There were a lot of places for Faith Ann to hide, but if she tried to exit the building the cops would get her for sure.
On the first parking level, after he had yelled out several times, he spotted a backpack next to the stairwell door. There was nothing on its exterior to indicate that it belonged to Faith Ann, but he knew it was hers. As soon as he saw the dark red sweatshirt and zoo cap inside, he radioed to tell Adams and Nicky that Faith Ann had changed her clothes. He had no way of knowing why she'd abandoned the pack where it would be found, unless she'd decided that it had become part of the description of her that her pursuers were going by. He wondered if she had done it to lead her pursuers in the wrong direction. If she was older, more experienced, he would have assumed it was calculated misdirection.
There was nothing else in the backpack of help, and nothing to indicate that she had been lugging it for any reason other than to hold a change of clothes. He lifted out the new Walkman-the one whose packaging he had found under the porch. He opened the battery compartment and saw that the batteries were the same brand as the two she'd left behind under the house. He put it back. Before standing, he turned his head and spotted the earphones beneath a nearby car. He reached under and lifted them out. Why had Faith Ann thrown them there?
“Adams, if you spot her, don't frighten her.”
After calling Faith's name out again, Winter dialed Kimberly Porter's cell phone again. This time Adams answered it.
“Third level. Inside the stairwell.”
Winter ran up the stairs and found Adams holding the phone in his raised hand.
“It was just sitting on the steps.”
“She left a false trail,” Winter told the federal agent. “She's long gone. I think she planted the pack on the floor below, then came up to dump the phone and went out or doubled back. She could have gone into the building next door.”
“She could be anywhere,” Adams said. “We need a psychic.”
“Exactly. Go down and tell Suggs we would like a K-9 and a handler.”
67
The small-framed, wiry German shepherd walked beside its handler, a thin NOPD officer who could have easily passed for a high-school student. Adams walked behind them. Winter wanted to start at the last place Faith Ann had been, for good reason. While Adams went for the animal, Winter had gone back down, gotten her cap from the backpack, and brought it back to the second-level stairwell where Adams had found the phone.
“Deputy Massey, this is Patrolman Gale,” Adams said. “And his partner Beaux-Beaux.”
“He's got a great nose,” the young cop said proudly.
Winter opened the door, reached in, and picked up the cap, which he had placed on the concrete floor. He handed it to Officer Gale, who held it down for the dog to sniff. Beaux-Beaux focused on the scent, made a quick circle, came straight back to the door, lowered his head and froze before the door, growling.
“He's alerting,” Gale said.
Beaux-Beaux started up the first riser, then whirled and came back down.
On the first level, the animal stopped at the door and signaled to go out. He found Faith Ann's backpack and led his handler toward the ramp down.
Winter directed the handler to take Beaux-Beaux back into the stairwell, and the animal excitedly began a descent.
“She doubled back,” Winter said.
At the bottom floor the dog led them through the double glass doors into Canal Place, but the dog didn't head straight into the area. He stopped at an unmarked steel door, put his nose to it, and barked.
Winter tried it. “Locked.”
“Beaux-Beaux says she went in there,” the handler assured them. “We can get maintenance to open it.”
“Allow me,” Adams said. “You better turn your back, Officer Gale.” He reached into his coat and took out what appeared to be a fountain pen. He popped it open and poured a pair of lock-picking tools into his palm. Using one as a tension bar, he worked the other one carefully. Within seconds Adams opened the door, and Beaux-Beaux pulled his handler through.
The animal worked its way down two hundred feet of hallway and through several doors, finally leading the trio through a physical plant packed with pieces of machinery working hard to perform tasks required to keep the building supplied with air and water.
The animal took them on a curving course between water pumps and around vents and pipes before coming to a pair of doors. They entered a wide companionway where a janitor, working within some plastic warning cones, was mopping what looked like vomit from the tiles. Beaux-Beaux sneezed violently. The scent of bleach had interrupted his trail.
Winter looked up the hallway, past where passing people hugged the wall to avoid the filthy mop water.
“Hold Beaux-Beaux here,” Winter told Gale. He and Adams walked down the hall and to an exit that opened into the lobby for the Wyndham Hotel. Faith Ann was nowhere to be seen.
Nicky's voice came over Winter's radio. “ Massey?”
“Go ahead, Nicky.”
“You alone?”
“Just me and Adams at the moment.”
“I spotted the kid. I mean I think it was her.”
“Where?”
“She crossed the street from the aquarium, went over to the ferry's pedestrian walkway, got onto the ferry. I went after her, but the boat was already leaving when I got there.”
“Drive. Take the bridge over,” Winter told him sharply. “See if you can spot her. We'll be there as fast as we can get loose without creating suspicion.”
68
Faith Ann had slipped out of the hotel, made her way around the power station, and crossed the intersection near the aquarium. Police cars were everywhere, but the cops were focused on Canal Place. Crossing the intersection along with a noisy group of tourists, she passed by the concrete benches. She went up the staircase to the pedestrian walkway to the ferry.
