“Agent Dupree!” she called after him.
“Yes?”
“Like I said—Tucker doesn’t know a fucking thing!”
He grinned, under the cover of darkness.
57
OCCAM’S RAZOR
Tampa, Florida
Tucker had been waiting for a while. She was starting to get nervous, and she’d changed her mind twice as she tried to decide whether to remain seated on the Naugahyde sofa or stand by the door. She went to the table where someone had set out coffee, a pitcher of ice water, and a selection of cookies and crackers. She turned back so as not to appear nervous before Emerson, who’d planted himself in an armchair. He was pretending to page through a magazine, but she knew he was watching her every move. Good God, the man was a pain in the ass. She’d just sat down again when a man in a suit, obviously a staffer, opened the door and stood aside for Senator Rosenblatt to enter.
Republican senator for Florida Stephen Rosenblatt cast an impressive figure. Tall and portly, he had the ruddy complexion of someone who loved the outdoors and got too much sun. He was dressed in an elegant, impeccably tailored beige suit that nicely complemented his deep tan. His thick hair was cut short and combed back in a style twenty years out of date. She caught a distinct whiff of the scent of his hair gel.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” the senator said as he sailed into the room. “Afraid I was delayed longer than I expected. The doctors let me in to see my son-in-law.”
Tucker smiled as she took the senator’s proffered hand, deciding she was going to give Emerson a real dressing down for allowing the senator to get into the ICU ahead of them. Standard procedure was that law enforcement was the first to interview a suspect. She could imagine the reaction of the uniformed cop posted outside the ICU. No one in the state of Florida would dare stand in the way of their senior senator.
Afterward, when she replayed the conversation in her mind, she realized she hadn’t caught the senator’s reference to his “son-in-law.”
Senator Rosenblatt took the sofa without indicating where she should go. His assistant handed him a voluminous file in a maroon binder.
“So you’re Agent Stella Tucker, FBI, in command of the operation to safeguard my daughter and grandchildren, which put my son-in-law in the hospital.”
She gave him a firm nod, her hands dutifully clasped behind her back.
“Tell me, Agent Stella Tucker, do you think I’m an idiot?”
Taken aback, Tucker looked at him and felt her smile freeze in place. Emerson’s ears perked up.
“Of course not, sir,” she managed to reply.
“I’m just asking, because you seem to assume I didn’t have Brad Nelson investigated when my daughter started dating him. A faceless man with an unconfirmed identity emerges from a burning building and eventually attracts the attention of a senator’s daughter. Of course I had him investigated! And you know what? Not only did I find he was clean as a whistle, my people confirmed he was a decent man who’d overcome obstacles few people ever have to face. He and I have been on very good terms ever since. Don’t for a moment think I don’t know he’s got a terrible temper; I grant you he’s something of a brute. But so am I, and I respect such men, as long as they’re able to maintain control and direct their energy positively. And he’d done that, for years.
“For years! And then, I don’t know what happened. Maybe it was his job, maybe he just reached his limits. My son-in-law screwed up with my daughter, and that girl’s just as unforgiving as I am. She’s made him pay for it ever since, and that’s fine with me. But I like Nelson, and he likes me. When he saw his life was going to hell, he came to me like a son to a father and asked for my help. He’s been trying to make up for his blowup ever since. He’s been separated from his family for the last eight months and getting anger management counseling. He’s made his pilgrimages to folk healers, psychologists, and psychiatrists, and they’ve put him through the wringer with all kinds of therapies, trying to teach him to control that wicked temper of his.”
Senator Rosenblatt tapped the binder in front of him. “You’ve correlated the dates of his leave requests with family murders all across the country. But he was out in the Texas desert or some equally godforsaken place with a support group every single time, doing therapy sessions to learn to control his anger. I know, because I’ve been paying for them. In this binder I’ve got all the reports on Brad’s progress.”
Tucker’s mouth opened in astonishment until she realized how foolish she must look. She clapped it shut and licked her lips, thinking fast. “Senator, you’re very generous and I admire your big heart. But you need to keep in mind that Brad Nelson was arrested for breaking into the house where your daughter and grandchildren live. He kicked in the back door, sir.” She demonstrated the stance, hands raised before her. “I assure you that your son-in-law intended to shoot his family; he gunned down and almost killed a police officer stationed inside the house. Nobody assaulting a house like that has good intentions.”
The thing that most offended Tucker was Rosenblatt’s response to her earnest explanation. The senator turned to his assistant with an expression of incredulity that showed he thought she was incompetent. He looked back at Tucker, tossed the binder on the table, and addressed her like a clueless adolescent who’d failed to understand a joke. “Brad saw one of your shooters in a black uniform and hood trying to keep out of sight on the upstairs terrace. We all know that the enemies of freedom hate our representative government and especially our freely elected senators. Everybody knows that my family lives here in Tampa. Brad Nelson is an exemplary police officer. He went fully armed into the house, risking his life to defend his family.”
Rosenblatt rose and left without another word.
Agent Tucker felt as if her world had just collapsed. Her head spun. She staggered back and dropped into the armchair.
Ready to black out, she was subjected to more humiliation. The staffer leaned over her before following his boss. “You’re going to be sued. I suggest you hire an attorney.”
Emerson walked out on her as well. “I was against this operation from the start!”
58
A HOLDING PATTERN
Charity Hospital, New Orleans
His tongue flickered across his chapped lips, and he found a little blister at the corner of his mouth. His mind was beginning to clear at last. He wondered how long he’d been unconscious. He couldn’t tell how much of his exhaustion and fever was due to illness and how much was the New Orleans heat and humidity. The dizziness and fatigue could have been caused by the struggle of wading through the flood. The familiar rush from sending a family to heaven was gone, replaced as always by a nagging feeling of incompletion. His mission wouldn’t be done until he’d redeemed his real family. Maybe the cause of his malaise was the knowledge that time was running out. He knew deep down that each of those families had been a test case, a trial run. But they weren’t his own sinful family. Martin had been saving others while his own beloved family continued sinking into depravity.
Fever had been the first symptom, but he hadn’t recognized it until the chills began. He’d been finishing up, dispatching the family near the intersection of Chartres and Jackson, when an icy shiver, breathtaking in its intensity, seized him and wouldn’t let him go. He pulled up his pants leg and saw why: the bandage on his injured leg was soaking wet. A nasty yellowish ooze from beneath the gauze made it look like some horrible mold was consuming him. The hot, swollen wound had an alarming purple tint. The filthy dressing had become one huge scab. He felt terribly dizzy and weak.