A black woman clutching a baby to her chest came out of the medical examiner’s building and walked past his car. She’d been behind him in line, and had scowled when he’d offered his spot to her. She was racked with sobs, her face awash in tears.
“Let me call you right back,” he said.
He ended the call and got out. The woman was trying to get her keys out of her purse while not losing her baby. He offered to help, and this time she accepted. He fished out her keys and manually opened the car, then opened the back door so she could secure her child into a baby seat in the back. The child was fussy, and it took a while.
“Would you like a water? I’ve got one in my car,” he said.
“No, but thank you,” she said.
“My name’s Jon.”
“Shawnda.”
He dug a wad of Kleenex out of his pocket and gave it to her. She dabbed at her eyes and tried to pull herself together. “Came here to claim my sister’s things, only her stuff’s down at the police station,” she said. “Got to go down there and go through this nonsense all over again. Why didn’t they put a sign up saying that?”
For Shawnda’s sister’s body to be here meant she hadn’t died of natural causes. The poor woman was barely holding on, and he wished there was more he could do.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“To claim my brother.”
“World isn’t a safe place anymore.”
“No, it’s not.”
She thanked him for his help, and drove away. He returned to his car and got directions to his hotel. Back on Interstate 275, he got a call from Gamble and let it go to voice mail. A minute later, she called again. Then, she called again. She was like a dog that refused to let go of a bone.
“Sorry about that,” he answered, “but I needed to help a lady in distress.”
“You enjoy doing that, don’t you?” Gamble said.
“I guess. Look, I would really prefer if you didn’t focus on me when you write your story. There are a lot more important people in this investigation.”
“The managing editor at my paper feels otherwise. I told him how you volunteered to work this case, and he thought that was fascinating.”
“I’m actually a pretty dull guy,” he said.
“You could have fooled me,” she said. “So here’s what I want to ask you. I did a search on the internet, and found a photo on the front page of the Times-Picayune that was taken after Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans. It shows you standing on an airport tarmac with a bunch of kids who got separated from their parents. There’s another man in the photo named Andy Vita, who’s identified as being a member of Team Adam. Were you doing a job for them?”
“No. I didn’t even know what Team Adam was back then.”
“Was Andy Vita the reason you joined?”
“Andy was part of the reason. He had amazing resources. With one phone call, he could move mountains. That stuck with me.”
“So he was your inspiration. What exactly did he do?”
“How much do you know about Katrina?”
“Not much. I was in middle school.”
“It was chaos. New Orleans was under martial law, and law enforcement agencies from all over the country sent teams to help out. I led the team that was sent by the Broward Sheriff’s Office. There were ten of us. We were taking boats into flooded areas and pulling kids out of trees and off rooftops who’d gotten separated from their families. We’d take them back to the camps so the doctors could check them out, and then do it all over again. It went on for days.”
“How many hours a day?”
“All day, all night.”
“You didn’t sleep?”
“We couldn’t. The kids had no food or water. If we didn’t find them quickly, they’d starve to death.”
“How many did you save?”
“We had four small boats. Probably fifty kids a day.”
“You must have been exhausted by the time it was over.”
While training to become a SEAL, he’d often stayed up for seventy-two hours straight while preparing for missions. It had taught him how far his body could go.
“I don’t remember. It was a long time ago,” he said.
“How did you connect with Andy Vita?”
“That happened at the end. Most of the kids were reunited with their parents. But there were about twenty that weren’t.”
“Their parents abandoned them?”
“It was nothing like that. Millions of people had to evacuate, and families got separated. Then the floodwaters rushed in, and people ran for their lives. It was like a war zone.”
“Didn’t the kids have cell phones?”
“These kids were poor. Besides, the flooding took down the cell towers. There was no communication, except by walkie-talkie.”
“That sounds like a nightmare.”
“It was. We eventually tracked the parents down. They’d gone to live with other family members, and were scattered all over the country. Houston, Atlanta, even Chicago. That presented a problem. How were we supposed to reunite them? We couldn’t just put the kids on a Greyhound bus and say good luck. That’s where Andy Vita and Team Adam came in.”
“They saved the day.”
“I’d never seen anything like it. Andy arranged for private jets to fly into New Orleans, and take the kids to the cities their parents were living in. I personally put every kid on one of those jets to make sure they got out okay. Andy was with me the whole time.”
“Who paid for the jets?”
“Team Adam has arrangements with the major airlines. If a child needs to be flown across the country, an agent can arrange for a private flight at no charge. For the NOLA operation, the jets were supplied by Delta and Southwest.”
“That’s way cool.”
He’d been enjoying their conversation up until that point. Rescue operations were often mired in red tape and politics, and as a result, innocent people suffered. Vita had demonstrated that there was a better way to get things done.
“Have you ever covered a disaster?” he asked.
His question caught her off guard.
“No, I haven’t,” she said.
“Saving lives hinges upon everyone working together. While Vita was reuniting those kids with their families, people were dying inside the Superdome because there weren’t any doctors. Ten miles outside the city there were truckloads of medicine waiting to be sent in, only they weren’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because the mayor of New Orleans and the governor hated each other, and never got on the phone. They had a pissing contest, and innocent people died because of it.”
“Thank you for telling me that. It explains a lot.”
He didn’t know what it explained, nor did he care. He had a job to do, and talking to Gamble wasn’t getting it done.
“I’ve got to run,” he said.
Then, he hung up.
Twenty minutes later, he parked beneath a shady tree in his hotel’s parking lot. It was noon, and he was surprised that he hadn’t heard back from Beth. At the end of the day, it really didn’t matter what she said. Dexter Hudson was the key to solving this puzzle, and he was going to track the bastard down, with or without the FBI’s help.
Daniels awaited him in the lobby. She had her cell phone out, and slipped the device into her purse as he came inside. Her badge was clipped to her lapel, indicating that this wasn’t a social call.
“I was just about to call you,” she said.
“My ears were burning. What’s up?”