Savannah was still fuming. “Like hell.”
“Unless you have some other friend that you won’t mind putting in danger if Mr. Luther comes looking for you…” Chance trailed off.
Savannah clenched her jaw. “Fine. Whatever.” She walked toward the door. Before she got there, she turned. “I got one last question, Charleyboy. How did Luther find out about my boys? Did you tell him?”
He looked stricken. “I didn’t. I swear it.”
She started for him, but Chance barred her way. “Either you’re a lying sack of shit,” Savannah whispered savagely, “or he’s got us wired, too. Either way, you fucked up and put my boys in danger. I could kill you for that.”
“Have a nice life, you fucking whore,” Charleyboy said, but it came out sounding week in comparison to Savanah’s fury.
Chance had heard enough. “Come on. Let’s go.” She turned to Charleyboy as she reached the door. “Oh, and, Angus? Don’t even think of running. We’ll have people on you. You may not see them, but they’ll be there. You try to rabbit, you’ll be in a federal cell so fast it’ll make your goddamn head spin.” She didn’t wait for a response as she pushed Savannah out the door. “You need to get some people on him,” she whispered into the mike as she marched Savannah across the road.
“Well…”
“Damn it, Winslow,” she snapped. “Can I get a little fucking cooperation here?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Yeah. You do that.”
HE’D MADE it back home in what must have been record time, until he was back in Kassidey’s tiny office, seated across the desk from her. She was typing away on a laptop computer.
“Sometimes I forget how much of people’s lives go on Facebook now,” she was saying. “Anyone who has a grievance can’t help but air it out for the entire world to see. So if you’re looking for someone who’s looking for someone…” She finished typing and turned the computer around. The screen showed a Facebook group page. ‘Birth Parents Seeking Children’, the title of the group read, and Kassidey had scrolled down to the black-and-white photo of Savannah, seated, with her boys beside her. Wyatt felt his throat tighten at the sight.
“Check the message under the picture,” Kassidey said.
Wyatt scrolled down again. Thank you 2 the group, the last message read. My boys are in touch and on their way to me in Arabi, New Orleans. God is truly good.
“New Orleans,” Wyatt said. “They’re headed there.”
Kassidey took the computer back. “Right. And I didn’t know what Arabi meant, so I looked it up. It’s in something called St. Bernard Parish. So what we need to do is contact the New Orleans PD or St. Bernard Parish Sheriff, tell them they have a couple of fugitives headed their way, and let them handle it.”
“Yeah.”
“Wyatt,” she said, “are you listening to me? We need to turn this over to the locals.”
He wouldn’t look at her. “Sure. You should probably do that.”
She gaped at him for a moment. “Jesus H. Tap-dancing Christ,” she said. “You’re going down there.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t need to. I know that look in your eye, Wyatt. And I know this is a really stupid idea.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“There’s nothing you can do that the locals can’t do.”
“Most likely.”
“In fact, they’ll tell you to go home and get out of their way.”
“Yep.”
“You know, Wyatt, there are a lot of things you used to do that drove me up the wall. But probably the biggest one was this thing you did…that you still do…where you agree with everything I say, then go and do whatever you were going to do anyway.”
“I can see how that would be annoying.” He looked at her blandly until they both burst into laughter. When it ran down, she shook her head. “Seriously, Wyatt, what in the hell do you hope to accomplish here?”
It took a long moment for him to pull his thoughts together. Finally, he spoke. “If I find them, or, more likely, if someone else finds them, they’re going to be a long way from home. They’ll be strangers. Unknown. Maybe I can make things a little easier for them.”
“If the locals will listen to you at all.”
“I’m law enforcement. I know I may not have felt much like it recently, or acted like it. But I can still talk to officers in language that’ll reach them. And I know the subjects. They’ll listen.”
She raised both eyebrows at him. “Uh-huh. And how much of this, Wyatt, is you trying to work out a boatload of old guilt? Not just the Jakes boys, but Morris Tyree as well?” She sighed. “Don’t even bother to answer. You’re going to do what you’re going to do. Aren’t you?”
