The Coldest Fear. Debra Webb
and see that you board your flight.”
“No problem.” Tony readied to stand.
Kessler said, “Why don’t I believe you, Agent LeDoux?”
“No idea.” He collapsed in his seat once more. Damn he needed aspirin or, better yet, a couple of beers. If he’d required any additional proof that Kessler was Pitts’s puppet, he had it now.
“The task force is doing everything possible to find Dr. Weller,” Kessler reiterated as if Tony might not understand the situation. “I, for one, am convinced that the combined effort of the Southeast Regional Task Force of the US Marshals Service and the Bureau will locate him. Soon.”
Pitts nodded his agreement. “We will not allow him to get away. Whatever your misgivings, LeDoux, trust me on that one.”
“I can’t tell you how reassuring those words are, sir.” Tony had thrown that statement around himself on numerous occasions with no intention of backing it up. Trust was just a word. A word used to manipulate and appease.
His ire showing now, Pitts demanded, “Is it your intention to destroy your career the same way you did your marriage, Agent LeDoux?”
As hard as he tried to restrain his anger, Pitts had pushed his buttons with that one. “In case you’ve forgotten, my best friend destroyed my marriage when he decided to fuck my too-willing wife. At the moment, I haven’t made up my mind who’s working the hardest to destroy my career, me or you.”
When Pitts said nothing else, Tony stood. He turned his back and headed for the door.
“Just so we’re clear, LeDoux,” Kessler warned, her voice razor sharp. “Weller is mine. He escaped under my watch and I will see that he is captured.”
Tony hesitated and faced her once more. “Don’t worry, I got the message.” He glanced at his superior. “I’m out.”
He should have let it go at that, but some part of him couldn’t resist a final dig. He hesitated at the door and glanced back at the two he suspected were ultimately as instrumental in Weller’s escape as the prison nurse the bastard had chopped into nearly a dozen pieces. “Trust me on that.”
In the corridor, two agents waited for Tony. Without a word they escorted him to the first floor and out of the building. When they reached a waiting sedan, he said, “I’m starving. Any chance we can stop for lunch before we reach the airport?”
The two glanced at each other and then the taller one shrugged. “Why not? All you’ve got now is time, LeDoux.”
He flashed a fake smile. “Lucky me.”
Tony would get back to Virginia eventually, but right now he needed to be in Savannah.
Habersham Street, Savannah
1:15 p.m.
Bobbie parked on the street. She’d spent almost as much time watching her rearview mirror as she had the highway during the nearly four-hour drive from Atlanta. She’d tried returning Lieutenant Durham’s call but she’d gotten his voice mail. Since she had no idea what the call was about or the actual identity of the caller, she’d opted not to leave a message. In fact, she’d decided to drive directly to Savannah-Chatham Metro headquarters and make sure Durham was actually who he claimed to be. The address LeDoux had given her would have to wait until she made a decision as to whether or not she was walking into a trap. At this point she didn’t trust anyone except Nick.
Climbing out of her Challenger, she surveyed the headquarters. The building was a collage of the new and the old, the newer part of the three-story brick building’s facade being a deeper red like the Georgia clay for which the state was known. A wide sidewalk led from the street to the steps and created a border around flowering shrubs and sago palms. Majestic oaks draped with moss blocked the afternoon sun. Bobbie climbed the half a dozen steps that rose to the main entrance. The glass doors were decorated with orange pumpkin cutouts and ghosts. Inside a wide counter cut through the center of the lobby, a statue of a big black cat waited on the counter, back arched in fury. On the entrance side of the counter the usual bulletin board loaded with notices and dispatches hung on the wall to the left. Beneath it stood a table covered with informative and instructional brochures. Four chairs lined the wall to the right. Typical police headquarters lobby. Straightforward and practical.
A receptionist looked up from her desk behind the counter. She adjusted her reading glasses. “May I help you?”
Bobbie held up her badge. “I’m Detective Gentry. I received a call from a Lieutenant Durham.”
The sixtyish woman—Delores Waldrop, according to the nameplate on the desk—smiled. “Oh yes. Troy asked me to be on the lookout for your call. I guess you decided coming in person was better. Montgomery, right?”
Bobbie nodded. “That’s right.”
Delores removed her reading glasses and let them fall against her chest, a strand of pearls serving as the neck strap that held them in place. She shook her head. “Sorry. I was under the impression you were a man.”
Bobbie produced a smile. “It happens. Is the lieutenant available?”
The woman’s expression turned somber. “Since you’re here in person, I’ll send you straight on over to his location.” She drew in a heavy breath. “We’ve had quite a startling day. It started just after midnight.”
Deciding it was better not to mention that she didn’t have a clue what was going on, Bobbie nodded as if she understood completely.
Delores stood and moved toward the counter. “You spend your whole life thinking you know someone and then you discover you never knew them at all.” She shook her head as she reached for a tourist-type map of the city from the neat stack next to the sign-in sheet. “All right.” She circled a spot on the map. “This is where we are. You’ll go right on East Jones.” She traced the route and then handed the map to Bobbie. “It’s just a little piece off Skidaway Road. Look for the Happy Pets Veterinary Clinic. If you get to the cemetery on Bonaventure, you’ve gone too far. It’ll take you about ten minutes to get there from here.”
Bobbie thanked her and walked out of the building the same way she’d entered. As she settled behind the wheel, she considered that the sweatshirt and jeans she wore weren’t exactly proper work attire, but hopefully her excuse that she was on vacation would fly. Maybe she could gain some insight as to what was going on and why someone had inserted her name into the situation before the locals figured out her sticky situation. One call to her chief and she would probably be escorted back to the interstate.
She itched to drive by the address LeDoux had given her but she had to do this first. The more time Durham had before she spoke to him, the more opportunity he had to reach out to Montgomery PD for additional information. Whatever she could learn before that happened might help find Weller. She’d spent most of the drive trying to recall a case where a detective from Savannah had called her or Newt—Howard Newton—her former partner. Newt had died two months ago after a run-in with the Storyteller. The hurt sliced through her chest afresh.
Miss you.
Since she couldn’t call Newt and checking in with Sergeant Lynette Holt, her immediate supervisor back in Montgomery, was out of the question, Bobbie had to rely on her memory and so far she hadn’t recalled ever assisting a Savannah detective on any sort of case. If Newt had taken a call from this department he wouldn’t have given her name as a point of contact without telling her.
Although both cities were positioned next to a river, Savannah and Montgomery had little else in common. The many manicured parks and the ornate antebellum architecture made Savannah a definite tourist destination. The city’s label as one of the most haunted places in the world didn’t hurt tourism either. Savannah had a slow, genteel feel about it, far more so than Montgomery. The politics of being a state capitol