The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,162

in Jefferson,” Johnson whispered. “Identical!”

Amaia bit her lip and hesitated before asking. She knew it was unlikely anyone would have noticed, but she had to pose the question. “Mr. Antée, do you recall if they said anything about a violin being in the room? Over.”

“No, no mention of anything like that. Over.”

“And this is very important, Mr. Antée—could they tell how long the victims had been dead? Over.”

“That I can help you with,” he replied, sounding pleased to be providing the information. “There’s a medic on the team. When they called in, he told us they hadn’t been dead more than two or three hours. Over.”

Amaia looked at Johnson and Charbou. She pressed the button. “Mr. Antée, do you know what the team did after that? Over.”

“They marked it with police tape. Obviously, they couldn’t evacuate the bodies or do much else, but the residence is sealed. That’s all that can be done for the moment. Over.”

“Thank you. You’ve been a big help. And thanks to you, Paula. Out.”

She turned around to find Dupree leaning on the doorframe. She addressed him. “We have to go back! I need to see that family.”

He looked at her, considering her request. “The fishermen are getting ready, and we plan to leave before dawn for Le Grand to look for Jacob’s sisters. This is our last chance to find them; every hour we delay makes it less likely. I didn’t get there in time to save Médora ten years ago, but I think they’ll lay low with the girls for a while before they make them disappear forever. I can’t give up and leave those children to the same fate as Médora Lirette. We’ll search for them, then after that, we’ll go back to New Orleans.”

“But . . .” She understood Dupree’s reasoning, but the news was further evidence the Composer was in New Orleans and she’d been right, after all. She quivered like a bloodhound on a fresh scent.

Dupree saw it. “He’s not going anywhere. If he’s clever, and we know he is, he’ll blend in with the crowd when the evacuation starts. And you heard it from Antée: that’s not till tomorrow. They’ll prioritize getting the sick and the injured out first. The Composer will be stuck in the city for at least a couple of days. I need you here.” He turned and left.

“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