He smiled. “I usually do.”
She waved him away. “Just go, Wyatt. Go do whatever you need to do.”
As he got up to go, he said, “I’m glad you’re not still mad at me.”
She’d turned back to her computer. “Who says I’m not?”
“SO,” HAMMOND SAID, “you brought in Charlebois.” He shook his head. “Hell of a risk.”
There didn’t seem to be disapproval in the SAC’s voice. “Yes, sir,” Winslow said.
Hammond went on. “And the woman. Have they given you anything useful yet?”
“We’re setting up a debrief with each of them,” Winslow said. “Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
The SAC nodded. “We’ve got a clock ticking here. Our sources in Mexico say Gutierrez is itching to make a move. We need to know when and where he’s trying to come into Louisiana and we need it fast.”
“You’ll get what you need.” Winslow wished he was as sure as he sounded.
“I understand Cahill, the local deputy, is managing the woman.”
“Yes, sir.” Winslow hated what he was about to have to say. “Which brings up an issue.”
The SAC looked over the papers he’d been perusing, his eyes expressionless. “Right. Savannah Jakes’s sons.”
“Yes, sir.” Winslow didn’t like the look on the SAC’s face. “Deputy Cahill,” he said, carefully distancing himself, “thinks that Savannah Jakes will be more cooperative if we can insure the safety of her sons. One was adopted out, but his brother found him. Apparently, the two of them are on their way here.”
He took off his glasses and stared at Winslow. “The only problem is this, Agent Winslow. We have, at your request, been putting on a full search for Mick and Keith Jakes. You’re right that the younger brother, Keith, was adopted. We’ve hit a wall, apparently, with some officious local clerk. We can’t get any information on that without a court order, and I can’t take this to the U.S. Attorney without something a little more concrete.”
“But that should be a moot point. Mick informed Savannah that they’re together and they’re on their way here.”
“Well, that’s very interesting. Because Mick Jakes was a lot easier to track, thanks to his record. He had a lot of run-ins with the law. We followed that trail right to its end.”
“It’s…end?”
“Mick Jakes has been dead for over two years. He was killed by another inmate in a county lockup in Gatlinburg, Tennessee.”
Winslow sat back down, his head feeling like it was going to explode. “That’s…there must be some mistake.”
Hammond shook his head. “No mistake. Jakes was drunk. They either didn’t have a single cell for him or just didn’t care. He got into a fight with some other redneck drifter and got his head banged off the edge of the metal bed enough times to fracture his skull. He died on the operating table. The sheriff’s department caught some flak for it in the local papers, but one lowlife killing another apparently wasn’t a story that grabbed the public’s attention. Imagine that.” Hammond punched a button on his phone. “Kimball, could you come in here, please? Bring the Jakes sub-file.” In a moment, Kimball came in carrying a couple of file folders. He handed one to Hammond, who opened it. “Here’s where it gets
interesting,” he said. “This ‘dead man’ now has warrants out on him for an armed robbery, assault, and arson. All in North Carolina. His brother, too. The brother apparently goes by the name of Tyler Welch now, by the way.” He handed a photograph across the desk. Winslow took it. It was a still from a security camera. The picture was grainy and blurry from the movement of the subjects in it, but Winslow could make out the features on the two young men. “The one with the brown hair is Tyler Welch. The one with the shotgun is the one who rented a trailer in some hick town out there under the name of Mick Jakes. Apparently, he’d been on the radar of the local cops for a while, but they never could hang anything on him. Until a few days ago, when he did this. After which he beat the hell out of a local drug dealer and ran off with the stash. Oh, and on the way out of town he burned down his own house.”
Winslow handed the picture back. “And now they’re on the way here.”
Hammond nodded. “We’ve alerted the locals. If they show up, we’ve asked them to hold them, oppose bail, keep them bottled up.” He gave Winslow a tight smile. “That’s technically keeping them safe, right?”
