The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(44)

I could see the revelation surprised her.

“My father never mentioned the name. He told me, though, that people in the SCLC were concerned about King’s infidelity. Its revelation would have hurt the movement. King tried to justify it by his travel schedule. The loneliness of being on the road. He told my father that he was away from home twenty-five days a month. Women were his form of anxiety reduction.”

“It seems reckless,” I said. “He knew the FBI was watching, particularly if your father was charged with finding their spies.”

“Certainly by January 1965, after that package arrived at his house, King knew the FBI was watching. Only the FBI had the resources to gather those recordings. King hated Hoover for sending those, so he asked my father to look into things. He told me they found three spies. One was even the treasurer of the SCLC, which came as a shock.”

I reached for one of the fried shrimps. “Was anything done about it?”

“He didn’t tell me. I have no idea. I was hoping Valdez and what he had might answer those questions.”

“You had no inkling that this involved the assassination when you made the deal.”

“Not until I talked to Valdez. I was at my father’s house when he first called. I listened in to my father’s side of the conversation, without him knowing, and heard enough to realize there was a connection. I was able to get a detective I know to pull my father’s phone records. Illegal as hell, but I could feel something was wrong. I found the Double Eagle in my father’s bedroom, hidden in a jewelry box. Then I called Valdez back and made my own deal.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Enough for me to go to the Dry Tortugas. He also warned me that the FBI could be a problem and not to trust any of them. He mentioned no names. He just told me to keep it all to myself and proceed with caution. He would explain more when we met.”

Which had not happened. “What about what we read?”

“That’s what’s eating at me. My father told me that after the package of tapes came to King’s house, things actually cooled off between King and the FBI. During ’65 and ’66 the FBI kept up its smear campaign, but they were much more subtle. No more in-your-face dirty tricks. Then in April 1967 King came out against the Vietnam War and everything boiled over again. King was also planning a huge Poor People’s March on Washington, DC, for the summer of ’69. Hoover was petrified of that happening. I read in several books how he wanted new wiretaps, but the attorney general turned him down.”

I connected the dots. “The dates of the memos we read about Ray’s recruitment started in July 1967.”

She nodded. “The timing is right. We know now that during 1967 Hoover simply ignored the attorney general and wiretapped King on his own, with no authority. But what if he did even more beyond that?”

Indeed. What if?

“I know from Nate that the King family is convinced James Earl Ray didn’t kill anybody. They think the FBI, or the CIA, or the military pulled the trigger.”

Which was exactly what the Jowers jury in Memphis had ruled last year, finding that Ray fired the shot, but the government itself had been part of an active conspiracy to kill Martin Luther King Jr. Of course, that outcome had been predetermined and manipulated by the trial’s participants. The pages we’d read earlier, though, were another matter. The FBI had clearly been on the lookout for someone special. An asset. And they found what they were looking for in Montreal, eventually sending him to Alabama, then to Mexico, and on to Los Angeles.

“You told me Ray was in L.A. at the end of 1967,” I said.

She nodded. “Still posing as Eric S. Galt. I need to read the rest of the documents in those files. I know a lot about this. I can place them in a historical context for you.”

“Not tonight,” I said. “We’re going to eat our dinner, then get some sleep. There’s a motel next door that doesn’t look busy. We should be able to get a couple of rooms.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll deal with this in the morning.”



Two rooms were available and I paid for them with the government credit card. I had no choice. My cash was limited and I might need it on the road. If she hadn’t before, Stephanie Nelle would now know exactly where I was located. I hoped she’d be true to her word and give me my one day, as promised.

In my room I undressed and took a shower, locking and barricading the room door. The waterproof case came with me into the bathroom, never leaving my sight.

But all remained quiet.

Coleen was a few doors down the hall.

The clock beside the bed read 11:40 p.m.

I lay on the bed in my boxers and stared at the container. The Double Eagle sat beside Oliver’s gun on the nightstand. I was tired, but I was also curious. Many times I’d used my eidetic memory to recall word for word what a witness had said during a trial. It also allowed every detail of my prep file to stay right at the edge of my thoughts, available for use in an instant. I’d grown accustomed to an abundance of information.

Time to add some more.

I opened the container.

And read.

There were more memos between Jansen and his boss, then replies, all geared toward the pre–April 4, 1968, activities of Eric S. Galt. There were details of a March 29 trip to Birmingham where Galt bought a Remington .243-caliber rifle with a scope, along with ammunition, signing the sales slip Harvey Lowmeyer. He paid the $248.59 bill in cash. In those days nothing was required to buy a weapon, not even identification. The so-called point of contact operative had been in Birmingham and examined the rifle, determining that it was not powerful enough. So Galt returned to the store the next day and exchanged it for a Gamemaster .30-06 with a scope. One of the memos noted that the scope allowed for 7x magnification of the target and provided a wide field of view. A magnesium fluoride coating enabled shots to be taken in low light, even in the late dusk. The second rifle was more expensive and Galt paid the difference in cash.