Jac looked again towards Langfranc, but this time Langfranc looked slightly away as Jac met his eye, as if he felt suddenly awkward or embarrassed. Jac closed the track-back screen so that he could see all of the e-mail.
The girl’s voice returned: ‘Yeah… computer number fourteen. Looks like he’s still there.’
Jac leapt up. ‘Okay… okay!’ He hooked his jacket from the back of his chair. ‘I’m heading down to you right now! Should be with you in no more than ten or twelve.’
The e-mail was now displaying, random phrases leaping out at him… I’d have incriminated myself… know what I saw… Larry Durrant didn’t kill Jessica Roche…
Langfranc, seeing Jac about to leave in a rush, suddenly seemed equally panicked, ending his call abruptly and swinging his door open as Jac was only two paces away from his desk.
‘Jac. Jac! That was Beaton just then — going on about something you’ve held back from him about the Durrant case. He wants to see you in his office right now.’
‘I can’t… I can’tdeal with this now.’ Jac took a step further away, eyes shifting frantically. ‘Something’s broken on the Durrant case that just won’t wait. I’ve got to sort it out now!’
‘Beaton sounded pissed as hell — you’re taking your life in your hands fobbing him off like this, Jac.’ Langfranc’s face flushed as he forced a tight-lipped grimace. ‘But, okay, it’s your neck. How long?’
‘Thirty, forty minutes. Hour tops.’ Jac took another couple of steps away, all that filled his mind at that second an image of Durrant’s mystery e-mailer leaving his internet cafe computer.
‘Okay, I’ll tell him. But your story had better be good when you get back, Jac — otherwise it’s probably kiss-your-ass-goodbye-time here. I’ve hardly ever heard Beaton that angry.’
Jac’s stomach dipped at the possibility. He returned Langfranc’s grimace and held one hand up, thanks, hold my job for me till I get back, if you can, and sprinted out, a silent prayer on his breath that he’d make it in time.
Jac ran to the corner of Thalia and Chestnut Street so that he had the benefit of cabs from both directions, and hailed one in less than a minute.
He said that he was late for a meeting, and the driver, seeing in his mirror the anxiety on Jac’s face and the sweat on his brow, put his foot down. ‘Might be able shave off a minute or so, if we’re lucky.’
The air-rush through the half-open taxi window buffeted Jac’s face as they picked up speed along Magazine Street, older two-storey antebellum buildings with quaint railed-terraces giving way to taller, newer, flat-fronted shops and offices; the transition from old to new as New Orleans became less Colonial-French and more like any other American city.
‘Internet-ional on Peniston, you say?’ The taxi driver confirmed over one shoulder.
‘Yeah.’ Though as he said it, Jac was suddenly hit with something he should have covered while he’d been on the phone to them before.
Jac took out his cell-phone and punched in Internet-ional’snumber. But as he pressed to dial, another voice was suddenly there, crashing in. His heart leapt for a second, fearful that it was Beaton deciding to give him a roasting over the phone, or fire him — but it was Morvaun Jaspar, the forger he’d got cleared a couple of months back.
‘ Jac! Got a problem. Big problem!’
‘I can’t do this now, Morvaun. I’ve got someone I’ve got to call right now. Urgently!’
‘This too, Jac. This too! The local blues have just pulled me in, and it’s bullshit… absolute bullshit. They’re tryin’ to nail me for everyone they find with a forged document — or looks like one. And no doubt all ‘cause we pulled the rug out from ‘em last time. It’s a complete sham shake-down, and I ain’t about to — ’
‘Morvaun — I can’t handle this now!’ Jac could imagine his mystery e-mailer getting up from his seat and leaving as they spoke; and if he didn’t get back to the people at Internet-ional before that happened, he might not even get a description. ‘I really havegot someone I’ve got to call. Right now! Let’s talk again later.’
‘I can’t call back later, Jac. This is my oneallowed call. You gotta get down here — otherwise I’m here for the duration.’
‘Okay… okay. Where are you now?’
‘Fifth District station-house.’
‘I’ll get there as soon as I can. About — ’ Jac cradled his forehead as he remembered that he was meant to be back, sharp, to see Beaton. But he couldn’t just leave Morvaun hanging for what might be almost two hours. He’d have to get Langfranc to tell Beaton that his out-of-office meeting got more involved, was going to take longer. Jac sighed heavily. ‘About forty minutes or so.’
‘Your office is only fifteen minutes from here, Jac, can’t you — ’
‘I’m halfway across town right now, Morvaun — trying to sort something else out. But I promise I’ll get there as soon as. Hold on!’
‘Yeah, okay… hear you loud ‘n clear Jac. Not much else f’me to do.’
Instantly Morvaun rang off, Jac re-dialled Internet-ional.
‘Jac McElroy again. I called a couple of minutes back. Is he stillthere — computer number fourteen?’ Jac’s breath froze in his throat in the two-second wait for the girl to look and answer.
‘Yeah. I can still see him.’
‘Okay… okay.’ Jac exhaled heavily. ‘Can you try and get a good look at him?’
‘I… I can’t see him that well from here. He’s turned away from me, looking at his computer.’
‘Right. What’s your name, by the way?’ Personalizeto get closer, Jac thought.
‘Uuuh… Tracy.’ Hesitant, as if worried what he might do with the information.
‘Okay, Tracy, I don’t know how easy it is because I’m not there — but if you could shift more to a side-view… without, that is, being too obvious, making him suspicious. Just in case he leaves before I get down there myself to see him.’ Jac looked up as they crossed Washington Avenue. Only a dozen or so blocks now to Peniston: four or five minutes at most. Hold on. Hold on.
‘Oh… okay.’ But Tracy still sounded uncertain.
‘And if he does start to leave before I get there — maybe try and hold him up a bit, if you can. Keep him there.’
Only the sound of Tracy’s breath falling for a second. ‘That might be more difficult.’
‘I know. I know. But maybe tell him that there’s a free coffee today for customers… I’ll cover for it when I get there.’
‘I… I suppose I could… oh… oh…’
Hearing her sudden intake of breath, Jac asked sharply, ‘What is it?’
‘He… he’s looking round, starting to get up.’
Jac felt his stomach tighten; but then he’d suspected all along that he wouldn’t hang around long. His voice lowered, a conspiratorial hush. ‘Okay, Tracy… try what I suggested.’
‘I’ll try. I’ll do my…’ Jac could hear her breath falling shorter, sharper as she broke off for a second. Then, a faint tremor in her undertone — or perhaps it was just Jac picking up on it because he knew she was nervous: ‘Sir… there’s a free coffee for customers today I forgot to tell you about earlier.’
Aline Street flashed by. Only four blocks to go now.
At Internet-ional, the man, African-American, late-thirties, in a maroon Hilfiger jacket, paused for a second, looked tempted. But some noise from the street outside reached him then, strains of a brass band playing a block or so away, and he glanced distractedly over his shoulder for a second. And as he turned back, Tracy saw something shift in his eyes, flicking between her and the phone. Picked up a bad vibe, or just acknowledgment that he was interrupting her?