Winslow thought of Mick Jakes getting his head bashed in in a jail cell far from home. “So who is the guy claiming to be Mick?”
Hammond looked over at Kimball, who spoke up for the first time. “Best ID we have on him is a habitual thief and small-time drug dealer named Kevin DeWalt. He and Mick Jakes were cellmates at Hardeman County Correctional in Tennessee for about six months.” Kimball opened the file he’d kept and handed a picture to Winslow. It was a prison mugshot marked DeWalt, Kevin. Same dark hair, same eyes, same build. The resemblance was remarkable. Kimball went on. “After they got out, the two of them apparently moved up to Gatlinburg. Shared an apartment for a while.”
“How do you know that?”
“Same address on the misdemeanor warrants each of them kept picking up. Then Mick Jakes got picked up again. For the last time. When he died, DeWalt dropped off the radar.”
Winslow nodded. “Taking Mick Jakes’s identity with him.” He shook his head in amazement. “So, what do I tell Savannah?”
The SAC looked at him with an eyebrow raised, as if he couldn’t believe the stupidity of the question. “Well, you certainly don’t tell her one of her sons is dead. From the sound of things, she’s not that stable to begin with, and this could send her completely off the rails. We need her cooperation. Not as badly as Charlebois’s, but she’s still an asset. And you’d best not tell the deputy, either. What she doesn’t know, she can’t spill by accident.”
Winslow frowned. “I don’t like lying to my…” he almost said “partner,” but realized that it wasn’t actually true, since she wasn’t DEA, “to another officer,” he amended.
Hammond waved a dismissive hand. “We keep the locals in the dark all the time, Winslow. You know that. You even said it.”
But this is different. Winslow thought back to the moment that had passed between him and Cahill before she’d gone into the house with Savannah and Charleyboy. He found that he actually liked Cahill. He respected her. He didn’t believe for a moment that she’d spill the beans by accident. Still, orders were orders.
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“HERE WE are,” Chance said as she pulled the pickup into the patch of earth beside the trailer. From his pen beneath the trees, Jonas set up a joyful baying. Savannah regarded the place without expression, then gave a heavy sigh and opened the door.
Well, fuck you too, honey, Chance thought as Savannah got her bag out from behind the seat. Like the dump where she’d been living was any better. Chance walked over and let the dog out. He paused for only a second to receive his welcoming pat, then bounded toward the new stranger, tail wagging furiously.
Savannah stepped backwards at first, clearly apprehensive, but when Jonas stopped, hindquarters raised and front paws stretched out in front of him, tail still going a mile a minute, she broke into a smile. She put down the bag and crouched down, holding out a hand. “C’mere, puppy,” she crooned. When Chance walked over, Jonas was receiving a thorough scratching behind the ears, tongue lolling from one corner of his mouth in ecstasy.
“World’s worst watchdog,” Chance said with a laugh.
“He’s a big ol’ sweetie,” Savannah said. “Aren’t you? Aren’t you?” The hard look on her face had softened, and Chance could see what she must have looked like as a young girl.
“Come on in,” she said. “I’ll see what’s in the fridge for dinner.”
Savannah picked up her bag. “Thanks. I know I’ve been kind of a bitch about this.” She put a hand on Chance’s arm. “But I really do appreciate it. I don’t know where I’d be right now if it hadn’t been for you, Deputy Cahill.” That wide-eyed, guileless look threw Chance for a moment.
Call me Chance, she wanted to say. Then she remembered her father’s words. You have to learn to keep your distance. Don’t let them suck you into their game. She gave the hand on her arm a pat that turned into a brush off, but a gentle one. “Don’t mention it. Part of the job.”
Her dad. Shit. It was her night to call him. She wondered what he’d say about her bringing a CI home with her. Nothing good, she figured. “There’s a spare bedroom down that hall,” she said as they entered. “I’ll get some sheets and a blanket out of the closet once I check out the food situation.”
“Is there a guest bathroom? I need to freshen up.”
“Yeah. Towels are hanging up. Let me know if you need more.” Savannah nodded and disappeared down the hallway.
