The woman turned back around and moved in close. “The girl? But the girl is dead. She is dead, isn’t she?”
“Well, um, you see, I was hired to…”
When he was sure her gaze was locked onto his, he gripped the knife and worked his right hand out from under the sheet.
“Hired to what? Find the girl?” the woman demanded. “Tell me! Is she alive?”
“Okay. Okay. I’ll tell you.” His voice weakened with every word, so she leaned in close to hear him.
“What happened to her?” she asked. “She is alive, isn’t she?”
“She is…none of your business!”
In a burst of speed, he swung his arm around her and jammed the knife into her back.
Nolan was stationed closest to the farmhouse and was the first to react to the gunshot. He raced across the parking area, fumbled momentarily with the front door, and rushed inside.
He paused in the living room, trying to figure out where the noise had come from. He had just taken a step toward the kitchen when he heard a door in the hallway fly open, followed by a thud of something striking a wall.
His pistol in his hand, he ran over to the hallway entrance.
Someone was near the other end, writhing on the ground.
“Identify yourself,” he said, moving slowly forward.
The person rolled over, cursing painfully.
“Ms. Clark?” Nolan asked, lowering his pistol. “Jesus, what happened?” He hurried down the all and crouched beside her. “Are you all right?”
“No, I’m not fucking all right,” she spat.
She was trying to reach behind her back for something. As she did, she turned, and he could see a piece of metal sticking out between her shoulder blades near her spine.
“Let me,” he said.
He grabbed the handle and tugged the implement free. Nearly the entire length of the blade had been buried in her back.
“Who did this?” he asked.
“The fucking prisoner.”
He jumped up and approached Becker’s room, his gun raised. Behind him, his boss said something, but he was focused on the door that had swung almost all the way closed. All he could hear was silence from inside as he shoved it open with the barrel of his pistol.
“Hands where I can see them!” he shouted as he stepped through the doorway.
The command was unnecessary.
He lowered his gun and said, “Shit.”
CHAPTER 13
Abraham sat near the gate, waiting for his flight to DC.
From the moment he’d purchased the ticket, he’d felt guilty. He wanted to be out looking for Eli, but who knew where his friend had been taken by now? The only thing he could think of doing was to go to Eli’s apartment near Washington, DC, to see if he could track down any hint of the information Eli had wanted to give him. Maybe if Abraham knew what it was, he could figure out what had happened to Eli.
It was a long shot, but at the moment his only shot.
The other seats began filling up around him but he barely noticed. All he could think about was how he’d failed his friend.
Shortly after seven a.m., Orlando and Quinn returned to the neighborhood where the Moss Point house was located.
“Which one first?” Quinn asked as they climbed out of the car.
Orlando looked around before pointing at a two-story house to the left of the one where Eli Becker had been taken. “They have the best view,” she said.
She and Quinn had dressed in business suits that morning, knowing the importance of looking the part they were playing. As they neared the front door, they could hear the sounds of a family getting ready for the day — a TV, someone running around, dishes clattering.
Quinn pushed the doorbell button.
A distant, “Ronny, get that. If it’s Mrs. Fuller, tell her you need a few more minutes.”
A set of small feet across a room, followed by the door squeaking open. A skinny boy of around eight stared out at them, then said over his shoulder, “It’s not Mrs. Fuller, Mom.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Orlando said, “We’d like to speak to your parents, please.”
“They want to talk to you,” the boy said, his eyes still on Orlando and Quinn.
A deep sigh preceded heavier steps moving toward the door. A woman appeared, wearing a long faded pink robe and hair that looked like it had been brushed back in a hurry.
“Can I help you?” she asked, not doing a great job of concealing her impatience.
“Ma’am, I’m Agent Sax, and this is Agent Mullins,” Orlando said, flashing the fake FBI badge that was part of her kit. “Wondering if we could ask you a couple questions?”
The woman touched her son’s shoulder. “Ronny, go finish your breakfast.”
“I’m already done,” he argued.
“Then go finish getting ready. Mrs. Fuller will be here soon.”
He left reluctantly.
When they were alone, the woman asked, “What kind of questions?”
“About the house next door,” Orlando said.
“Next door? It’s empty.”
“We believe someone may have been using it in the last thirty-six hours,” Quinn said. “Did you see anyone?”
She shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Maybe someone else in your family saw someone?”
“We were at a marching band competition for the last couple of days. Got back last night.”
They thanked the woman and then tried the house to the right, where an older man named Harold Purdue greeted them in jeans and a tan work shirt. When they asked their question, he said, “Sure, I saw them. Came in night before last. Pretty much stayed inside the whole time until they left yesterday. I called the police because I thought maybe they were breaking in or something, and the cops checked with the Realtor.” He nodded out at the sign in front of the other house. “Apparently all was on the up and up.”
“Do you know what time they left?” Orlando asked.
“Well, I can’t say for sure. They arrived in an ambulance, you know, but it left right after they got there. Yesterday morning there was a van parked out front. Not sure when that showed up. Went out for my afternoon walk. When I came back, the van was gone.”
“And you’re sure they weren’t still in the house?” Quinn asked.
“We watch out for each other here. The Saunders, they own that house — they’re good people. So I figured it was my duty to go on over and say hello. You know, get a good look and make sure they’re not doing anything illegal like. I headed over after the walk but the place was empty and locked up.”
“Two more questions, if you don’t mind,” Orlando said.
“No problem.”
“What time did you take your walk yesterday?”
“Same time I take it every day. Start out at three fifteen and get back here just a hair after four o’clock.”
“And the van — could you give us a description?”
“I could, but I’m guessin’ a picture would suit you better.”
“You have a picture?” Orlando asked.
Purdue smiled. “That’s three questions. But yes, I do. When strangers show up, I like to make sure they’re not going to be a problem. I told you we take care of each other here.”
Purdue’s picture was a bit blurry, but Orlando was able to clean it up enough to determine the vehicle was a white Ford E250 cargo van. She couldn’t improve the resolution enough to read the back license plate, but the vehicle had a few telltale markings they could hopefully use to ID it.
Satellite footage was out. From the research she’d done the night before, she knew two satellites had passed over the Moss Point area the previous afternoon. Unfortunately the timing of their crossings did not coincide with the 3:15-to-4:00 p.m. window Mr. Purdue’s walk had established.