Too Far Gone

94

The activity of the gathering of cops had drawn a crowd of civilians. NOPD Superintendent Jackson Evans waited, standing before two television crews, making a statement. Several members of his staff watched from the sidelines. The police had arrived in two helicopters, visible in the gravel lot beside Moody’s store. Alexa had intended to take Manseur’s car back to New Orleans, but she saw two men she was certain were FBI agents, walking toward her from a parked Ford sedan.

Bond had called Manseur’s wife to tell her about Michael’s condition before she saw or heard it on the news. He had told her they were going to the trauma center in Baton Rouge, where Manseur would receive the best of care. She said she’d leave her daughters at her sister’s and make her way there.

As the boats approached the dock, the news crews abandoned the superintendent. They scrambled to get footage of the wounded detectives as well as the covered bodies of Deputy Boudreaux and Andy Tinsdale. Leland smiled at the attention. Jackson Evans hurried to the dock, perhaps out of genuine concern as well as the fact that it would enable him to get in the frame. As the crews recorded, Jackson Evans shook the sheriff’s hand briskly. Several still photographers painted the scene with their flashes. Alexa could see Leland talking to the cameras as he was being perp-walked to a waiting ambulance. She was pretty sure he was telling the world about how that black woman FBI cop had burned up his wonderful new boat-earned by the honest sweat of his brow.

Alexa used her anonymity and the general confusion to escape the media. Luckily, Jackson Evans was too busy basking in the spotlight to think to share it.

The agents approached as Alexa was striding from the dock. “Agent Keen,” the older one said. “I’m Special Agent Moore and this is Special Agent Montgomery. We’re here to assist you as necessary.”

“I’m all done here,” she told them. “I could sure use a ride back to my hotel.”

“There’s a Lojac in it to direct us. By the way, the director asked me to tell you that he would appreciate a call at your earliest convenience,” Agent Moore told her. “He said to tell you, ‘Job well done.’ He will send in a plane if you’d like to fly out of here. You sure don’t want to try to drive. The field office is closed down. We’ve evacuated personnel, computers, and files. We’ll be relocating to Baton Rouge until all’s clear.”

“Sounds like an intelligent course,” Alexa said.

“Did you recover the ransom?” he asked.

Alexa held up the briefcase. “The majority of the bearer bonds are in here. Make sure Dr. LePointe gets them back, will you. I need to get the briefcase processed.”

“How much is there?”

“Two million, three hundred thousand. Twenty of the bonds are missing. Maybe NOPD will turn up the rest in their investigation.”

“Two hundred thousand in bearer bonds turn up in an NOPD investigation?” Montgomery smiled. “Like that’ll happen in our lifetimes.”

Alexa studied him. “What is that supposed to mean? The detectives I worked with are one hundred percent professionals. Don’t you dare question their integrity in front of me. If you knew them, you wouldn’t say such a thing.”

The agent’s face reddened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything about them. There are a few good eggs in the carton.”

She watched as the wounded detectives were being fed into the life-flight helicopter. She waved at Manseur, who was walking with the help of a pair of deputies. He saw her and weakly waved back.

“This is New Orleans, Agent Keen,” Moore reminded her.

“So they tell me,” she said.