Upside Down

99

As the speedboat raced toward the Canal Street ferry landing, Winter could see dozens of vehicles packing the ramp. Flashing lights-blue for cop cars and police department technical vans, red for EMT vehicles-washed the crowd standing on the balcony attached to the enclosed pedestrian walkway. There would also be media trucks in the street-their dishes elevated to send electronic signals to every television screen in the region.

How fast they react these days, Winter thought. And why not? At first blush, taking a ferry at gunpoint must have looked like an act of terrorism.

Law enforcement and EMTs swarmed the lower ferry deck, while another group was moving around on the roof near the pilothouse.

Nick Green stood solemnly at the stern of the USS Thomas Jefferson beside a deckhand, who took the line Manseur tossed, and Nicky helped Winter onto the deck. He handed Winter his SIG Sauer, but did no more than glance at the corpse in the speedboat, at the pool of diluted blood in the stern where her ebony hair floated, surrounding her ruined head like a storm cloud.

“It was all Marta Ruiz, Winter. It wasn't your fault.”

“Yeah, I know,” Winter said weakly. He wanted to vomit-to rid himself of the vitriol that filled him like a poisonous cloud. I should have taken the shot I had on Marta. I might have wounded Faith Ann, but she might still be alive.

“How soon can you get a search going?” Winter asked Manseur. “I don't want her in there any longer than-”

“Already under way. The Coast Guard will find her,” Manseur promised. “They know exactly where she went in, and they have computer models, so it's just science to locate a…” He stopped when he saw the hard look in Winter's eyes. “Sorry.”

“I looked all around,” Nicky said. “I didn't see any envelope anywhere.”

“Faith Ann put the envelope in her jeans. I saw it when she went in.”

Winter looked at the Stratus, the shattered side window, the passenger door still open. A crime scene technician took a picture of something inside the vehicle, set the camera on the car's roof, leaned in, and lifted something out, dropping it into a clear evidence envelope.

“Hey!” Winter called out, striding toward the car. “What is that?” He reached out to take the bag. The technician straightened defensively but handed it over when he saw Detective Manseur nod his approval.

The technician said, “It's a cassette tape-no label. Was on the floorboard.”

“You think it's her tape?” Manseur asked Winter.

“Yes,” Winter said, looking at the cassette through the clear plastic. He knew that was the only thing it could be.

“That's great,” Nicky said. “You've got evidence.”

Winter nodded, seeing some light leaking into the situation. “If it contains what Faith Ann heard from her hiding place, it had Arturo implicating Jerry Bennett for sending him to get the pictures back from Amber Lee. It has the murders. It'll add weight to the fact that the negatives Faith Ann had were pictures of Bennett killing the Williamses. Don't tell Suggs we don't have the negatives. Play the tape to him and Bennett and one'll snap quick. At least Faith Ann didn't fail.”

“She was something, that kid,” Manseur said. “She cleared Pond single-handedly.”

“Her mother would be very proud of her.”

“Somebody cleared Horace Pond of something?” the technician said, looking up. “Too bad for him it wasn't of murdering the Williamses.”

“What do you mean?” Winter asked him.

“Horace Pond is a goner.” He glanced at his watch. “Well, he will be in about 25 minutes, give or take the speed of liquids snaking through the tubes. And damn good riddance, I say.”

“The execution was called off,” Winter said.

“No. It wasn't.” The technician looked perplexed. “Who told you that?”

“It sure as hell was called off,” Manseur said. “The governor's office will be announcing it any minute now.”

“A half an hour ago the governor was on TV saying the death penalty was created for creeps like Pond, and his execution would serve all of the people of Louisiana, even those who oppose executions.”

Winter saw the same confusion he was feeling reflected in Manseur's eyes.

“All due respect, Detective Manseur,” the CSI tech protested, “you can walk up the hill to the first news truck and ask them. I mean, there's news coverage on every channel. Caption said it was live from the Fairmont. They had some kind of fund-raiser there. I know one of the patrolmen on the bodyguard detail at the hotel.”

“The governor's staying at the Fairmont?” Winter asked. And when the perplexed tech nodded, Winter ran.

Manseur was close behind, the sight of the detective serving to get them past the cops on the ramp. From far behind Winter heard the tech yelp, “Hey! My tape!”

Winter arrived at the WWL van ahead of Manseur. On one of the monitors he saw the reporter standing outside the prison interviewing a woman under a KILL

POND SCUM banner. A clock beside the monitor was counting the minutes down to the execution. 19:52, 19:51, 19:50…

“What the hell is happening?” Winter demanded when Manseur reached him.

“I talked to Hurt, and he said he would… He didn't do it. Maybe they're just waiting for me to…”

“We've got to make sure,” Winter said, looking down at the tape in his hand.

“George!” Manseur yelled at a police sergeant, who was standing outside a cruiser, watching over the cops who were holding twenty reporters and a crowd of the curious back from the ferry ramp. “We're taking your car!” Nicky was limping toward them.

“We gotta run,” Winter yelled.

“Go!” a limping Nicky yelled, waving them off. “I'll see you at the hotel later.”