by Roger Johns
“If he had gone for a run through the woods, then his cell phone would probably be on. Even if he was too hurt to make a call, it could still be located. But Whitlock says it’s not showing up.”
“He’s convinced Matt’s off with another woman somewhere,” Mason stated flatly.
“Yep—and that the husband or boyfriend of the woman he’s off with burned the house as revenge, and now Matt’s too scared to show his face in these parts.”
“Then why do you want to waste time traipsing around out in the trees?”
“Matt may not be the only thing out there worth finding. He’s a hider. He hid a secret lab inside his regular lab. There were hidden cameras around his house and I’m willing to bet he put them there himself. And—”
“And, since it looks like arson was involved, maybe the house was burned to keep something else hidden,” Mason finished.
“Very good. And, if Matt had other secrets, where better to hide them than out there somewhere? He wouldn’t have taken the time to mark his trails if they weren’t important.”
“Did you tell Whitlock about your Matt-the-Hider theory?”
“Nope.”
“Naughty, naughty.”
“Just pragmatic,” she said, with an unashamed, yeah-so? expression. “His permission was conditioned on how we’ll be searching, not why.”
“You would think that finding these cameras would get him a little more fired up about looking into things.”
“Oh, he’s fired up. While you were off communing with your people in DC, he and I had quite a chat. It seems he’s a rather compartmentalized thinker. Until he knows where the camera feeds are going, he says he can only speculate about who put them there and why, and that none of that speculation suggests a direction for the investigation.”
“But you could have suggested a direction by telling him your theory of Matt hiding things.”
“Which is still just speculation. Besides if he gets too fired up, he might want to start calling the shots. That might not slow you down, because you’re federal, but it could put me under his thumb.”
“Your approach to things is very … uhm…”
“Pragmatic. Surely that’s the word you’re looking for.” She smiled, then looked down her nose at him with a tread-carefully expression.
“That is precisely the word,” he conceded.
“And by the way…”
“Yes?”
“When we were leaving the lab you said you had a few more things you wanted to do. You never finished the list.”
“Well, finding out where the increased cocaine supply in and around Baton Rouge is coming from is critical,” Mason said.
“Anything else?”
“Why must I show all my cards first? Your turn.”
“The most important thing is the secret stuff Carla found in Matt’s lab. It needs to come out of Tunica as soon as possible,” Wallace said.
“It does, indeed,” Mason agreed. “And it needs to be examined by some serious federal experts, so I’ll want to accompany whoever the federal marshal sends to assert custody of it.”
“Not so fast,” Wallace said, raising a cautionary finger. “That equipment could very well be evidence that’s related to an already-committed crime under state law—a homicide—and for all we know kidnapping and arson might come into the picture as well. The state crime lab gets first dibs.”
“In fact, we don’t know that it’s evidence of anything, other than possibly some shenanigans by Matt Gable—federal shenanigans at that,” Mason said, his voice taking on a subtle peremptory edge. “Carla Chapman said the apparatus didn’t include any osmosis bags, so there’s no definitive link, at this point, between your homicide and the stuff in the storeroom. So, why would you want it or think you need it?”
“I just told you why,” she said, planting her feet wide and leaning toward him, her hands on her hips. “Those bags are rather unusual items. Until we can exclude a connection between the ones we found with Overman and ones that were at Tunica, I have to assume that somehow it’s a link between the lab and my case. What I can’t understand is why you’re so interested in it.”
“Look,” he said, elbows at his side, his palms up, “it’s federal property, it stays in federal custody, and it gets examined by federal scientists.”
“That’s not a reason. That’s just you being a big shot. Bravo,” she said, pressing her palms together in a kowtow.
“Okay. I can see I’m getting under your skin—”
“Can you really?” she asked, with a phony smile and a wide-eyed glare. She turned toward her car and started walking.
“Of course I can,” he said, calmly, as he followed along beside her.
“Well then, try this on for size,” she said, brushing past his irritating composure. “Let’s assume Matt was kidnapped. We know he wasn’t kidnapped from a federal facility because Kevin Bell told us lab security showed him leaving the place Friday evening. So, unless he was kidnapped and taken across a state line, it’s a state matter. And if the stuff in the lab holds some clue to Matt’s situation, then we’re looking at a state crime that just happens to involve federally owned evidence.”
“Hard to argue with that,” he said.
“Thank you—”
“But I’m going to.”
“Look, buster, I’m as fun-loving as the next person, but don’t start playing games with me.” She stopped and leaned toward him, her face inches from his. “Some people you can do that with. I’m not one of those people.”
“Have you ever tried to get a state court to issue a warrant authorizing a search and seizure at a federal facility?” When Wallace didn’t answer, he was about to ask the question again but her expression told him she was about to yank up the welcome mat. “Look, I’m just trying to figure out the best, fastest way to get at this stuff,” he said, instead.
“Twice,” Wallace said. “I’ve done it twice. Once it went off without a hitch. The other time I got nowhere, because my federal counterpart took such an obstructive attitude.”
