That meant Orlando and Quinn would have to rely on traffic cameras. They concentrated their efforts on the I-10 since it was the only highway out of the area. Any other route and Eli Becker’s abductors would have risked getting stuck in stop-and-go traffic.
Orlando concentrated on the closest eastbound cam to the on-ramp the van would have taken to enter the freeway, while Quinn did the same for the westbound one, each focusing on archived footage from a two-hour window starting at 3:15 p.m.
Ten minutes into their search, Quinn said, “I think I have it.”
Orlando paused the footage on her screen and looked over at his. He pressed PLAY and the cars he’d been looking at started moving again.
After a moment, he said, “Here it comes.”
Right on cue, a white van drove into the frame from the bottom of the screen. He let it play until the vehicle disappeared, and then reversed the footage and paused on the best shot of the vehicle.
“There,” Quinn said, pointing at a dark line along the back fender. “And there.” A dent on the roof line.
Both points of damage matched those on the van in Purdue’s picture.
“Yeah, that’s it,” she said.
Leapfrogging west, camera to camera, they followed the van across the state line into Louisiana. There it transitioned to the I-12 and continued west past Baton Rouge.
“We should have seen it by now,” Quinn said a few minutes later.
Orlando increased the speed of the footage they were looking at, and watched long enough to account for any fuel or food breaks the people in the van might have taken. No sign of the vehicle. They did a quick check to see if it had circled back in the other direction but it made no reappearance, which meant it had left the highway.
She consulted the map. The area looked sparsely populated, no real towns, just farm country. Even better, it had only three potential exits.
A Realtor had been used for the house in Moss Point, so Orlando guessed one was also employed for this next location. A quick search brought up all the real estate companies working in a ten-mile circle — about two dozen.
She and Quinn split the list and began making inquires about houses that might be available for a short lease. The final tally was four.
It was time to head west.
Marguerite sat at the airport bar, drinking water and keeping a watchful eye on the departure area for the flight to Washington, DC. The plane had arrived at the gate ten minutes earlier, and while its passengers were still making their way off, those waiting to board began to stir, several even getting in line.
Abraham, on the other hand, hadn’t moved an inch, his gaze still on the far wall. She figured he was thinking about his missing friend. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He looked almost lost.
Her phone vibrated on the bar.
She picked it up and said, “Yes?”
Abraham wasn’t thinking about Eli. Earlier he had been, but those thoughts had led him to ones about the girl.
Tessa.
She would be eleven now, and likely didn’t even remember him. They’d been together for only a few days, and that was more than half her lifetime ago.
He, of course, could never forget her.
He found himself falling into the familiar game of guessing who she was and why she was so important. He could make up a million answers, but had no idea if any of them were even close to the truth.
I should have never left her.
He hadn’t heard the person take the seat next to him, so he jerked in surprise when she said, “You sure you want to go to DC this time of year? It’s kind of cold.”
His face hardened when he realized who it was.
“Well, look at us,” Marguerite said, “running into each other for a second time in two days.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Relax,” she said. “I’m just passing on a message.”
“What message?”
“Orlando says you’ll want to stay.”
“Why?”
“She said to tell you she thinks she found Eli.”
They met at a Love’s Truck Stop just west of the Mississippi River. Having traveled farther, Quinn and Orlando were the last to arrive, finding Marguerite, Winger, and Abraham inside the restaurant.
The moment Abraham spotted them, he pushed out of his seat.
“How do you know his name?”
Orlando raised an eyebrow. “Really? You don’t think I could figure that out?”
“Then where is he?”
“Close to here.”
“You’re not lying, are you? This isn’t some trick to keep tabs on me?”
She fingered the collar of his jacket and removed the tracking chip. “I’ve already been keeping tabs on you,” she said, showing it to him. “But no, it’s not a trick.”
“Why don’t we all sit and we can fill you in,” Quinn suggested.
Begrudgingly, Abraham returned to his chair while Quinn and Orlando took the empty ones to his side.
Orlando explained how they had tracked the van and narrowed the possible destinations down to four. “It’s not a guarantee,” she said. “They might not be at any of these places, or they may have already moved on, but it’s better than nothing.”
Abraham was quiet for a moment, and then said, “You didn’t have to do this. You could have gone home.”
Orlando put a hand on his. “Of course we had to do this. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s what friends do, what family does.”
He hesitated, then clapped his other hand over hers.
Since the identities of the people who’d taken Eli were still unknown, splitting up so they could check the houses faster was not an option Quinn would even entertain. They headed out together in the sedan Quinn and Orlando were using, leaving Winger’s and Marguerite’s cars at the truck stop.
The first two houses they visited were being used by families who looked like they’d been there more than a day or two. The third had clearly been occupied sometime in the last several days, but from the abundance of cigarette butts and the piles of empty beer cans, Quinn thought it likely the place was being used as a hangout for local teens.
That left them with one final option.
Like the others, it was a farmhouse, in this case set off the road several hundred feet, with a faded white barn in back and a few shade trees in the yard. They couldn’t see, however, any vehicles or signs of life from the main road.
They drove past the long driveway to the end of the field, where a ditch about four feet deep ran all the way back to a small, wild grove about fifty yards beyond the house. Quinn parked their car where it couldn’t be seen from the property, then they all piled out and began working their way down the trench.
Every fifty feet or so, Quinn would pause and check the house. There were still no signs of movement, no light coming from inside. He had hoped to spot the van parked behind the home, but as the back area came into view, all he could see were more grass and bushes and trees.
He gathered everyone together and said, “Orlando and I are going to go over and check.” He could see Abraham opening his mouth to protest so he pointed at him. “You are going to stay here. No argument. You come with us and we’d spend all our time worrying about you.”
Abraham looked none too happy.
“Permission to shoot him if he tries to follow you,” Marguerite said.
“Permission granted,” Orlando replied.
“I’ll stay, okay?” Abraham said.
Quinn and Orlando continued down the ditch until they reached the grove at the back of the field. They moved through the trees until the barn was between them and the house, and then sprinted across the open ground.