Charbou, seated on one side of the boat, was following every word.
“Well, I don’t really know,” Amaia replied. “When I was really tiny, what I liked most of all was to go to my grandmother Juanita’s house, a really big place, where she used only the ground floor and the upstairs. I remember there was usually another little girl there who looked just like me. She used to wait for me at the very top of the stairs to the attic, and that’s where we played. Later on, I forgot about it. But when I grew up a bit, I remembered, and I told my aunt about the little girl who was always waiting to play with me at my grandmother’s house. But my aunt said there’d never been any children there except for me and my sisters.”
“Did she talk to you?”
“I don’t remember her talking, but she loved to laugh.” Amaia smiled at that recollection. “She just wanted to play.”
“She was a lutin!”
Amaia smiled at Charbou’s astonished expression. He reached out and brushed a bit of damp leaf from her face. His touch lasted only an instant, but they both reacted so strongly that the girls sniggered.
“You had something on your cheek,” he explained to cover his embarrassment.
Amaia dropped her gaze, and suddenly the girls were all over her, whispering in her ear. “Is that your boyfriend?”
“No!” she told them, making sure that he could hear as well.
The smaller girl peered at Charbou and smiled. “Well, he wants to be your boyfriend!”
Charbou grinned.
Johnson saw that Dupree was amused and gave him a thumbs-up. Johnson hadn’t agreed with Salazar’s handling of the Andrews boy, but he had to admit the woman had a natural empathy with victims. It was a rare gift. The ferocious beast that was Salazar had a gentle side. He was deeply impressed by the discovery and by her persuasive use of her talent.
67
CHARIZARD
The swamp
Amaia hopped out of the captured Zodiac as soon as they got to the Cajun camp. Diana called her back and held out the little orange dragon. “Jacob wanted you to have him. He’s your good luck charm!”
Amaia didn’t argue. She took her Charizard toy and hugged the girls. It was one fifteen in the afternoon when they tossed the mooring cable to the men waiting to tie them up to the floating pier. They left the girls with the traiteur. He’d been silent throughout their voyage, holding vigil over Médora’s motionless, shrouded figure.
Amaia got ahead of the others and hopped from one boat to another until she reached Annabel’s. She hoped that Landis of the AIA was as interested in helping her as he’d sounded the previous day.
“I thought you said you going to talk to him before noon!” Annabel exclaimed without greeting her. “Paula been standing by for two hours now.”
Amaia took the microphone Annabel held out. “Go ahead, Paula. Over.”
Landis had just come on the line when Johnson helped Dupree aboard. The boss’s face had regained some color, but he still looked ill and extremely tired. Landis’s voice erupted through the cabin speakers. “Agent Salazar, I have the data you requested. Over.”
Obviously, Cousin Paula had tutored him on radio etiquette.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Mr. Landis. Over.”
“Oh, no need for thanks. It’s not every day I get to help the FBI. The truth is, I’ve enjoyed it, Agent Salazar. As I told you yesterday, all our inspectors travel to disaster scenes. But none of them was present at all the places on your list. One or two, maximum. But that’s not surprising. Our adjustors in the Texas region usually respond to tornado damage, while the New Yorkers see to losses along the east coast. They’re familiar with the sort of damage caused by the severe weather common to their regions. Over.”
“Can you give me anything about the adjustors’ children? Over.”
“Nine of our adjustors have three or more children. There are two with sons named Michael. One of those boys is twenty-five, and the other was a two-year-old who died in a car crash. Over.”
“And what about their leave requests? Over.” She wanted to pressure him.
“Concerning time off, three of our adjustors are on vacation right now, two women and a man. We didn’t find anyone whose vacation days coincided with more than one or two of the dates you gave me. Over.”
“And the man who’s on leave right now—what can you tell me about him? Over.”
“I think you can probably count him out,” Landis suggested. “He’s our youngest adjustor, only thirty-two. Just got married, and he’s honeymooning in Hawaii. I also checked their birthplaces,” he went on cheerfully. “And not a one of our professionals is a native of any of the communities affected by the disasters you listed. Over.”
Amaia sighed, doodling on her notepad. How had it come to this? She’d been certain they’d find something. There had to be a thread she could use to unravel this mess. What the caterpillar calls the end, the rest of the world calls a butterfly, she thought. Where, how, and why did our caterpillar put an end to his previous life and transform himself?
Landis reacted to her silence. “One of them does have a vacation home in Galveston. Over.”
Amaia looked over at Dupree. “Tell me about that, please. Over.”
“Robert Davis. He’s a good guy, reliable, very serious. He’s been with us for years and years. We’re not exactly friends, but we chat sometimes. He’d fit the age profile you mentioned, but that’s all. In fact, I wasn’t even aware of his second home. It came up in a claim he filed. The property was insured with us, of course. Over.”
“What kind of damage? Over.”
“Vandalism. But we had to deny the claim. We require a police report, but it seems that Davis didn’t get one. Over.”
“Robert Davis isn’t on vacation right now, is he? Over.”
“No, like I said, he doesn’t match your criteria. He’s one of our best adjustors, and he’s reviewing claims in our Texas office. He lives in Austin and almost never goes on vacation. Maybe takes a day or two here and there for personal matters. He’s had to use some time recently to take care of his wife, so he wasn’t sent to any of the on-site inspections at the places on your list. Over.”
“Is his wife ill?”
“No, I’d say that she’s in delicate health. Natalie is having a high-risk pregnancy. Because of her age. Over.”
“Does he have other children? Over.”
“Sure, but they don’t match either. Two of them, a boy and a girl, umm . . .” Landis seemed to be checking his notes. “Thomas is twelve, and Michelle is nine. Over.”
“Did you say Michelle? Over.”
Amaia wrote “MIC” in forceful letters below her more or less heart-shaped doodle. She held the page up so Johnson and Dupree could see it.
“Oh! I didn’t notice that,” Landis muttered unhappily. “I was looking for a boy. Over.”
Amaia grimaced slightly, apprehensive at the possibilities unfolding before her. “Would you happen to know if his daughter plays the violin? Over.”
“Both children do. Our employees’ kids go Christmas caroling together every year, and the company uses the photos for the next year’s Christmas cards. We give each employee several dozen. Free of charge, of course. Over.”