Inside Out

80

Charlotte, North Carolina

With steady determination, a young man in a wheelchair rolled himself up the sandstone ramp, turning the wheels of the chair with his hands, that rose to the front doors of the Federal Building in Charlotte, North Carolina. Lint spotted the young man's watch cap; the left collar of his windbreaker pointed up. Dark jeans stopped well short of his new tennis shoes on the footrests, their toes pointing toward each other. Barely any of the people coming or going from the building noticed the struggling young man, aside from quick sidelong glances.

Four court security guards wearing navy-blue blazers manned the metal detectors. The closest COURTSEC guard guided the wheelchair and its occupant around the side so it wouldn't set off the alarm. Kneeling, she inspected the chair and searched its occupant as he rocked in his seat, pressing his tongue against his jaw and craning his neck trying to watch her.

“Sir, you don't have any weapons on you, do you?” the guard asked, pronouncing each word slowly.

“Nooooo, ma'aaaam,” he said, with great effort. He blinked owlishly, the thick lenses enlarging his eyes grotesquely. He lifted his closed fist from the wheel, and it quivered as he wiped his nose.

“Okay,” the guard said patiently. “Where are you headed?”

“Oooo… essss… marshooos's… offeeese?”

“United States Marshals' office, hon?”

He nodded.

“That's a restricted floor. I'll have to call up and then someone will come down.”

The woman lifted a receiver. “Who do you want to see?” she asked.

“Winnnnnntah Maaaaas-sssey.”

“Winter Massey?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Your name?”

“Waaaa… Warrrrrrd F… F… Feeeeel… da.” He shifted violently in the chair.

“A Mr. Ward Field is here to see Deputy Massey,” the guard said, keeping her eyes on the visitor as she spoke. “I'll tell him that someone will be down to see him in a minute.” She replaced the receiver, rolled the chair to the elevator door, and went back to the metal detectors.

When the door opened, a man in his fifties with a handlebar mustache stepped out from the cab and took the grips of the chair. “I'm Chief Deputy Hank Trammel, Mr. Field. I'll show you upstairs.”

As soon as the chair cleared the doors, Trammel pushed the button. As the door closed he pulled his pistol and held it against his leg, aimed down. Above the second floor, he pressed the button and stopped the cab. “Okay, pal. Who the hell are you?”

The young man in the wheelchair kept his wrists on the tires, but his twisted fists relaxed and the bent fingers straightened. “My name is Sean Devlin.”

“The hell it is. Sean Devlin is a woman.”

“I'm her.”

He reached over with his free hand and placed it on her right breast, hidden under the loose-fitting jacket. He pulled his hand away like he'd touched a hot stove.

She reached up and removed her thick glasses and the watch cap, altering her appearance dramatically. Her slicked-back hair was black.

“I'm a friend of Winter's. He'll tell you.”

“Put your hands behind your back,” he ordered. “I'm going to cuff you until I can find out if you are who you say you are. There are people looking high and low for Sean Devlin. If you're lying to me, you're going to stay in a holding cell for a very long time.”

Keeping the gun in his right hand, Trammel used the other to take out handcuffs and to cuff Sean's wrists behind her. He put his gun away, replaced the cap on her head, and released the cab, which rose to the third floor. When the elevator door opened, he spun the chair around, pushed it out, and rolled it down a wide hallway.

“Is this really necessary? I am Sean Devlin and I came in here under my own steam,” she insisted.

“Disguised and using a false name, Ms. Devlin.”

“I knew Winter would recognize the name Ward Field. The disguise is for my own protection. I'm not a criminal,” Sean said, exasperated.

Trammel stopped at a steel door with a UNITED STATES MARSHALS SERVICE sign on it. He punched a code into a keypad, then opened the door and pushed her chair into a wide hallway. Sean caught flashes of curious faces as he whisked her past an open door. She was rolled through the corner of a large, open space, where a young deputy sat at one of the ten desks.

No sign of Winter anywhere.

Trammel pushed Sean through a door and closed it behind them. He maneuvered the chair around a small conference table on the left, past a couch on the right, and parked her in front of his desk. He sat on the edge and, with crossed arms, stared down at her.

“Will you please uncuff me now?”

“It's policy to cuff felons while they're in here. Did you come here to turn yourself in to Deputy Massey?”

“Turn myself in? For what?” Sean hadn't broken any laws, unless escaping a surveillance team was against the law.

