The Last Family

13

Paul was on edge as he paced back and forth smoking cigarettes.

The coffee, always in good supply, didn’t help calm him. He tried to stay busy and not think about the clock that was ticking away toward October 3. He had selected the final group of seven men from Tod’s files, the ones he would use to cover Eve’s arrival at her destination and the taking of Martin Fletcher. They would be in the air as soon as Paul figured out where she was going when she left the house in Charlotte. They were all resourceful, proven professionals. When Paul thought about them, he got a mental picture of a pack of lion dogs. And he couldn’t help but think about what often happened to such a pack when they were successful and cornered a lion.

He wouldn’t need them until Eve flew out, but they were sitting on an air base in east Texas. He had also been on the telephone to the chiefs of police in New Orleans and Charlotte to make sure they would be ready at a moment’s notice to sweep in officers to help Thorne’s or Joe’s teams. The chiefs had no idea who the teams were after, and Paul hadn’t let them ask but once. Although he had also been hoping to track Martin from the information he had to sift through, he didn’t hold out any real hope that he would be able to work that angle. Martin wasn’t big on leaving a trail.

His mind was whirring with logistics and angles, and the conference-room table was covered in a layer of paper, photographs, composites, and manila folders in varying thicknesses. He had also tried to wait at least an hour between calls to Joe and Thorne, but he could usually find a valid reason to call more often than that. The fact that he knew they would call him if anything came up was irrelevant. He decided to lay off, and the only way to do that was to stay busier himself. Otherwise, they would begin to see his calls as intrusive, or worse, decide that he mistrusted their ability to make decisions.

He could see Sherry Lander seated at her desk in the anteroom. He imagined she was worn-out, but she had eagerly agreed to work on his schedule for the next few days. He told her to feel free to stretch out on a couch if she needed rest, but he doubted she would.

He felt more comfortable in the conference room, where he could spread out on the long table’s surface, than in Rainey’s office. Rainey had been replaced by his assistant agent in charge, a young up-and-comer. Without an office Rainey seemed content to sit in a corner of the conference room and stare out the window or read his Bible or pore over files. He was waiting calmly. He stayed right with Paul; nothing interested him beyond the chase.

Paul told himself he should be moving faster, getting to New Orleans sooner, but he felt overwhelmed by the size of the task. He had work to do here, but wasn’t it really work someone else could be doing? He tried not to think about Laura and the kids. He tried to concentrate on keeping the teams sharp while he pulled up the rear. He knew there was more to his fear than he wanted to admit.

“Sherry,” he said, loudly enough to get her attention.

She stood and came into the room.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I can run out if you are.” She smiled patiently. “I really wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m not,” he assured her. “How long since I asked you that?”

She looked at her watch. “Ten minutes?”

“Rainey?”

Rainey shook his head without looking up.

Paul opened a hole in the files on the desk and placed the composites of Ranger Ron and the old doctor across the surface of the table for the tenth or eleventh time in so many hours.

“Could be anyone,” he said as he shifted the twelve composites.

Sherry exhaled a bit too loudly but smiled when he looked up.

“They’re just children, Paul,” Rainey said. “They saw the Smokey the Bear hat, the gun, the mirrored glasses, and the mustache.”

“The composites from the Brooms and the kids share a general facial structure, but they don’t look anything like Martin looked before the surgery. The eyes might help, but they were covered both times. The face remake in Spain must have been remarkable.”

“Extensive enough to make spotting him in airport films all but impossible,” Rainey said. “He must have been confident of that.”

Sherry made a note on the stenographer’s pad, ready to go through the familiar territory as often as he wanted.

“So let’s say it’s Martin alone. He grabs…” Paul stopped, not wanting to mention the death of George Lee. “He leaves the mountains and drives here in three hours. That’s pushing it, running at seventy-five or eighty. Taking a chance of being busted for speeding. We should check the speeding tickets issued between here and there at the time he had to be on the interstate.”