Chance looked in the fridge. “I got some pork chops,” she called out. “That good?”
“I don’t eat pork,” Savannah called back.
Of course you don’t, Chance thought. “Only other choice is chicken.”
“Fine.”
Chance pulled the frozen chicken tenders out of the freezer, wondering how many would be enough. She wasn’t used to cooking for anyone else, and most nights she just curled up with a mug of soup and a book or the TV. Her phone rang as she put the tenders on the counter. It was Winslow. She tucked the phone beneath her chin as she opened the package. “Hey.”
Winslow got right to the point. “We scheduled her debrief for nine thirty tomorrow. A half hour after Charlebois gets here.”
“Yeah,” Chance said. “Probably best that they not see each other. That situation’s what you might call a little tense.”
“A little, yeah.”
Chance frowned. Winslow sounded strange. Not himself. “Everything all right, Winslow?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Just busy trying to get this together. You going to have any problem getting her there?”
“Not that I can think of. You got any word on the boys?”
There it was again. That slight hesitation that made the back of Chance’s neck tingle. “Nothing,” Winslow said. “If Savannah gets something, let us know. If we can find them, we can bring them in.”
“Bring them…you’re talking about taking them…” Chance looked up to see Savannah entering the room. “Text me, okay? I gotta make dinner.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Winslow hung up.
“What’s going on?” Savannah asked.
“We’ve got a debrief at nine thirty tomorrow morning.”
“A what?”
“You’ll sit down with a couple of DEA agents. They’ll ask you what you know. I don’t think I need to tell you how important it is to tell the truth. They’ll be cross checking what you tell then with what Charleyboy says. If they think you’re bullshitting them, it’s not going to end well.”
“Will you be there?” Savannah asked in a small voice.
“I don’t know,” Chance confessed. “Seriously, though, I doubt it. I’m not DEA. I’m the local yokel. I think once this thing really gets going, they’re going to take the ball and run with it.”
“I’d really like it if you were there,” Savannah said. She stepped in closer, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. “I really
need a friend.” She put a hand on Chance’s arm. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. Back in the café.” She began rubbing the arm softly and moving closer.
Jesus, Chance thought, is she coming on to me? She pulled her arm away. “We need to get something straight, girl. You were right the first time. I’m not going to be your buddy here. And I’m sure as hell not going to be your girlfriend.”
Savannah looked crushed for a moment, her face crumpling like that of a child about to cry. When she saw that wasn’t working, the mask dropped away, her face turning to stone. “Sorry,” she said. “The way you got your hair cut, well, I figured…” She didn’t go on, just walked away, threw herself onto the ragged couch, and picked up the TV remote.
Chance’s first instinct was to argue, No, I like men, it’s just… But she realized that her being on the defensive was just what Savannah…the informant…wanted. Chance shook her head and went back to making dinner.
THEY CAME INTO New Orleans like a rocket shooting down I-10, blasting past Slidell so fast that Tyler was sure they’d get pulled over. But they made it through, across Lake Pontchartrain, taking the exit through Chalmette, passing through mile after mile of industrial blocks and poor areas that were nothing like the New Orleans he’d seen in the movies or in magazines. The houses were jammed together, all of them looking ragged and run down. It was getting dark, and Tyler was getting apprehensive about being in this sketchy area after dark. “Where are we going?” he finally asked.
Mick didn’t answer at first. He seemed suddenly nervous, nowhere near as self-assured as he’d been all the way down. Finally, he pulled over in a vacant concrete-covered lot with weeds poking up from between the slabs. “I need to let Mama know we’re here,” he muttered.
“Wait,” Tyler said. “You don’t know where she lives?”
“Somewhere around here,” Mick said impatiently. “I just need to get the address.”
“You don’t already have it?” Tyler’s voice was rising. Lana reached out from the backseat and put her hand on his arm to calm him. “Is she even here?” Tyler demanded. “I mean, Jesus, Mick, does she even exist?”
Fortunate Son Page 15