“The FBI issued a felony warrant for your arrest for the murder of five people last night at the Hotel Grand in Richmond, Virginia.”

Sean's mind froze with the sudden realization that the authorities were blaming her for the deaths in Richmond. The hired killers chasing her weren't her only problem-at that moment not even her worst problem. It had never occurred to her that the cops would blame her, the intended victim, for any of the deaths.

Realizing that Trammel was still speaking to her, she tuned him back in. “… interpret your actions as turning yourself in. Every little bit helps.”

“But I didn't kill anyone,” she protested. She knew she had missed hitting both of the women who had been firing at her.

“Killing two U.S. deputy fugitive recovery marshals is a federal crime, and the state of Virginia will charge you for the murders of the three civilians. There's also interstate flight to avoid prosecution.” Trammel picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and held it out for her to see. There was an identikit sketch of her as she had appeared when she had been staying at the hotel. It said that she was being sought for questioning in five homicides and interstate flight to avoid prosecution, just like he'd said.

“Interstate flight to escape execution,” Sean said crisply. God, where is Winter? “How can they accuse me of this?”

“This says you are armed and should be considered dangerous. You armed?”

“I was fully searched at the door. Don't you have faith in the abilities of your security guards? If I were you, I wouldn't, because I'm sitting on an empty gun,” she said, lifting her buttock to expose the weapon.

Trammel put the flyer down and, using two fingers to pinch and lift the weapon by the checkered grips, walked around the desk holding the Smith amp; Wesson out like something poisonous. He opened the chamber and ejected the spent cartridges, then dropped the. 38 onto a manila envelope. He sat down behind the desk and studied Sean from across the cluttered surface. “Did you use this gun in Richmond last night?”

“In self-defense. Look, Winter will understand. He'll believe me. Let me talk to him.”

“You didn't think Deputy Massey wouldn't arrest you, did you? Because if he was here, he would have to.”

“I came to see him because people are trying to kill me. That's why I'm here, dressed like this. They killed the two marshals and two others-not three.” Her mind fought to make a count of the fatalities. Two deputies and two civilians.

“One of the victims was a female bystander killed by an errant shotgun blast. Since she would be alive if you hadn't been shooting it out with the deputies at the time, it's a legitimate charge.”

“I know now that the deputy marshals were there to protect me, but I didn't know they were marshals until the second deputy said so.” She was dangerously close to tears. “The first deputy was already dead by then.”

“So you shot that first deputy thinking he was after you?”

“I didn't shoot anybody. The two killers shot everybody that was shot-except a deputy shot one of the women, who was not a bystander.”

“A female killer?”

“There were two killers. They shot Max and Wire Dog. Max was the hotel manager. Wire Dog-his nickname, I don't know his real name-was a kid who drove a cab. Max did call him Skipper or Skippy-one of them was an older woman who was killed by the marshal with the shotgun-she was shooting at him-he did it on purpose-the other-”

Trammel shook his head skeptically.

“-woman-the younger one who killed the first deputy, killed the second deputy after that-the older of the women shot Max and Wire Dog while we were running to get behind the counter so I don't know-”

“Whoa!” Trammel snapped. “Damn it! Slow down. I feel like I'm riding a bronco. Women killers, cabs, dogs, and who can tell what.”

Sean stared at the frowning chief deputy. She knew she was rattling on like a madwoman.

“Let's do this. Take a deep breath and relax. You just answer my questions, and if I need clarification, I'll let you know.”

“Okay.” Sean had to fight to clear her mind of confusion over the alarming turn of events.

“There were two killers in that hotel who were trying to kill you? And one was a woman. Is that what you're saying?”

“Both of them were women.”

“And the deputies came in when?”

“One deputy came in, and one of the women shot him.”

She replayed the scene in her mind. “I was headed for the door with Wire Dog, leaving town. He had my bag. A deputy, whom I didn't know was a deputy at that point, started in through the door and I thought he was trying to kill me.”

“Why?”

“He drew his gun. Then the younger woman, who was coming toward us, shot him. Wait, the first deputy must have seen her gun and that's why he drew his. I thought he intended to shoot me, but when I looked around, I saw her gun was out and then she shot him. I shot at her after I was behind the counter, but I missed. The older woman shot at Wire Dog and me while we were running. She hit Max and Wire Dog. I fired once at the older one without aiming and missed her.”

“You missed her with this. 38?”

