The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,115
seated in the middle of the Zodiac with a city map spread across his knees. “We’ve been overwhelmed by events, but so has he. If he had a plan, he has to change it now, however difficult that may be. If he selects some family in the city who survived the storm, they’ll have to fit his profile. Even if he’s got a whole list of families in Kenner, he can’t get out there, but the central city is still accessible. No matter how much our murderer wants to kill, he faces the same constraints we do. And remember, he’s injured.” Johnson placed a finger on the map and moved it from zone to zone. “I believe he’ll stay in the French Quarter, around Frenchmen Street, close to the outside edge of Treme, somewhere around Canal Street or Magazine or Jackson Square. That’ll be his home base. He needs somewhere to stay. If he doesn’t already have shelter, he’ll have to find some, just as we will.”
“I don’t know,” Charbou said. “This is total chaos. No power, no clean water, and we’re going to need more fuel before long. By nightfall this place will be back in the Stone Age. I think we should be rescuing people instead of maintaining a holding pattern and waiting for reports of gunfire.”
Dupree had been dreading this moment all day. He’d been well aware of the cops’ anger as their craft passed along the fronts of flooded houses where once-treasured possessions bobbed in the filthy water. He’d seen them clench their jaws when a group of women carrying infants shouted pleas for help from the bridges over the interstate. He knew they were boiling inside.
Bull answered his partner. “You accepted the mission. It’s important, and we’re responsible for seeing it through. Others are attending to the rescues. Help will be arriving soon.”
Charbou looked around wildly. “Oh, yeah? And where are the fucking rescuers?” He was yelling. “All I hear is people shouting for help, help that isn’t coming, but we’re right here, right now. This isn’t why I joined the force!”
Amaia hadn’t said anything. She moved to sit across from Charbou in the Zodiac, then reached out and touched his hand. His dark skin shone with brilliant drops of sweat, in contrast to her pale touch.
The effect of her gentle approach was immediate. His angry fist yielded and opened to receive her hand. His jaw relaxed and his anger drained away. Dupree was sure Charbou was about to say something, but whatever the words may have been, he swallowed them and then sat silent with his eyes on Amaia. His cry of revolt had wafted away with the wind.
Her voice was firm. “Nobody who lives through the storm should be forced to surrender to a murderer. Everyone who survives this day is a child of the hurricane. Katrina couldn’t kill them, so no one else has the right to. We can’t allow him to turn New Orleans into a killer’s private theme park.”
Dupree nodded, seeing she’d prevailed. He knew she’d done so with her touch, not just with her words. When reason fails, when instructions lose all meaning, when fatigue overwhelms bodies and souls, when it comes down to the decision to continue or give up, no force is more redemptive than the touch of skin on skin.
Sunset was forecast for 7:25 p.m. The light took a sudden flight westward in the last half hour of the day and colored the sky pink and purple. It painted a sunset so glorious and incongruous that not one of them would ever forget it.
Charbou’s prediction came true. As light died on the horizon, the city of music reverted to the Stone Age.
They needed to find shelter as soon as possible. Most of the reference points along the flooded streets would soon be invisible. Though they’d originally planned to get to Florida Avenue, they chose a closer street that might have been Dorgenois or Rocheblave. Bull, at the helm, sounded the air horn. Its blast rolled through the dark as they slid up to a two-story house that was completely flooded downstairs. The structure looked stable, and the second-story windows were accessible from the boat. He steered along the side to make sure the house was uninhabited, sweeping their spotlight across the upper windows in search of signs of life. Bull had begun to turn the boat when Johnson called an alert. “There! I saw something. I think there’s someone inside.”