The power cut off again as she was speaking, leaving the operators’ monitors and the overhead screens dark. A disappointed groan went through the room.
“Y’all relax, the generator’s going to start in a minute!” the supervisor shouted to make himself heard above the growing din of complaints. “Let’s take it easy until the power’s back on.”
Dupree appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the emergency lighting, and gestured insistently to Amaia. Outside she found Johnson and the New Orleans detectives on the landing. They set off down the stairs as soon as they saw her.
“Agent Tucker has located Nelson and his group. They’re at the Charity Hospital emergency room. We can’t get through by phone, but the fire chief has a radio link to Charity’s emergency operations. He got to Chief Meigs, in charge of Nelson’s group. We’re due to talk to him in two minutes.”
“What about radio silence?” asked Bull. They’d decided to avoid unencrypted communications because the killer might be monitoring them.
“It’s not on the official frequency; we’re using a standby channel. Even if he’s monitoring, he probably won’t be sweeping all the channels. And besides, we have no other choice.”
The firefighters occupied the bottom two floors of the building. The ground-floor garage was flooded. The glassed-in reception area was located at the front of the building, halfway between the garage level and the floor with offices and crew space. Three large sofas sat around a blank television. The radio console stood behind a partition.
The water outside was surging across the steps that led up to the reception space. Several men huddled together at the picture window, peering out at the darkness and talking energetically. They’d didn’t seem to feel the least threatened by the rising water. A turtle the size of a man’s hand struck the glass, propelled by the surge. Surprised and delighted, the men cheered. Amaia had observed similar excitement in a weather forecaster on a Kenner television station, emotional agitation that verged on exhilaration. The firefighters were venting it with jokes and laughter, though she detected repressed concern in their expressions. For the following five minutes, they were entertained as one of them, suited up with protective gear and clutching a shovel, carefully made his way down the exterior steps into hip-deep water, scooped up the turtle, and deposited it safely on the top step. His colleagues cheered his spectacular accomplishment.
A minute later, the fire chief signaled that their radio call was ready. He brought the group into the little glassed-in radio dispatch booth; the operator greeted them and pointed to the microphone with the red button set up on the table. “It’s really simple. Press to talk, release to listen. Remember to say ‘over’ after each transmission, so the others know you’re done.”
He leaned over and pressed the button. Dupree had dialed in Tucker and Emerson; he set his cell phone by the loudspeaker so they could hear the conversation.
“Attention, Charity, this is the fire station at Lake Pontchartrain. I’m giving you the FBI. Over.”
“This is Chief Meigs at Charity Hospital in the ambulance garage. Over.”
Dupree motioned for Johnson to sit in front of the microphone.
“Chief Meigs, this is FBI special agent Ambrose Johnson. We’re investigating a case, and we need to confirm the presence of one of your team members on several of the missions you’ve carried out in recent months. His name is Brad Nelson. Over.”
“Happy to help you guys. What do you need to know? Over.”
“Was Nelson on the mission to Cape May, New Jersey, last February? Over.”
“He was. That was his first outing with the team, but it turned out there wasn’t much for us to do. The damage didn’t extend too far beyond the shoreline, and they had things pretty much in hand by the time we arrived. Over.”
“How about March fifteenth in Killeen, Texas? Over.”
“Yes, Nelson was with us. Over.”
“Next is Brooksville, Oklahoma, on April twenty-sixth. Over.”
“Yes . . . hold on, now, I’m not sure. I know he went out there with us, but he didn’t ship out at the same time afterward. He was called back by some sort of emergency. I wasn’t there when he left. His partner will know more than I do. Sometimes we have to break into smaller units. The smallest is the buddy team. Over.”
“Can you give me the name of his partner that time? Is that team member with you now? Can we talk to him? Over.”
“He was with Phil Lorenzo. Phil’s here, but he’s been sent out already. The hurricane blew off part of the Superdome’s roof, and there’s rain pouring in on the people there. Word came in about twenty minutes ago, and we were dispatched because our team was closest to the scene. I was just about to leave when they said you needed to speak to me. If it’s urgent, I can get Phil to a radio as soon as possible, but it could be several hours from now. Over.”
“We understand the difficult circumstances, but we wouldn’t be troubling you if it weren’t vital. We’d appreciate it if you could put Phil Lorenzo in contact with us as soon as possible. Just a couple more questions. Did Nelson go with you to Alvord, Texas, last week? Over.”
“Yeah, he was there, but not the whole time. He couldn’t get away immediately. He arrived a few hours after we did. Over.”
“How much later? Over.”
“Hmm . . . seems to me we got there around noon, and he came in that night. Over.”
“Was he with you in Miami three days ago? Over.”
“Right. He went there on his own because he was close to the scene. Drove to Miami in his personal vehicle, so he was waiting for us at the airport. Over.”
“And he traveled to New Orleans as part of the group? Over.”
“No, Nelson isn’t here; he had to work. He let us know at the last minute that he couldn’t come. Over.”
Johnson turned to look at Dupree and Amaia.
“He made a leave request in Tampa,” Dupree said under his breath.
Johnson turned back to the mic and pressed the red button. “Chief Meigs, this is very important: Can you confirm that Brad Nelson didn’t travel to New Orleans? Maybe he’s going to join you later? We understand he requested leave for that reason. Over.”
“Hundred percent sure. Happens all the time. Remember, these guys are police officers, firefighters, paramedics—emergencies happen, and they have to cancel at the last minute. Over.”
Johnson thanked the chief, signed off, and turned to his colleagues. “Where is Nelson?”
Charbou answered. “I’ll tell you where he is: here in New Orleans. You heard Meigs. Nelson was on location everywhere the murders occurred. Any alibi he might pretend to have is blown by the fact his timing is sometimes erratic. It shows he had ample unsupervised time to commit the murders when he was working with the teams. We can’t eliminate him as a suspect.”
“I agree,” Tucker said via telephone. “Traveling solo gives him options. He has the authorization both from his employers and from the rescue group. He’s a cop, he has a badge and rescue credentials. That’s all he needs to circulate in a disaster zone. If anyone spots him, he explains he’s getting there at the last minute and comes across as a hero.”