“That could be an argument for why Lenx started killing again,” Johnson added. “For more than a decade and a half, the new life apparently satisfied him. I suspect that eventually things fell apart.”
Amaia sighed. “A psychopath’s reasoning isn’t necessarily logical, calculated, or even based on facts. It’s enough that his victims annoyed him. We should imagine Lenx as the director and protagonist of his own play. One of his supporting actors screws up, so Lenx gets rid of him and substitutes someone else. No regrets. Just like a Broadway director drops an actress who can’t remember her lines.”
Charbou looked at her wide eyed. “You’re smart as a whip, Salazar. God, that turns me on!” He quickly put up his hands to fend her off. “Forget I said that! I mean, your mind really impresses me. It’s your mind that’s sexy.”
She stared him down, deliberating whether to react. She’d had her fill of the Charbou approach, but she was too exhausted to respond.
“How about me, Bill?” Johnson’s jocular comment settled the matter. “My mind’s not attractive? I came up with half of the analysis. Salazar shouldn’t get all the credit!”
Charbou waved in surrender, still smiling. Amaia was amused but did her best not to show it.
The wind outside had risen to a fever pitch. Air whistled under the windows and rattled their flimsy frames each time someone opened a door to the stairwell.
“Take a break, Salazar,” Johnson said, picking up a sandwich from the platter and offering it to her. “Have something to eat. Try to sleep.”
“I couldn’t sleep a wink with all this noise.”
He smiled. “Go ahead, surprise yourself. You managed to doze off in the car yesterday.”
Charbou nodded. “He’s right. If you can’t sleep, you should at least lie down.”
She nodded and gave in. She unwrapped the sandwich and settled on a cot, her back against the wall.
“Want us to turn off the lights?” Charbou asked.
Before she could reply, the entire building was plunged into darkness. The ringing of the 911 emergency line suddenly ceased. A deafening silence descended inside the building. The hurricane howled, and a blast of thunder shook the windows.
“There, you see? Folks in New Orleans don’t mess around!” Johnson joked in the darkness. “When they turn off the lights, they turn ’em off!”
A brilliant flash of lightning silhouetted Amaia against the window. She’d pulled back a corner of the brown paper and was peering through the glass. “The power’s out. Lights are off as far as I can see.”
“Don’t worry, everybody!” someone bellowed in the hall. “Emergency generator’s about to kick in!”
Darkness always disconcerted Amaia Salazar. For as long as she could remember, she’d left a light on while she slept, ensuring there was just enough illumination for her to recognize her surroundings if she woke. That way she’d know she was safe and nobody was going to lean over and threaten to devour her soul. She couldn’t sleep easy unless she was sure she wouldn’t awake in pitch darkness. She rarely slept with anyone else. Her excuse wasn’t strictly accurate, but it was sincere: “I have nightmares.” She claimed they were caused by the grim things she’d seen at work. No one had ever questioned that excuse. She wondered what they’d have said if she’d confessed that in darkness, a ghost from her past materialized and threatened to eat her alive.
Nervous in this unexpected blackout, she suddenly felt the need to chat. “Agent Johnson, what’s up with Tucker?”
“Yeah,” Charbou, clearly entertained, took up the subject. “What the hell’s with Tucker? She dropped out three or four times during the conference call. And you sounded pretty damn pissed off at her.”
Johnson harrumphed like Yosemite Sam. “I can’t stand the woman!”
His declaration was so sincere and unexpected that both Amaia and Charbou burst out laughing.
Amaia still couldn’t see the others’ faces. The darkness was no longer complete, for the emergency exit signs in the hallway now cast a feeble red light.
“Now, hold on,” Charbou gasped, once he’d finally gotten his mirth under control. “You mean you can’t stand the sound of her voice, say, or the way she slurps her coffee? Or do you really detest her?”
Johnson took a couple of seconds. “I’d like to think that I don’t really detest anyone—though I do, actually. Pedophiles, for example, and serial killers.” A pause. “I can’t stand Tucker because she’s disloyal.”
Amaia considered that. “Loyalty’s something abstract for me, at least in the way you’re putting it. I understand devotion to family, to friends, but this is the first time I’ve worked on a team like this. I understand how important it is to be absolutely honest and keep your word, but I’ve never felt compelled to identify unconditionally with a group.”
Johnson responded, “You think you don’t know much about it, but in the few hours you’ve been in this unit, you’ve shown more loyalty than Tucker has in her whole life. She phoned Galveston, remember, even though Dupree told her he was going to call the police chief after our conference call.” He snorted. “Tucker! Believe me, if the guys over at the National Hurricane Center knew her, they’d have named this one after her. She’s as unstoppable and just as destructive. That sort of disloyalty undermines an investigation; she gets out ahead of the group so she can scoop up the credit.
“Her meddling in Galveston got to Captain Reed and made him suspicious. When we called, he was already on the defensive, which maybe made him less forthright than he would have been. When it comes right down to it, I just can’t stand her! She waited until the end of the conference call to say Nelson’s behavior had raised her suspicions—why didn’t she share that earlier, so the whole group could look into it? I know she’s smart. Everything she does is deliberate; there’s a calculation behind every move she makes. Tucker’s an unprincipled schemer, and I can tell you right now, the carefully drafted report she’s going to turn in will emphasize which ideas, discoveries, and suggestions came from her. She’s disloyal to Dupree, and she has no allegiance to the unit.”
Amaia nodded, thinking. “And Emerson?”
She heard Johnson exhale loudly. She was sure he was shaking his head. “Emerson’s a slimeball and not too bright, but at least he knows how to work on a team. Knows he’s not as smart as Tucker and that unless he follows her line, he’ll be in over his head. That’s why he does her dirty work. Emerson’s a follower. He’s not particularly original or insightful, but at least he’s loyal.”
Amaia considered that. “You know Dupree. Why does he keep her on the team?”
“All Dupree cares about is the investigation, and Tucker is really talented, in her own way. He doesn’t give a shit about her character.” Johnson paused and then added woefully, “Tucker’s planning to walk right over him, and he doesn’t seem to give a damn.”
“You think Tucker wants to take Dupree’s job?”
Johnson’s laugh was more of a growl, low and bitter. “What she wants is one thing; what she’s capable of doing is another. Tucker is a superb investigator, but she doesn’t compare to Dupree. He’s a needle in the haystack. You run into an agent like Dupree once every fifteen, maybe twenty years. He’s on a different level. Don’t get me wrong, Salazar, I know I’m no needle. But I’m not a brownnoser either.”