plates and trailer. He had vanished again.
The phone rang once. Tarrance slowly lifted the receiver. "Mary Alice," he said softly.
" Wayne baby! How'd you guess?"
"Where is he?"
"Who?" Tammy giggled.
"McDeere. Where is he?"
"Well, Wayne, you boys were hot for a while, but then you chased a wild rabbit. Now you're not even close, baby. Sorry to tell you."
"We've got three positive IDs in the past fourteen hours."
"Better check them out, Wayne. Mitch told me a few minutes ago he's never been to Tallahassee. Never heard of Ocala. Never driven a green Ford pickup. Never pulled a U-Haul trailer. You boys bit hard, Wayne. Hook, line and sinker."
Tarrance pinched the bridge of his nose and breathed into the phone.
"So how's Orlando?" she asked. "Gonna see Disney World while you're in town?"
"Where the hell is he!"
"Wayne, Wayne, relax, baby. You'll get the documents."
Tarrance sat up. "Okay, when?"
"Well, we could be greedy and insist on the rest of our money. I'm at a pay phone, Wayne, so don't bother to trace it, okay? But we're not greedy. You'll get your records within twenty-four hours. If all goes well."
"Where are the records?"
"I'll have to call you back, baby. If you stay at this number, I'll call you every four hours until Mitch tells me where the documents are. But, Wayne, if you leave this number, I might lose you, baby. So stay put."
"I'll be here. Is he still in the country?"
"I think not. I'm sure he's in Mexico by now. His brother speaks the language, you know?"
"I know." Tarrance stretched out on the bed and said to hell with it. Mexico could have them, as long as he got the records.
"Stay where you are, baby. Take a nap. You gotta be tired. I'll call around five or six."
Tarrance laid the phone on the nightstand, and took a nap.
* * *
The dragnet lost its steam Saturday afternoon when the Panama City Beach police received the fourth complaint from motel owners. The cops were dispatched to the Breakers Motel, where an irate owner told of armed men harassing the guests. More cops were sent to the Strip, and before long they were searching the motels for gunmen who were searching for the McDeeres. The Emerald Coast was on the brink of war.
Weary and hot, DeVasher's men were forced to work alone. They spread themselves even thinner along the beach and stopped the door-to-door work. They lounged in plastic chairs around the pools, watching the tourists come and go. They lay on the beach, dodging the sun, hiding behind dark shades, watching the tourists come and go.
As dusk approached, the army of goons and thugs and gunmen, and lawyers, slipped into the darkness and waited. If the McDeeres were going to move, they would do it at night. A silent army waited for them.
DeVasher's thick forearms rested uncomfortably on a balcony railing outside his Best Western room. He watched the empty beach below as the sun slowly disappeared on the horizon. Aaron Rimmer walked through the sliding glass door and stopped behind DeVasher. "We found Tolar," Rimmer said.
DeVasher did not move. "Where?"
"Hiding in his girlfriend's apartment in Memphis."
"Was he alone?"
"Yeah. They iced him. Made it look like a robbery."
* * *
In Room 39, Ray inspected for the hundredth time the new passports, visas, driver's licenses and birth certificates. The passport photos for Mitch and Abby were current, with plenty of dark hair. After the escape, time would take care of the blondness. Ray's photo was a slightly altered Harvard Law School mug shot of Mitch, with the long hair, stubble and rough academic looks. The eyes, noses and cheekbones were similar, after careful analysis, but nothing else. The documents were in the names of Lee Stevens, Rachel James and Sam Fortune, all with addresses in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. Doc did good work, and Ray smiled as he studied each one.
Abby packed the Sony video camera into its box. The tripod was folded and leaned against the wall. Fourteen videocassette tapes with stick-on labels were stacked neatly on the television.
After sixteen hours, the video deposition was over. Starting with the first tape, Mitch had faced the camera, raised his right hand and sworn to tell the truth. He stood next to the dresser with documents covering the floor around him. Using Tammy's notes, summaries and flowcharts, he methodically walked through the bank records first. He identified over two hundred and fifty secret accounts in eleven Cayman banks. Some had names, but most were just numbered. Using copies of computer printouts,