The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,47

emphatic, and she’d replied with impressive serenity. Those Washington folks were so refined they didn’t shout even when they had reason to. The two had exchanged no more than a few words all the way from Tulane to the Dauphine Orleans Hotel.

Johnson saw Bull studying him via the rearview mirror. He looked away, annoyed. Johnson considered himself a good man. He tolerated differences, could talk easily with almost anyone, and fully appreciated outside talent. He understood why Dupree had brought Salazar on to the team. He could even understand Emerson’s poorly concealed jealousy. The difference between Johnson and Emerson was simple: Emerson was a loser. Johnson had been in this job long enough to know that the good of a unit is far more important than the personal qualities of any of its members. That’s why Emerson was in Florida with Tucker, and Johnson was with Dupree in New Orleans.

He’d tried to call Dupree while walking across the university campus at Salazar’s side. No one picked up. He ended the call and glanced unhappily at his colleague. God knows he was doing his best, but he just didn’t understand her.

Before they’d arrived at the dean’s office, Johnson had thought that Joseph Jr. would be more likely to open up to Salazar than to him. And he’d been right. He’d stepped back and given her plenty of room to carry out the interview. And Salazar was skillful. She’d displayed an extraordinarily sensual mixture of strength and fragility that clearly attracted young Joe.

When the crucial moment came, Johnson thought the boy was going to clam up for good. Joseph had doubled over, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, looking like he was going to vomit. Salazar had inched her chair forward until their knees almost touched. She’d mirrored his position, leaning forward until they were almost cheek to cheek. That’s when the kid opened up. About how he’d gone back to the family home, how he’d found the violin, how he’d known at that moment the killer had left it there deliberately. And how Detective Nelson hadn’t believed him but instead had dismissed it completely.

The boy was exhausted by the time he finished his account.

Johnson came forward, close behind Amaia, leaned over, and whispered in her ear. “Listen, I think Nelson was right. A violin?”

She swiveled and glowered at him. She was ferocious. “I saw a violin at the Allens’ farmhouse.”

Johnson searched for a response. “Okay, but that’s not so unusual—”

Amaia was on her feet in an instant, moving on Johnson and pushing him back where the boy couldn’t hear them. “And I’m certain there was one in the photos I saw of the Mason murders in Texas, in the same room as the bodies.”

“Seriously? First we have a composer and now we have a violin?” He realized he’d raised his voice.

Their exchange caught Joseph’s attention. He looked up at Johnson, faint hope dawning in his eyes.

She warned him with a gesture toward the boy. “I wasn’t the one who chose that stupid name!” she hissed.

Johnson looked away from Salazar and tried to summon up the images of the room where the Masons had been murdered. He didn’t recall a violin in that chaos, but he couldn’t dismiss the possibility either. He just wasn’t sure. He gave Salazar a look of consternation. “If that’s so . . .”

“I’m sure of it. Phone Dupree. We have to go back to the hotel right away. Someone has to talk to Detective Nelson and review the photos.” She checked her watch. “A Texas state trooper told me the contents of the Allen farmhouse would be held in a state-controlled warehouse. If we’re quick about it, maybe we can catch the warehouse staff before they close for the day.”

Before they left the dean’s office, Johnson had leaned on the table where Joseph sat motionless. “Evacuation buses are still leaving the city. You can get on one if you hurry. It’s going to be pretty dangerous around here.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Joseph replied with complete indifference. “I could die?”

Johnson had no reply to that.

Amaia turned to Joseph. “You’re not allowed to die. You’re going to help us track down your family’s murderer.”

Joseph inhaled sharply. The limp doll before them was suddenly infused with life. He nodded slowly, almost as if bowing.

“I won’t die,” he told her.

“Give me a number where I can reach you,” Johnson said, “and then get out of town.”

Johnson tried Dupree’s number again. It kept ringing. He glanced at