Let Suggs find out if she had Bennett's negatives. Maybe Amber had separated them from the prints before she went to the lawyer's office-holding back that ace.
She dialed Tinnerino. “She went into the stairwell. Give me a few minutes without interruption and I'll track her down. You'll find her backpack outside the stairwell door on level three. It would be a good place for you to start searching.”
“I'd say five is the best I can do,” he told her, sounding odd.
Marta cracked open the door and, stepping into the stairwell, took a knife from her jacket pocket. She closed the door, opened the phone with her other hand and dialed the kid's phone. She closed her eyes, tuned her ears to listen, and heard the phone ringing in the stairwell not far above her.
Marta almost started up, but something didn't feel right. Leaning over the rail, she looked up and then down. Her heart soared as she caught the sight of a small left hand, three floors below, sliding along on the surface of the painted steel banister as Faith Ann descended, noiselessly as only a child can manage.
Marta went down after her.
63
Faith Ann ran down the stairs from the top level, backtracking. She was several floors down when she heard a door above her creak open. Close to the railing, she peeked up and saw a sliver of black leather. It was the woman cop who'd chased her from the aquarium.
64
Marta hit the ground level and would have run into a woman pushing a stroller containing a sleeping infant if she hadn't leaped over it.
“What the hell are you doing?” the mother screamed.
Marta bolted through the glass doors and into the atrium of Canal Place. She caught a glimpse of a figure wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt and a red cap moving around a group of pedestrians then turning right into a shop called Georgiou. Okay, little bitch, now I have you.
Marta made herself slow down, not wanting to draw any more attention to herself than necessary. She stopped at the edge of the showroom window and peered in. At the rear of the store, the kid stopped at a display table, flipped through a stack of sweaters, selected one, and went back toward the dressing rooms.
Marta waited to enter until after Faith Ann was out of sight. She walked between the racks, focusing on the rear of the store.
“Can I help you find something today?” an Asian salesgirl who was hanging up blouses asked.
“I'm just looking,” Marta said, smiling.
“Let me know if I can be of assistance.”
“If I find something, I won't hesitate to let you know,” Marta said.
Marta stopped at the table and picked up a pair of slacks. She went back into the dressing room and spotted her target in one of the cubicles, whose doors allowed her a view of the inhabitant's lower legs-tennis shoes and dark jeans. She saw a sleeve of the hooded sweatshirt when the occupant laid the garment on the chair. Marta slipped out her folding knife, opened the blade silently, and slipped her hand holding the weapon beneath the folded pants.
Marta waited until the girl was pulling on the turtleneck, then she pulled open the door. As the child's head was emerging from the neck of the garment, Marta reached out and put her hand on Faith Ann's shoulder, ready to drop the slacks, put the knife to the child's throat, and ask about the negatives. When she felt the hand, Faith Ann whirled around suddenly, and, eyes growing wide, emitted a surprised squeak.
Marta froze, her knife hand underneath the garment. It was a good thing, because Faith Ann wasn't Faith Ann at all. The young woman emerging from the sweater was roughly the same build as Faith Ann and had short blond hair but was in her mid-twenties, and she was pissed off.
“What the hell are you doing?” the woman spat.
“Sorry, I thought you were somebody else,” Marta said, already thinking where she'd lost the girl. Was it possible she had been chasing the wrong person all the way from the deck's stairwell? All she had seen was a sweatshirt sleeve and a hand. No, it had been Faith Ann in the stairwell, but she had somehow slipped by her. She might have taken any of a dozen exits. Marta had seen the woman, and assumed …
The woman in the sweater straight-armed Marta back out of the cube, and Marta let her. She put the knife away, rushed back past the table, and tossed the slacks onto it as she passed by.
65
Winter and Adams approached the detectives who were standing at the entrance to the packing deck. The larger of them was preventing cars from entering the facility by waving off the drivers. The drivers of the exiting cars were rubbernecking, so his partner was able to visually check inside the vehicles as they passed by him. The cops had to know that it was unlikely that in the time she'd been in the building she could have enlisted the aid of anyone who would agree to sneak her past the local cops.
“Let me handle these twats,” Adams said. As he and Winter approached the larger detective, Adams opened his badge case. “Special FBI Agent Adams. What's going on here?”
“Tinnerino, NOPD Homicide.” The detective's shield was displayed-suspended from a chain around his thick neck. “We've got a murder suspect in there.”
“That right?”
“Yeah. Armed and dangerous.”
Patrol cars started arriving, and officers stepped from them. Tinnerino's phone rang, and he took the call. “I'd say five is the best I can do.”
Doyle, a short, swarthy man with a five-o'clock shadow, started giving orders to the patrolmen to get the complex surrounded and await instructions. Winter overheard him giving them Faith Ann's description. “Skinny kid, short blond hair, dark red sweatshirt, black jeans, light brown over dark brown cap.”
“Who's in charge?” Adams asked him.
“I am,” Tinnerino said. “Just stay out of the way, agents.”
“I'm not an FBI agent,” Winter said.
“No, he's a federal fugitive specialist-United States deputy marshal,” Adams said.
“This is NOPD business,” Tinnerino said acidly, but he was flustered and sweating.
“We can help,” Adams said.
“You can help by keeping out of our way.”
“So, who did this little girl murder?” Adams asked.
“Two people. Her mother and…” Tinnerino's eyes changed, and he cocked his large head to one side as he realized that he hadn't said the suspect was female or a little girl.
“Amber Lee,” Adams said.
“That's right.” Tinnerino's mean eyes were like small black stones.
“You don't actually believe that,” Winter said.
“I've warned you to stay out of this. You have no right to interfere.”
“I don't see how we can stay out of it,” Winter said. “The odds are too heavily stacked against her to be fair.” He turned and started into the parking deck.
“He's right,” Adams said. “I think we'll interfere. Stand down, Officer.”
“Wait just a damned minute,” Tinnerino bellowed at Winter's back. “If you step one foot into that building, I will arrest you.”
Winter stopped and turned. “Listen, Tin Man,” he said. “There won't be any trouble as long as you keep your people out here. We're going to go in.”
“Yes, we are,” Adams said.
“I'm in charge here!” Tinnerino snapped. “You two have no authority here.”
“Get your superior on the phone,” Winter said. “Ask him if you can arrest us to stop us from entering that complex.”