“How long did it take you to get the warrant?”
“Not very. Where are you going with this?” She stepped off the curb and walked around to her side of the car.
“I see this whole business breaking down into three pieces. Who gets the stuff from Gable’s lab, how quickly it can be gotten, and how it’s analyzed after it’s out of Tunica.”
“Is there some reason you can’t just get the evidence out of Tunica and then turn it over to the state lab? You’ll obviously get any and all information we develop.” She pulled open the door to her cruiser and slid behind the wheel.
“How certain are you of the range of capabilities at your lab?” Mason asked, stowing his satchel in the footwell behind his seat and then climbing into the front.
“Is that what this is all about? You’re worried we’re just a bunch of local yokels who can’t tell a Bunsen burner from a hat rack?” She slammed her door, rocking the car.
“I’m not worried about anything,” he said, coolly. “I just don’t know, so I have to ask.” He slammed his door and stared straight ahead.
“As far as I know, we can do what any other lab can do. Anything that requires exotic equipment or really high-end chemistry that isn’t cost effective to do in-house, we have consulting contracts with the relevant science departments and med schools at every major university in the state. If it can be done, I’m sure it can be done here.”
“Good. Then we’re settled.”
Wallace reached for the ignition but pulled her hand back and then turned to face him. “You know, it occurs to me that besides your lame Uncle-Sam-owns-it-so-Uncle-Sam-gets-it gambit, you’ve never made a case for why you even care about this stuff.”
“While you and Whitlock were having your little come-to-Jesus meeting, it occurred to me that Gable’s connection to your case and mine—assuming he’s connected at all—might be that he’s developed a new, more efficient technique for extrac
ting the cocaine powder from the coca plant itself. Faster, less costly, higher yield.”
“Would it have killed you to say that earlier?” she asked, shooting him a sidelong glance as she started the engine.
“I was debating whether to bring it up at all. A major advance in that direction was made several years ago, so I don’t know if further developments of any significance are even possible. I’m just grasping at straws. I don’t really have any facts to support my thinking. So, technically, my enhanced-extraction idea might be as lame as my Uncle-Sam-owns-it idea.”
“Just for the sake of discussion,” she asked, forcing herself to speak calmly, “could a more efficient extraction technique account for the supply discrepancies your analysts found?”
“It would depend on how much of an improvement it was, and the scale of the operation. Even a dramatic improvement wouldn’t have much impact unless it was used on a big enough fraction of the harvest,” Mason pointed out.
“If every square foot of his lab space was devoted to such a process, would it be enough?”
“I don’t know. But let’s say the stuff in the storeroom was just a proof of concept and that, once he debugged it, he ramped it up on an industrial scale.”
“Could something that big be hidden somewhere out there? In the woods behind Matt’s house, maybe?”
“Possibly, but I’m not a chemist so I can’t say for sure.”
“If he actually figured out something like that, and word leaked out, it seems like a lot of nasty people would be trying to get their hands on it.”
“And on him, which might account for his currently unknown whereabouts.”
“Well, this opens a whole new window into the matter,” Wallace said, staring off into the trees lining the road.
“Which is why I’m so concerned about what happens to the things Carla so thoughtfully set aside. It will have to be made operational again.”
“Surely, with Carla’s notes and sketches, that won’t be a problem,” she said.
“Assuming we can figure out what chemicals he fed into it, where in the process they went in, at what temperature, and so on. There could be a lot of variables.”
“So, do you want to get a federal warrant, or am I going to be doing this?”
“I’ll get it,” Mason said. “It’ll be easier.”
As they traveled back to Baton Rouge, Mason spent the better part of the drive time arranging for one of the legal officers in the DEA’s Resident Office in Baton Rouge to get a warrant with an order of seizure issued and delivered to the federal marshal. Mason and the marshal would pay a surprise visit to the Tunica Research Lab, bright and early, the next morning.
“We need to think of a way to lessen the blow this is going to have on Carla,” Wallace said. “If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t know about this stuff. And, once Kevin Bell finds out she kept it, he’s going to rough her up.”
“Bell tried to have her destroy evidence. Instead, she reported it to the proper authorities—you and me. So I don’t think he’ll be in a position to do much damage. Plus, we can’t afford to ignore the possibility this lab stuff represents.”
“I’m not suggesting we ignore anything. I’m just looking out for someone who took a risk to help us. You never know when you’ll need to go back to that well.”
“She went out of her way to help herself,” Mason said, the peremptory tone creeping back into his voice. “That was pretty clear. She’s interested in having us find her boyfriend. If she didn’t have a very personal stake in this, you can be sure she’d have never chased us down and the things in that storeroom would have been destroyed.”
Wallace didn’t fancy herself the sensitive type, but she also wasn’t the type to be callous without provocation. She had never gotten completely comfortable with the collateral damage suffered by decent people like Carla, who just happened to fall into possession of what turned out to be dangerous information. The casual arrogance of some in the law enforcement community always struck her as wrong, and coming from Mason it was disappointing and confusing.
