Why? Because the FBI director has always served at the pleasure of the President. Hoover had been director since 1924, and he meant to stay director until he died. Two of his least favorite people in the world were Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King. King’s assassination had thrilled him, literally. But Bobby’s presidential campaign was giving him ulcers. Can you guess what Hoover’s mission in life was in 1968?”

“Not to kill Robert Kennedy?”

“No, no. Forget that crap. He wanted to put Richard Nixon in office. And he was willing to do whatever was required to accomplish that. Hoover and Nixon went way back, to the 1960 election when Nixon lost to JFK. Bobby Kennedy, on the other hand, had treated Hoover like shit when he was attorney general. So, in May 1968 Nixon is making sober speeches about law and order to middle America, while Bobby Kennedy runs from ghetto to college campus preaching about racial equality, poverty in Mississippi, the evils of the Vietnam War, and reaching out to the Soviet Union.”

“I still don’t see the relevance to Del Payton.”

Stone looks exasperated by my slowness. “The relevance is to Leo Marston. And more important, to his father. Leo’s father was a major Mississippi power broker, a former state attorney general, just like Leo turned out to be. He was close friends with Big Jim Eastland, a well-known segregationist, head of the Senate Judiciary Committee, and J. Edgar Hoover’s number one cheerleader on Capitol Hill.”

At last the picture is coming clear.

“The sixty-eight presidential election was the second closest in history, Cage, after Nixon and JFK in 1960. In sixty-eight Nixon won by less than one percent of the vote. That’s how close it was in November. Back in May, when Del Payton was murdered, anything was possible. Mississippi was a Democratic state, but it voted strangely in presidential elections. In 1960 her electors didn’t vote for JFK or Nixon, but some guy named Byrd. In sixty-four they voted for Goldwater. In 1968 they were leaning toward-”

“Wallace,” I finish. “George Wallace.”

Stone nods. “The racist firecracker from Alabama. Wallace was running as an Independent. Leo and his father were Democrats, but they thought Bobby Kennedy was a communist. Wallace was too racist for them, and more important, they didn’t think he could win. So, they cast their lot with Nixon. Old man Marston was doing all he could to sway the movers and shakers in Mississippi to forget Wallace and vote Republican.”

“Jesus.”

“You see it now? Into this mess rides Special Agent Dwight Stone, telling J. Edgar Hoover that the son of one of Nixon’s biggest supporters is responsible for a race murder in Mississippi. Did that make the director happy? No, sir. Do you think Hoover wanted to tell his buddy Senator Eastland that the son of an old crony was going to jail for killing a nigger who got out of line? No, sir. And the thought of what Bobby Kennedy would do with that information was enough to give Hoover a heart attack. So… what do you think Hoover said to Leo at that meeting in Jackson?”

“I have no idea.”

“Sonny boy, you fucked up. You had the right idea, but you got caught. It’s just a good thing you got caught by my people, or life would be getting very uncomfortable right now. In fact, it still could. Then Hoover talked to Leo’s papa. It’s a lot like The Godfather. Nothing formal, but everything understood. Fealty. Absolute loyalty.” Stone modulates his voice into a scratchy Marlon Brando impersonation: “‘Someday, I may ask you to perform a difficult service, but until that day, accept this favor as a gift.’ From that day forward, Hoover owned the Marston family. All their influence, everything.”

“Hoover buried your evidence?”

“All of it. Leo went back to his job and his future. The Payton investigation was allowed to die. Only Ray Presley paid a price.”

“Presley?”

“He’d shot at us on the highway, remember? Hoover wouldn’t let that pass. It was part of the price he demanded from Marston. Presley had to go down for something. Didn’t matter what.”

“Marston gave him up?”

“Didn’t even hesitate. Presley had a dozen sidelines for making money. His police job was just a fulcrum for the rest of it. He fenced stuff, collected protection money-”

“And sold dope.”

“Right. Amphetamines mostly, for truckers. Interstate transportation of federally regulated narcotics. Marston gave us everything we needed to nail him, and we fed it to the state police. They busted him on possession with intent to distribute. I showed up at the arrest, just so Presley would know it was payback.”

“Did he find out it was Marston who gave him up?”

“Not as far as I know. That’s the irony. Marston was right to trust Presley, but Presley was a fool to trust Marston. Presley’s like a dog that way.”

“A pit bull maybe.”

Stone goes through his little phone ritual again.

“You waiting for a call?”

“No.” He picks up his pistol, stands, and walks back to the front window.

“They still out there?”

“Still there.”

“So, the national security seal was completely bogus?”

Stone chuckles dryly. “Completely. Think about the Payton case. The Bureau had been tasked with destroying violent opposition to civil rights in the South. Instead, Hoover purposefully protected a race murderer for his own political ends. Normally, he would have added the Payton evidence to his personal files. The infamous blackmail files. But Payton’s file was too big for that. We had agents in Natchez generating reams of useless crap. The national security seal was an impenetrable shield.”

“Do you think the audiotape of Marston and Presley is still with the main file?”

“I doubt it. That was the critical evidence. It was probably taken to Hoover’s home when he died, with the other blackmail material. Shelves of books have been written about what might have happened to that stuff. You’ll never find that tape.”

“So, Marston’s motive was just-”

“Money,” Stone finishes. “Greed. Bastards like him only care about one thing: grabbing everything within their reach. They think every dollar they get takes them one step closer to immortality, and every person they step on puts them one step above everyone else. I don’t think other people really exist for people like Marston. They’re just a means to an end.”

Including his daughter, I think with a shiver. “When you had the bugs in his mansion,” I say hesitantly, “did you ever pick up anything… unsavory?”

“Murder is pretty unsavory.”

“I’m talking about sexual stuff.”

“We heard him banging his wife’s best friend one day.”

“I’m talking about abuse. Child abuse.”

He turns away from the window and looks at me. “No. I had a daughter myself. If I’d heard anything like that, I would have gone in there and thrashed him within an inch of his life.” The corner of Stone’s mouth twitches. “The mikes were only in for a couple of weeks, though. And I can’t remember if Henry covered the little girl’s room.”

I force myself to push Livy from my mind. “I need you to tell this story to a jury.”