She nodded. “Then the second deputy came in and got behind a column and fired a shotgun at the older woman and killed her. I emptied the. 38 when I ran to the door and got behind the other column. I picked up the dead deputy's pistol, which was lying on the floor. She killed the second deputy when he came around the column. I ran out and I shot the first deputy's gun at her when she came outside. Then I escaped in the cab, where I left the empty automatic.”

“What did the younger woman look like?”

“Dark skin and long hair in a ponytail. I saw them earlier in the afternoon in the lobby and I assumed they were guests at the hotel.”

“And this dog boy and Max were the only civilians killed?”

“Wire Dog.”

“So these professional female killers killed four people but missed you, their primary target, completely?”

“Not completely. The younger one hit me.”

“Hit you where?”

“In my computer. I had it in my backpack. She was shooting at me while I was running out and the bullet hit my laptop. There's a hole in it.”

“Weren't there any witnesses?”

“The elevator operator might have seen some of it. I know he went up when the shooting started, but he must have seen the woman shoot the first deputy and maybe the older woman shooting at us.”

“Don't you think the elevator operator would have cleared it up with the cops, if he saw it?”

She remembered the operator and her hopes sank. “He's pretty old and the lobby is big and gloomy. I don't know what he actually saw.”

“What kinds of guns did the women killers have?”

“Silenced ones.”

“Automatics or revolvers?”

“Automatics. Why would the FBI assume I was responsible, if there were no witnesses?”

“You ran, and the FBI believes you and your late husband were a team. Those two dead marshals were specialists. The FBI believes you couldn't have killed them unless you were a professional. I would tend to think you killing those men was highly unlikely unless you were a pro.”

“I couldn't kill anybody. Well, not unless it was to stay alive, and I certainly wouldn't shoot at people who were trying to help me.”

“What about the money?” he asked. “Where did you get the fake passport and the five thousand dollars the FBI found with your things?”

She had known the cops would find her duffel, and that this question could come up. She decided to tell him the truth. “It was my mother's idea. She had me put that money and the passport in a safe place in case I ever needed it.” She didn't tell him where she had left it, not wanting to make trouble for her banker friend. Trammel's eyes were unreadable, but they both knew that normal mothers didn't hide money and falsified passports in far-off cities in case their children had reason to flee for their lives.

“Why did you run away from the hotel in Arlington?”

“I was just freaked out after Rook Island. Out of the seven deputies protecting us, they killed all but one. Shapiro said he wouldn't keep watching me, but he lied. I didn't trust that someone inside the Marshals Service wasn't involved. I don't trust anybody except Winter.”

“If it isn't true about you and your husband being a team, why, now that he's dead, do those people still want to kill you?”

“I don't have the slightest idea. Maybe they think I know something. I also don't know how those fugitive deputies and those people found me.”

“I know how those deputies located you,” Trammel said. “Shapiro recorded your voice during a conversation. He got the NSA to add your voice pattern to an audio net covering electronic transmissions. The machines intercepted your voice, traced it. The two deputies went to Richmond and searched until they found you.”

“What about those women? I doubt they followed my scent from D.C.”

“That I don't know,” he conceded.

“You've already decided I'm guilty.”

He sat back and contemplated her for a moment. “I didn't say I thought you were guilty.”

Her nose began to itch. “Can you please uncuff me or at least come around here and scratch my nose?” She felt a tear roll down her cheek.

Trammel shot up, came briskly around the desk, and removed her handcuffs.

Sean rubbed her nose, snatched a tissue from a box on his desk, and wiped her cheek.

“If you were guilty, you wouldn't have left your duffel in that lobby. A trained professional would have had her running money and fake passport on her person. I believe your story because it makes the most sense. I don't know how two professional killers missed you, but gunfights are confusing affairs.”

“What's next?”

“I'm going to tell Director Shapiro what you've told me. What happens after that is up to him.”

“Where's Winter?”

Trammel winced involuntarily. “I wish I knew.” Hank lifted the telephone. “You still have that damaged computer?”

“In my motel room along with my leather jacket.”

“You think there's a bullet still in it?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure that one of those women killers fired that round? Could either of the marshals have fired it?”

“I'm positive the younger woman did, because I remember feeling it get hit. Why?”

“Might support your story. I'm going to send somebody to your motel. In the meanwhile, you just relax.”

Relax? Sean almost laughed out loud.