She couldn't have timed her escape better, because as she hurried onto the moored vessel the ferry's horn blasted and the deckhand closed the steel-wire door. Within seconds she was down the stairs to the car deck, standing at the bow of the USS Thomas Jefferson, gazing across the river at Algiers Point.
As the cool wind evaporated the sweat from her face, Faith Ann went back over the escape. She had hastily switched sweatshirts in the parking deck. She had run up to the fourth level and left her cell phone there. They had the number and were somehow able to track her down when she used it. Instinctively, she knew she needed to slow her pursuers, to keep them busy trailing her without getting too close, while she figured out how to get to Mr. Massey. She had seen enough television shows to know the cops could listen in on calls if they had a number, and they could track the phone's location.
She had escaped for the moment, but there could still be cops waiting for her. She had the strangest feeling that an angel had guided her steps. She would call Rush again as soon as she was near a phone.
The envelope was tucked inside her pants, hidden by the thick, hooded gray Tulane sweatshirt. Carrying the negatives and photocopies around was too risky. She needed to hide them somewhere safe. She only had eight hours until Horace Pond was going to die.
Without any plan in mind, she closed her eyes and prayed silently. She was aware that several teenagers had joined the crowd at the bow. She looked around and saw that the boys and girls were obviously not related, and they had all come from a stretched GMC passenger van parked thirty feet away. The side door of the vehicle said UNITED CHURCH OF CHRIST, HATTIESBURG, MISSISSIPPI. There were luggage cases in an aluminum cage on the van's roof and a ladder leading up from the rear bumper.
Faith Ann picked out a boy close to her own age and sidled over to him. “Hi there. You guys on a field trip?”
“Nah. A stupid Bible bee contest in Barataria, Louisiana.”
“Bible bee?”
“Like a spelling bee, but only with words from the Bible.” He shrugged. “Some trip to New Orleans. Like we go right to the French Quarter, and instead of goin
g to see Bourbon Street or something cool, they march us through some church, get us some lame powdered doughnuts, then drag us to see a bunch of stupid fish. Now we're crossing the Big Muddy to enjoy some dumb scenery before the contest.”
“That's messed up,” Faith Ann said sympathetically.
“Tell me about it.”
“Can you do me a favor, you think?”
The boy eyed Faith Ann suspiciously. “Is it anything I could catch grief over?”
Faith Ann shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe.”
“Cool,” the boy said, smiling.
69
Winter knew Faith Ann would beat Nicky to Algiers Point by a good ten minutes, but since the girl was on foot there was a chance he might spot her on the sidewalks.
As long as the cops didn't know she was on the ferry, Nicky had an advantage.
Winter and Adams returned to find Gale waiting with his dog.
“She exit?” Gale asked.
“She didn't go that way,” Adams said with certainty.
Winter nodded his agreement. “Guy who's been there for the last fifteen minutes said nobody came through the lobby from here.”
“Nobody saw her?” Gale asked. “She went into the hotel, right? I'm sure Beaux-Beaux can track her.”
“I said she didn't go that way,” Adams snapped.
The K-9 officer didn't protest when Winter suggested that they go back the way they'd come, to see where she'd pulled the last double-back on them.
Before they got to the parking deck, however, Adams stopped.
“Officer Gale,” he said. “You did a great job. I'm going to see that you get an FBI commendation for your effort. A nice letter from my director won't hurt your career.”
“She got away,” Gale said. “I'm sure she went into the hotel.”
“I am going to ask you to do me a favor,” Adams said.
“What's that?”
“Unless your superiors ask you directly, don't go into specific detail about the tracking.”
“Sir?”
“For your and Beaux-Beaux's sake.”
“I'm sorry?”
“It's just that if it comes down to a question of whether we screwed up, or if Beaux-Beaux here isn't up to the job, or whether your handling was questionable… you know what we're going to put in our reports. And if we do, the Director won't be sending any letters or issuing any glowing commendations.”
“But it was the bleach,” Gale said defensively. “It killed the trail for a few seconds.”
“I smelled it before we opened that last door,” Adams said.
“Me too,” Winter agreed. “We thought you'd pull the dog back to save his nose, but you went straight through the door.” He knelt to pat the dog's head. “Tell you what, Gale. Let's just agree that the trail looped back in on itself, which isn't a lie. We'll forget your mistakes, or whatever.”
Gale stared down at Winter.
“She just outfoxed us,” Winter said.
Gale stood listening, his eyes unreadable.
“You can keep tracking. Start over and follow the trail from scratch. Try and pick up her scent around the building, while we do a search on our own. Maybe she went back through the atrium and through some shops or something. Radio when you find her. You can be the hero. It's fine with us. That way our asses will all be covered.”
“But…”
“Go on. We'll buy you and Beaux-Beaux some time. We'll tell Suggs you're still looking.”
“You sure?” Gale asked suspiciously.
Adams and Winter nodded.
“I'll just take that swing through and see if we can scare her up.”
Winter and Adams watched as K-9 Officer Gale and Beaux-Beaux strode back up the ramp.
“That should buy us some time,” Adams said.
“I'm glad you're on my side,” Winter said. “Let's see how fast we can get across the bridge.”
