The cells run by Fifteen, the groups Adams was affiliated with, were ex-military Special Forces-trained cleaners, assassins called cutouts because their identities were fictitious. Fifteen was powerful. And he was at the top of the list of the most poisonous and frightening individuals Winter had ever met.
“Green,” Adams said, “I'm going to give you this one.”
“One what?”
“Breaking into my rooms and putting that gun to my head. I understand why you did it and, even though I would have done the same thing, the next time you aim that gun at me you'd better pull the trigger.”
“If I feel called on to draw down on you again, that won't be a problem.”
Adams laughed.
78
Hood cinched tight, hands clenched together in the front pocket, Faith Ann lay flat in the narrow space between the hard cases, duffels, and rucksacks piled inside the tall steel cage on the van's roof. The raised flat bars that comprised the floor of the cage allowed the air to come at her from above and below, adding to the chilling effect of the wind. If she could have huddled up more, it would have made the ride more comfortable. At least she was hidden. By her watch it had been two hours of driving up and down rural roads. How long did it take to get to a Bible bee? She ventured a peek. Peter had mentioned sightseeing before the contest, but not that it would take hours. Below her, the kids started singing. Their voices filtered up to her from the open van windows.
She might not freeze to death this time of year, but darkness would drop the temperature, and she was bone tired-not to mention that she had important things to do. Sometimes it was as if she had dreamed the murders, had confused real life with a scary movie, and that her mother was really at the office, or at home, and perfectly fine.
Faith Ann saw the approaching sunset as an accusation against her. Horace Pond was sitting in a cell in the isolated Death House Unit at Angola. Faith Ann imagined him praying with Sister Ellen, his small voice telling God that he didn't kill anybody. Maybe Sister Ellen believed him, but Faith Ann knew hardly anybody, except a convicted killer's family and maybe a lawyer like her mother, ever really believed people in Horace Pond's position.
With four hours to go, she imagined Horace Pond eating his last meal, which she thought was probably something he never got to eat in prison. She thought about Horace Pond's family, his wife and four children, and how sad and afraid they had to be knowing he was going to be dead in a few hours. Thinking about it made Faith Ann sad. The fact that he was innocent made her angry. Thinking about justice made her think about her mother.
Faith Ann thought about the fact that her mother died knowing that Horace Pond was innocent. Her mother knew that the only chance he had to live was if Faith Ann survived and told the truth to somebody who could make the state stop the execution. And Faith Ann had to make that happen somehow. If I can't stop it tonight, they'll all be sorry to find out they murdered an innocent man. They'll have to quit murdering people on Death Row.
Faith Ann realized that it wouldn't be just as good if people found out Horace Pond was innocent after he was executed. No matter what, she couldn't let that happen.
It occurred to her that she could have done something and hadn't. If she had run out the front door before he fired his gun, and the killer had chased her, knowing a witness was escaping he wouldn't have dared kill the women. She knew that the elevators always went back down to the lobby and waited down there until someone called them up. She should have raced down the stairs. Then she could have escaped and called for help.
Her mind wrapped itself around that scenario. Faith Ann could see everything. Sliding out from under the table. Slipping to the front door. Slamming it as she ran out. Straight to the stairwell. Through that door. Down the four flights of stairs. Screaming bloody murder. Out in the street, waving down cars. A police cruiser, a cab, a mother taking her children to school. Her mother calling 911. The killer trapped. Horace Pond freed. Her mother a hero. Herself a hero.
I could have done it.
I could have saved her.
Mama, I'm so sorry.
It's all my fault.
I was afraid.
I didn't do anything but lie there safe.
Now you are dead forever.
Now Aunt Millie is dead forever.
Uncle Hank will know it's all my fault.
Mama, I'm so sorry…
Faith Ann started crying.
The van slowed and pulled off the highway. It stopped beneath a corrugated steel awning.
The doors opened and the passengers started getting out.
She smelled gasoline fumes.
I can get down and find a phone. I'll call Rush…
She sneaked a peek over the luggage and her heart stopped. A police car was parked outside the gas station; the khaki-uniformed cop leaned against it, holding a soda.
The kids were going into the station convenience store to get snacks while the adults put gas in the van. She lay there, her thoughts racing, unable to decide what to do. Now she knew how rats felt in a trap. She felt the van shift ever so slightly and she froze.
She sensed someone standing on the ladder and she looked up to see Peter.
He put a finger to his lips to warn her to stay quiet. He took off his leather jacket and tossed it onto her. He made a gesture of putting his hand in his pockets and climbed down.
Faith Ann slipped the coat on. Inside the pockets she found a bottle of water, two packages of peanut butter crackers, and a candy bar.
Thank you, sir. Mama always said angels don't always need swords.
79
Harvey Suggs sat at a small table in a private dining room at a family-owned restaurant he frequented. The police captain had decided that he needed a sit-down meal and a stiff drink or two so he could calmly examine this mess and figure out his escape opportunities.
Suggs wasn't in the catbird seat, but neither was he dumb enough to be standing around at the bottom of the hill waiting to catch whatever rolled down.
If he played this right, handled it himself, nobody could point a finger at him when Bennett vanished. He remembered the words of the famous Louisiana gangster Sam Manelli: “Three people can be trusted to keep a secret… if two of them are dead.”
Manseur was going to have to cover a lot of ground before he could trace anything back to Bennett, which would be a dead end. The Feds had compiled a lot in a short time, but suspicion and proof were different animals. Suggs had never banked one dime of the money he'd gotten under the table from Bennett or anyone else. The waiter brought his scotch, interrupting Suggs's worried train of thought.
“Ten minutes on the trout,” he said.
“No hurry, Angelo. If you have any steak scraps…”
“Of course, Captain Suggs. A bag for Heinzie.”
When the door opened a minute after the waiter left, Arturo Estrada and his girlfriend, or wife, or whatever she was, came in.
“What are you doing here?” Suggs demanded.
“We need some information,” Arturo said.
“Meeting is not a good idea.” Suggs was annoyed.
“Mr. Bennett says you won't take his calls.”
Marta made Suggs very nervous. The woman was remarkably beautiful, and that was part of it, but he knew that she was as cold and as proficient a killer as any creature Nature had ever designed. Her big brown eyes were like wet river stones, and when she stared at him he was sure she was reading his mind.
“I can't talk to Bennett. Didn't Tin Man explain that?”
“Tin Man doesn't have the gift of explaining things,” the woman said. “He is a dumb son of a bitch, who sees only his own small part of things. He mentioned two federal officers showed up to make trouble. Tin Man told Mr. Bennett that you put someone else in charge of the lawyer's and Amber Lee's deaths. Mr. Bennett isn't sure this is a good thing. He is a little bit nervous. He liked it better the way it was.”