All suspicions were on Hugh because there were no other credible suspects.
* * *
Like his predecessor, Bill Waller, Governor Finch had served two terms as a district attorney. The brutal murder of one of their own was unthinkable, and he made its investigation his highest priority. He formed a joint task force with the state police and FBI, and promised full cooperation and funding.
In late September, the task force met in secret for the first time in a hotel in Pascagoula. Special Agents Jackson Lewis and Spence Whitehead were there on behalf of the FBI. The head of the state police, Captain Moffett, presided. He was flanked by two of his investigators. Two more of his men, state troopers in uniform, guarded the door. Keith took notes and said little.
It was significant that local law enforcement was absent. Fats Bowman and his gang would never be included, because of distrust. The Biloxi police were not qualified to take part in such a high-profile and complicated investigation. No one in the room wanted the locals to get involved unless it became necessary. Secrecy was crucial.
Agent Lewis reviewed a report from the lab at Quantico. The experts were certain that the blast had been caused by Semtex, a plastic explosive widely used by the U.S. military. They believed the bomber got his hands on the deadlier stuff and was not altogether familiar with its strength. Their estimate was between five and ten pounds, far more than necessary to kill a man in his office.
As they discussed the damage, the faint sounds of hammers and saws were heard from the repair work down the hall.
Keith struggled to ignore the fact that he was sitting in the courtroom where his father had made his mark suing insurance companies after Camille, and later prosecuting notorious criminals. Not twenty feet away was the bench where Lance Malco had stood when he pled guilty and was sentenced by Judge Oliphant.
Next was a discussion of potential witnesses. Henry Taylor was never mentioned. The FBI had practically driven him out of town, broken leg and all, three days after the murder, then leaned on the state and local police to remain quiet about his existence. The FBI had big plans for Taylor, but it was simply too risky to involve anyone in Biloxi at such an early stage. One stray word could jeopardize Jackson Lewis’s scheme. Likewise, Judge Oliphant, who had signed the search warrants for Taylor’s truck and motel room, had promised secrecy.
Keith would be told of Henry Taylor in due course. He was grief-stricken, driven by revenge, and thoroughly untested. Keeping him in the dark was a delicate matter, but the FBI had no choice. There was also the complicated matter of Keith handling the prosecution. No one in the room believed he would be allowed to pursue the killer or killers all the way to a trial. A special prosecutor would be appointed by the state supreme court, according to backroom conversations between Captain Moffett and the FBI.
The task force reviewed a summary of every person known to be either in the courthouse or having just left it at the time of the explosion. Thirteen people were injured, most by flying glass. Egan Clement was thrown to the floor and received a gash to her head along with a minor concussion. One Alan Taylor from Necaise was knocked down the stairs and broke his leg. He claimed to have been on his way to purchase car tags from the tax collector’s office on the second floor. His story checked out, according to the FBI.
Keith said, “I’ve spoken to Egan several times and she thinks she saw a delivery man with packages near the stairs at the time of the explosion.”
Lewis nodded agreement and said, “Yes, and we’ve spoken to her at length. As you know, she was knocked unconscious. Her recall is not always the same. Most of her story is rather fuzzy, at best. But we’re still digging.”
“So, we could have a suspect?”
“Yes, possibly. That man, if he exists, is a priority.”
“And no one else reported seeing him?”
“No one.”
“How’d the bomb get in the office?”