“But—”
“One thing at a time!” she cut him off. “I’m not going to speculate!”
Dupree’s approval turned to disdain. There it was again, that flash of imperial haughtiness. “Tell me, Salazar, you think you can get into the head of this son of a bitch?”
She nodded.
“Then get to work on him. Forget the Composer. Concentrate on Lenx.” He was issuing an order.
She looked relieved as she pushed open the heavy door of the stairwell on the way back to the third floor. Dupree stayed behind on the landing, deep in thought. Some minutes later, he appeared at the conference room door, signaled to Johnson, and stepped outside to await him.
Dupree heard the door open and shut. He turned on his heel and came face to face with his deputy. “You mentioned that Salazar got a phone call after she signed on for New Orleans.”
“Right. I told admin she was coming with us and any urgent calls should be patched through to the jet or routed to my mobile, because we didn’t have a phone for her yet.”
“Do you know who called?”
Johnson nodded. “I told them to advise Salazar and route the call to a booth, but first the operator passed the caller to me. Her aunt in Spain was trying to reach her. The aunt must’ve thought she had to justify the call, so she told me that Salazar’s father was seriously ill. The doctors said he had maybe forty-eight hours left to live.”
Dupree took this in, looked at him, but didn’t comment.
Johnson didn’t know what to make of his silence. “Guess I should’ve told you. Frankly, I was surprised she didn’t head back home.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dupree said. “You did the right thing.”
24
OLD PHOTOGRAPHS
Superdome, New Orleans
Nana looked into the sky above the Superdome. The clouds that had spread across the noonday sky had a greenhouse effect, and the temperature had risen rapidly. Rain had started a few hours earlier, but it was gentle, like the spray of a sprinkler. Most of the people in the crowd outside the stadium didn’t bother to cover their heads.
Nana had thought the greatest challenge would be getting through the main entrance, but once inside, the crowd pushed forward into the concrete tunnels giving access to the stands. She nearly fell several times as people elbowed their way past her. Bobby grabbed her arm and pulled her in front of him between the handles of his mother’s wheelchair, so he could shield her with his body.
An announcement over the PA system welcomed them to the Superdome and urged them to find seats. The passages were jammed and there were lots more people waiting outside in the rain. Nana sighed.
Cheering erupted from all sides. Confused, she looked up at Bobby.
“They said the city gonna deliver food for our dinner,” he explained with a smile. “We gonna be okay, Nana, don’t you worry.”
She tried to smile back.
Bobby had come to her back door at noon. “Nana, Mayor Nagin says everybody has to leave, and the national weather folks talking ’bout a category five storm. The TV been showing old pictures of Betsy all day long, Nana, and they awful scary. I know you say we oughta stay home, but I think it’s gonna be better to leave.”
Nana had nodded unhappily. Behind her the TV set showed Katrina rolling across the Gulf of Mexico. “Betsy was category three,” she said beneath her breath.
“We can spend the night in the Superdome, lots of folks already gone there. They sayin’ they’ll be doctors and ambulances in case things get bad. I’m hopin’ Cousin Gabriel gonna come and help get Mama there. I got water, sandwiches, and some covers; you take your medicine and anything you think you gonna need.”
Nana had closed the door and gone to the big kitchen cabinet. She pushed its sliding door open and took out a photo album with heavy blue covers. She pressed it to her chest with one hand. The rise in humidity had made her hip creak like an old wooden board. She put the album on the table, opened it, and sat down.
The album was a collection of the old newspaper clippings she had kept under the bed linens for years. The time they’d been tucked away there had discolored the photos and deteriorated the newsprint so much that the headlines had faded and the clippings had become almost transparent in some places. Almost all of them were from the Times-Picayune, New Orleans’s oldest paper.
Nana ran a fingertip across the plastic sheet, even though she knew the words by heart. She leaned forward to read them anyway.
THOUSANDS FLEE FLOOD THREAT AS HURRICANE SLAMS INTO N.O.
Nearly Half Million People Beat Betsy to Safe Areas
MAYOR VIC SCHIRO URGES NEIGHBORS TO KEEP AN AX IN THE ATTIC
Because the storm struck New Orleans in the middle of the night, countless residents awoke to find their houses flooded. Seeking to escape the rising waters, many climbed into their attics, where they were trapped and drowned.
‘BILLION-DOLLAR BETSY’ THE MOST EXPENSIVE HURRICANE IN U.S. HISTORY
Betsy carried off the dubious honor of being the first billion-dollar hurricane in the history of the United States.
Nana lightly rubbed her palm across the next article.
SEARCH CONTINUES FOR SIX GIRLS WHO DISAPPEARED DURING STORM
The girls are among two dozen persons who went missing as Betsy passed over the city, but the police do not consider them victims of the hurricane.
BODIES OF DR. DUPREE AND HIS WIFE FOUND UNDER DEBRIS OF COLLAPSED BUILDING
Dr. John Dupree was returning from an emergency call, and his wife, Marion, a nurse, was with him.
Both were still in their automobile. It had literally been flattened by a building toppled by the storm. The bodies were found in an advanced state of decomposition, attributed to the high temperatures that have plagued New Orleans throughout the week since Betsy lashed the city.
DISAPPEARANCE OF SIX GIRLS FROM TREME TO BE INVESTI-GATED AS A KIDNAPPING
A group alleging to be a rescue team took six young girls from the home of their babysitter during the hurricane, and nothing has been heard of them since. The girls, all minors, were sheltering from the storm. The babysitter’s daughter and niece are among the missing. The woman and her nephew, related to two of the missing girls, were the only witnesses. The police are taking their statements today.
NO MORE ‘BETSY’ IN THE LIST OF HURRICANES
A year after the disappearances of “the six girls from Treme,” the authorities have closed the investigation and declared them victims of Hurricane Betsy. Their names join those of 47 other persons still missing and now officially declared dead.
Nana turned several of the thick pages and got to one with a photograph of a teenage girl smiling into the camera. Her abundant dark curly hair cascaded down to her shoulders. This was the photo they’d used for the posters after she vanished. The police had returned it in fairly bad condition. The intervening years had yellowed the creased photo but hadn’t reduced the brilliant sparkle of those dark eyes. Nana had resisted putting it into a plastic protector. She needed to be able to touch it, to feel she was communicating with her child. She hadn’t buried the girl, and she didn’t intend to treat the photo like a funeral urn or immortalize the child behind picture glass.
Nana looked around. She’d promised herself that she’d wait in her little house as long as it took for her baby to return, but the city was forcing her to leave. Her blue purse on the kitchen shelf contained her ID, a little money, and her pills. She stared down at the photo as if about to sweep it up in her arms like a living child, then picked it up with both hands, pressed it to her chest, and closed the album. Nana left the photo book on the table but slipped the picture of her daughter into her blouse, snug against her heart. She picked up her cane and blue purse. She locked the door behind her when she left the house.