Even though they had taken Suggs by surprise and bluffed their way into holding back twenty itchy-fingered cops, there was no real proof that Suggs was intending to harm Faith Ann and nothing to tie Suggs into Bennett other than Bennett's words. Suggs knew he was under suspicion, but for the moment Winter needed to keep him and his Tin Man team guessing. Whoever the couple was, they were only tied into Tinnerino and Doyle and Bennett. Until he knew who they were, there was nothing to be gained in mentioning them.
When Winter and Adams came out, Manseur was standing near Suggs's car, between Suggs and Tinnerino. He didn't smile when he saw Winter and Adams.
“Well?” Suggs said. Winter thought he saw something akin to relief in his eyes.
“We lost her trail. Officer Gale is trying to find it,” Adams said.
“So she's still in there?”
“If she is, she didn't hear me calling.”
“Or maybe she isn't as innocent as you think,” Suggs said.
“I believe she is innocent,” Winter said. He turned to Manseur, whose face remained unreadable. “Detective, I'm sorry I didn't level with you and tell you Trammel and Porter were related.”
“So am I,” Manseur said sourly. He was a good actor, but all good cops are.
“Well, I'm going to remedy that. Since you are here,” Winter said as he handed Manseur his card, “she'll be in good hands. I need to check on Hank and talk to some people. The K-9 officer will find her. When you find her I expect a call, and Commander Suggs has her lawyer's name. Call him too.”
Manseur turned his eyes to Suggs. Suggs nodded.
“I suppose I can do that,” Manseur said. “I'm sorry you don't trust us to do the right thing.”
“We'll see what happens. You're alerted to our presence and we are going to be watching you.”
Adams looked into Suggs's eyes and straightened the knot of his tie as though Suggs's round face was a mirror. “Captain, are you familiar with a man named Jerry Bennett?”
Suggs flashed a pained grin. “Mr. Bennett is very well-known in the community. Why?”
Adams smiled. “No reason in particular. Massey and I visited with him earlier. I'd be willing to bet you he's not half as well-known as he's going to be in the near future. He mentioned that you advised him to file charges against Amber Lee for embezzlement, and it happens that she was murdered, and you are in charge of investigating her murder. Faith Ann told my son that she did not call 911 because a policeman killed her mother and Amber Lee, and that the police are trying to kill her.” There. It was all out on the table.
Manseur dropped the indignant look and adopted a perplexed one.
“That about all?” Suggs's grin was erased, his skin tone a bleached cotton white, which made his reddening ears stand out.
“Bennett told us you are very close friends,” Adams said.
“I'd hardly call us friends, and I don't recall advising him to file charges against Amber Lee. Perhaps he was mistaken.”
“I'm not telling you how to run your detective bureau, but I assume you'll want to bring Manseur here up to speed on the Porter/Lee case, since they are intertwined. I'd think someone like him should be in charge of both cases. Since he hasn't been mentioned by a person of interest in this.”
Manseur fought back a smile.
“I had already decided that very thing,” Suggs blustered. “I was just about to discuss that with him.”
Winter and Adams left Suggs standing on the sidewalk and walked briskly toward their waiting car.
“You know, this is exactly how I felt back in high school while I was walking away from the boys' bathroom knowing that the cherry bomb I just flushed was about to go off,” Adams said.
70
When Arturo called to tell her what Tin Man said about the Feds showing up, Marta had just left Canal Place through a rear exit, walking past two hawkeyed patrolmen. She strode casually down Peters Street to the lot where her Lincoln was parked. She opened the driver's side door, climbed in where Arturo sat slumped, smoking a cigarette. She took the cassette tape from her pocket, tossed it into his
lap, and said, “Let the window down. You're stinking up my car.”
“So this is what it was all about?” he said, holding up the tape and looking at it as though it was a large diamond. “But she is still in there somewhere.”
“I only saw her for a second. By the time I got down two flights of steps she was gone. There were cops all over the place. Let them find her. She isn't going to sprout wings and fly away.”
“You lost her,” Arturo said smugly. “They have their dog searching for her. And now there's two federal agents who are very much involved. You should have gotten a tape deck as well as a CD. Like I have in my Porsche.”
“We can buy a player.”
“Oh, good thinking,” Arturo said smiling broadly. He tapped the cassette against his knee. “It is too bad that… you… lost.. her.”
Marta's pocketknife appeared. The white blade came to rest in the space just over Arturo's Adam's apple. She held the double-edged ceramic blade with such perfect tension that it made an indentation in Arturo's throat but without enough pressure to open the skin. Arturo slowly turned his pleading eyes to her, and he saw the chill she wanted him to see.
“I didn't hear you,” she hissed. “What did I do?”
“I'm sorry.” When he spoke, his Adam's apple bobbed and the tip of the knife had just the necessary additional pressure to penetrate the skin. A thin red droplet rolled down his throat and disappeared inside his open shirt collar.
“Don't you dare mock me!” She saw anger replacing the fear that had just been in his eyes. “Have you already forgotten that I am here in the first place to clean up your mess? I am putting my life on the line for a simpering pussy who sits in the car smoking cigarettes while I am”-she drew closer to him and hardened her black eyes-“ losing her, was it?”
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