"Not to be rude or undiplomatic," Kulack broke in, "but I really don't give a flying fuck what you think. This turkey is stuffed and already cooking. I wanna get him outta here."
"I think," Fred T. Fred said slowly, "we may have a serial killer operating in Southern Florida. I think this guy wants Lockwood, and John's agreed to be the bait."
"Unless you wanna file some paper with the A. G.'s office, it'll have to wait. I'm taking him with me now."
Kulack stood, pulled out his cuffs. "Turn around," he barked and, when Lockwood did, he slammed the bracelets down on his wrist. Lockwood hadn't been in cuffs since he'd been caught stealing cars as a juvenile. Yet this was the third set of bracelets he'd had slammed on him in less than twenty-four hours.
Kulack yanked him around and pushed him toward the door.
"You have to pick him up at the prners' exit. That's where the paperwork gets signed," Fred T. Fred told Kulack, who grunted and left them all standing there.
Lockwood rode down in an old, slow Otis four-man elevator with Captain Fredrickson. "Listen, Captain, you seem like a pretty okay guy… I'm worried about Karen Dawson.. "
"She's still upstairs. She'll be fine. She's about to get released."
"I know… but this guy who came after me, he probably was coming after both of us. She's a civilian. If I'm not here, she'll be walking around unprotected."
"Why don't you ask Kulack to take her back to Washington as a material witness?"
"He won't do it."
"Whatta you want me to do?"
"You've gotta put somebody on her… somebody who won't get faked out. The Rat is smart and he's dangerous. That computer of his is lethal. It's an offensive weapon. He can strike from long range through the phone lines. He almost got Malavida and he almost got me. We're only alive 'cause we got lucky."
The elevator door opened and Fred T. Fred looked at Lockwood. "I'm short-handed. I'd like to help, but I can't supply bodyguards to everyone who might get attacked. You should convince her to go back to Washington."
"I tried," Lockwood said. "She won't go."
"Then there's nothing I can do."
Kulack signed the papers and took custody of Lockwood minutes later. He shoved him out the door into the bright Florida sunshine.
Karen had been naked and sound asleep when the door to her room in the Ramada Inn had been kicked open. She caught a glimpse of three men in black rushing at her, but before she could sit up, they landed hard on top of her and pinned her to the bed. Then they dragged her up, naked, and cuffed her. She hadn't been patted down. Without any clothes on, she clearly wasn't armed. She'd been Mirandized, and for the next hour she'd been forced to sit in the backseat of a Miami Sheriff's car in a Ramada Inn terry-cloth robe and answer questions about the murder of some cops in Illinois. They had quizzed her repeatedly about her relationship to John Lockwood. She had endured it till sunup, when she'd been officially arrested and taken to the Sheriffs Office, where the interrogations began all over again. After a while, she guessed she was not going to be formally charged. She waived her right to an attorney to help calm things down, and eventually things seemed to get straightened out. She was told around ten that they had been arrested because Lock-wood's picture had been placed in the computer at the National Crime Information Center, along with an APB for his arrest for a double police homicide. Miami's SWAT team had received an anonymous tip. The minute they said the word computer, she knew it was the work of The Rat.
She was finally released at 11:30 and the fatherly Watch Commander, Captain Fredrickson, offered to take her to her car, which was still in the parking lot of the Ramada Inn. When she asked to see Lockwood, he told her that Lockwood had been taken back to Washington under guard.
The drive back to the Ramada Inn was strained. Fredrickson was trying to be a good guy, but Karen was in a foul mood. She'd had less than two hours' sleep, and her unscheduled wake-up call had been unusually aggressive.
"Look," she finally said to him, "Malavida's life is in extreme danger. I don't think you quite get the gravity of that."
"There's a man outside his door at the hospital," he said.
"This killer isn't going to come within a mile of the hospital. He'll do something long distance with his computer," she said, a little too hotly. "Malavida is going to be murdered in there unless you people wake the fuck up!"
"Miss Dawson, I'm sorry for the inconvenience we've caused you, and I am very aware of the menace that Leonard Land might present to Mr. Chacone. However, so far we can't directly link Land to anything. I don't have enough evidence to even issue an arrest warrant for the crimes you're talking about. We have no physical evidence that he killed Candice Wilcox in Atlanta, or Leslie Bowers in Michigan. And as far as Lockwood's wife… I guess his little girl could potentially pick the guy out of a lineup, but that hasn't happened yet. Furthermore, all of this is out of my jurisdiction. It's Tampa's case. Best chance I have here is, if I get my hands on him, I can voice-print him and maybe get a match with that recording of the phony tip he called in. Maybe then I can get the DA to file on him for attempted murder. But even that is a long shot."
"What about his rigging that booby trap and blowing up Malavida?"
"Tampa PD would have to file that charge, but the way I hear it, technically you were trespassing without a badge or a warrant. I guess maybe they could file on him for arson or endangering or hazardous behavior or some damn thing. But he'd make bail in about an hour."
"You're telling me to go away and shut up?"
"No. I'm telling you I think you're right, despite the lack of evidence." Fredrickson's voice was soft and his eyes seemed concerned. "I agree this guy's probably a full-on maniac. But even if I knew where he was, I can't arrest him until he does something I can prove. I've done a lousy job of protecting Chacone, I admit it. I don't want the same thing to happen to you, so I'd feel a lot better if you'd get on a plane and go back to Washington."
There was definitely something fatherly about Fred T. Fred. Karen finally nodded her head. "Maybe that's a good idea," she said.
They were parked in the Ramada parking lot, next to her car. Fred T. reached across her and opened the door. "I'll work it as hard as I can. If this guy goes hot, at least this time we'll know who we're looking for."
"Thanks for the ride," she said. "I hope you don't mind if I call you from time to time, for an update…?"
"You'll be calling from Washington?"
"From Washington," she lied.
After he drove off, Karen got into her blue LeBaron and put the top down. It was noon, and the Florida sun was oppressively hot. She drove back to the Jackson Memorial Hospital. Ten minutes later, she was on the sixth floor checking on Malavida.
A new nurse told her he was still resting. She nodded and peeked into his room. The Miami cop was gone. He'd been replaced by a Federal agent in a suit. He watched her without interest as she showed her Customs ID and entered. Malavida looked very small in the hospital bed. She couldn't see the dressings because he had the covers up under his chin, but she knew he was wrapped in tape. As he lay in bed, his eyes closed, she could see what he must have been like as a little boy. There was an innocence about him. She moved closer to the bed and looked down. The lone teardrop tattoo hung under his right eye, a dangerous exclamation mark. She wondered if Lockwood had been right about him. She had made love to this person. She had found warmth in his tenderness. She wanted to believe that she had given that gift in honesty, but the events of the last two weeks had moved with frightening speed. Maybe she had been swept along by the current. She looked again at the tattoo. The teardrop was a symbol of distress. She had been told once that Mexican gang kids got teardrop tattoos when a good friend died from a street action. It represented the cultural ocean that separated them. Although Malavida's need for freedom had caused him to run away from them in Atlanta, his conscience had brought him back. He had tried to help them. She was supposed to be able to profile behavior, to predict what an UnSub would do… but she was badly confused by Malavida Chacone.