Sherry scribbled. “How do you know he took the interstate?” she asked.

“No time for him to have taken back roads, and he wasn’t driving the Rover, because the vehicle was hot and he’s a professional. And the doctor makeup was very complicated. It had to age him and fool the witnesses in daylight. Face-to-face.”

“Okay,” Sherry agreed. “It took time to apply.”

“Right. He would have been rushing all the time.”

Rainey rubbed his eyes. He gazed out at the traffic on Broad Street. “If he had been putting on makeup and someone had been driving… that would explain it. It’s the most likely scenario.”

“So I think we should assume Martin had an accomplice until there is proof otherwise.” Paul stretched. “Sherry, now, where was the Rover stolen from?” he said.

“Twenty-third just off Hillsboro Road. Sometime after Thursday afternoon. The owners were out of town Thursday night through Monday afternoon,” she said.

“Okay, let’s check to see if there were any cars in that neighborhood that were towed or reported derelict between then and now. Say a ten-block area from the Hillsboro address. If he came by car alone, that car might still be there. Either he would have parked near there when he stole the car, or he had an accomplice. We’ve assumed he took a flight out because of the damage at the airport, but maybe he wanted us to assume that. Maybe he doubled back. Why would he trigger a bomb out there? That doesn’t make any particular sense. It was a crude bomb, too. Something else to throw us off?”

“Maybe he wanted to make a bold statement?” Sherry offered. Paul looked at her. “Maybe he wanted them to find the Rover at once.”

“With the crutches in it,” Rainey said.

“Maybe he took a cab from the airport,” Sherry said. “When he arrived in town.”

“Maybe,” Paul said. “But I imagine he was here a good while. It wouldn’t be his style not to know the ground and players like the back of his hand. We can’t very well check every cab that was at the airport, because we don’t have a description of him and we can’t be sure when he arrived, or if he even arrived by air.” Paul lit a cigarette. “Just to cover the bases, we could check back the night before the killings and see if any cabs ran from the airport to the immediate area near the Rover’s address-cabby might be able to give us a description. Long shot, though.”

“Course, he could have been disguised,” Sherry said. “Maybe he’s always disguised.”

Paul looked up at her and frowned. There was a lot of effort going into chasing leads that were probably a waste of time and money. “Worth a try.”

Rainey cracked his knuckles. “On the accomplice. Would Martin trust anyone else with his true identity? It isn’t like Martin to leave a loose end dangling.”

“Maybe an accomplice who doesn’t know his true identity?” Sherry asked.

“Freelance,” Paul said. “Possible, but not likely. Hired people are iffy, and they can be made to talk. Money doesn’t buy the sort of loyalty Martin would need. Martin’s accomplice is someone he knows he can trust. Someone he has a history with, or who is terrified of something Martin can do.”

“To him or the accomplice’s own family, maybe,” Sherry added.

“This is nuts,” Rainey said, suddenly agitated. “We should be in Charlotte. Or New Orleans. His mother will lead us to him, or he’ll move on Laura and… we’ll be sitting here with our thumbs jammed up our butts.” He looked at Sherry and blushed. “Tails.”

“Maybe we should call it a night and get a start early in the morning,” Paul said.

Rainey stood and stretched.

Sherry went into the other room. She was packing her purse when Rainey passed through and lifted a hand in salute. She turned and looked at Paul, who was opening another file. She knew he’d be there in the morning in the same clothes after having catnapped on the couch. He had so much to lose-or to prove. She wasn’t sure yet. He was a driven man, but who could blame him? Even in the midst of the unbelievable activity he generated, he was all alone, wrestling with unimaginable demons. She felt silly worrying about a man she hardly knew, a man who would be no more than a memory in a few short days. She found herself wishing she could offer him something, some comfort. But that wasn’t her job.

She put the notepad aside. Fatigue was blurring her vision.

“Good night, Mr. Masterson,” she called as she lifted her purse.

She decided he hadn’t heard her.