“Will you call me, once you and the marshal are done?” Wallace asked, bringing her focus back into the moment. “I want to be at the crime lab when the stuff rolls in.”
“Sure, but I thought you were going to show off your professional tracking skills tomorrow. Remember? Over the hills and through the woods.”
“I’m not leaving Baton Rouge until late in the morning. New reports on what they found at the warehouse might come in, plus I need to visit someone. Colley Greenberg.”
She waited a few seconds to see if Mason would ask who Colley was. But he didn’t.
“Mike Harrison is just a temporary partner,” she said. “An interim gig until Colley, my regular partner, comes back from medical leave.”
“I hope his recovery is speedy. And, look…” He hesitated, staring down at his feet.
“Yes?” Wallace said, turning toward him.
“You know … I could have done a better job of negotiating this business with the stuff from Gable’s lab.” He looked up at her. “There was no need for me to inject all that friction into it. In Washington, I’m so used to fighting tooth and nail for every little scrap. Sorry. Can we back that up and pretend I acted like a grown-up?” He extended his right hand toward her.
“We can,” she said, taking her hand off the wheel to shake his, her chest tightening a bit.
“Thanks. It wouldn’t have been good to leave that standing between us. You never know what kind of problems that can cause down the road.”
Wallace turned to look out of her window. “So, just to make sure, you do want to go with me tomorrow on my little cross-country expedition?”
“Yes, I do. I assume that after the stuff from Matt’s storeroom arrives at the lab you’ll be heading back to Bayou Sara?”
Wallace continued to gaze out of her window.
“Wallace?”
“Sorry, what was that?” she asked. That was the first time he had called her by her first name.
“After Gable’s stuff arrives … you’ll be going back to…”
“Right. Bayou Sara. That’s the plan. What?” she asked, when she noticed him studying her.
He continued to stare at her for a few seconds, his brow furrowing, the left corner of his mouth pulling to the side. “My electronics technicians—they’re coming up from the New Orleans Division—should be rolling into Bayou Sara to look at those cameras at about the time we get things buttoned up at Tunica, so I’ll have the marshal drop me off at Matt’s house. I’ll wait for you there.”
“Perfect.”
They rode in silence for several minutes. The next time she looked over at him he had fallen asleep with his head leaning against the window.
When they reached the hotel, Wallace squeezed his shoulder until he woke up.
“Oh, sorry,” he said sheepishly.
“Don’t mention it. You snore at the same pitch as the engine noise, so it was actually kind of soothing.”
“Really?” he said groggily, then grimaced when it became obvious she was making fun of him.
As Wallace drove away from the hotel, she found herself puzzling over Mason’s decision to partner up with her for the excursion to the lab. She hadn’t expected it. No other federal agent she’d ever met would have included her in what was really his investigation simply because it was an efficient way of doing things. All the rest of Uncle Sam’s tribe viewed such unforced generosity as treasonous, but for Mason it seemed second nature.
Their little skirmish over the things from Matt’s secret lab proved he could play the role of the straight-ahead, federal buzz cut, but then he’d been so quick to make amends. And yes, he was nice looking. She hadn’t expected that, either.
8:00 P.M.
Once she got back to the police station, Wallace spent half an hour at her desk checking progress on other cases. Nothing clamored for her immediate attention. Mike Harrison had yet to call her back, but he had lef
t a report for her on the desk, with a note explaining that he had had to duck out to attend to some personal business that had come up at the last minute.
She pulled up the city-wide duty roster and noted the unit number and the names of the officers who had daylight patrol duty in the area that included Choctaw Ridge, where she and Mason had met Louise Mautner and the other gardeners under the power lines—Marcels and Romer, in Unit 107. With a quick call to a fellow officer who worked out of the North Baton Rouge substation, she learned that Marcels was the long-timer on the beat and that Romer had been riding with him for less than a week.
She left the building trying to focus on the case, but as she made her way to her car, her mind kept straying back to Mason and she had to keep reminding herself that she didn’t need a man in her life—especially not one who lived and worked so far away. But she kept thinking about him anyway. She had been so confident that she had retired that part of her life. A part that, at one time, had been as perfect as such a thing could be on this side of heaven. But all of that had been snatched away.
On the few occasions when she had mustered the courage to try again, she found she could go only so far before the old fears took over. As soon as she found herself beginning to care she retreated. Caring meant responsibility and responsibility raised the possibility of failure. And failure had proved itself capable of deadly consequences.
TEN
WEDNESDAY 8:30 P.M.
The curtains in Matt’s second-floor motel room were parted just enough for him to look out the window with a pair of binoculars. Directly across the highway, he could see the door to room 119 at the Heart of the South Motel, as well as the glass-fronted office two doors to the right. He was registered under his real name in room 119, and he had paid with one of his Matt Gable credit cards. He was registered under a phony name in the motel where he presently sat and he had paid with cash. The only people he had seen at room 119 were the housekeepers. When they saw the DO NOT DISTURB placard he had left in the key slot, they moved along to the next room.