The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,96
nothing.
“Ring again,” Tucker insisted.
No response.
Tucker let a few more seconds pass as she studied the tableau from her vantage point in the van. “Try one more time to be sure, then you can snake the camera under the door.”
The officer rang a couple of times. The next-door neighbor, a man in his seventies wearing pajamas with an unbuttoned top, opened his front door. He leaned on the railing of his front steps and stared at the pizza man. “Son, I don’t much think my neighbor ordered your pizza.”
“Don’t break character,” Tucker radioed. She knew from experience that neighbors could be a rich source of information.
The officer pretended to consult his notebook. “Well, sir, I have an order for a family-size pizza with double olives, double anchovies, and double capers for a Brad Nelson, 556B Tivoli Avenue. Did I get anything wrong?”
“Yeah, that’s here, and Brad Nelson is my neighbor, but it looks like someone’s playing a practical joke on you. I saw Nelson putting luggage in his SUV, and he told me he was taking a trip.”
The pizza man sighed in disgust. “Yeah, I guess that’s it. There’s a bunch of kids making phony orders. We should have known. Not many people want anchovies for breakfast.” He went down the steps as if returning to his scooter, then stopped. “Maybe you know when Mr. Nelson’s coming back? He’s a good customer. I got the pizza here, if he’s coming back soon, maybe I could just leave it on the porch.”
“Don’t bet on it, son. He said he’d be away for a couple of days, maybe more. But if you want to leave the pizza with me . . .”
Snickers filled the van. The agents exchanged exaggerated grimaces of disgust.
Tucker got out of the van and walked to her rental car, her sweat-soaked shirt plastered to her back. She tapped her hip with the rolled-up report from Salazar. Fuck, don’t those jerks know they need to wear deodorant? She urgently wanted a shower to get rid of the stench, but first she had to do something more important. She opened the car door and settled into the passenger seat.
“Okay,” Emerson said as he pulled into the street, “we’ve confirmed Nelson’s not in town, so he’s probably on his way to New Orleans. Or he’s already there. You going to call Agent Dupree?”
“Phone lines and cell service have been down since this morning, and they evacuated the FBI office. It’s going to be complicated to get back in touch. And impossible once they leave the ops center.”
Emerson lapsed into a pensive silence. For a moment, Tucker thought he was reflecting on what she’d just said, but to her surprise he volunteered an opinion. “Salazar is wrong. Nelson is the Composer.”
Tucker’s head swiveled. She regarded him with interest. “Oh, yeah? Just what did she get wrong?”
Emerson looked at Tucker until she gestured, warning him to keep his eyes on the road. He stammered a bit as he presented his thesis. “Well, uh, she’s just wrong . . . there in her analysis.” He pointed to the report in Tucker’s hand. “She thinks Martin Lenx is the Composer, but she doesn’t agree Lenx could have assumed Nelson’s identity.”
“You think she’s off base?”
He glanced at her again, confused. He was trying to insinuate himself, to show that he was on her side, but she was being particularly unreceptive. “Well, I just think we’re right and she’s wrong.”
“She gave a brilliant analysis; the woman is practically clairvoyant. We’re fortunate to have her on the team. You’d do well, Agent Emerson, to take a few lessons from her. If you want to make a career in the FBI, remember not to doubt what a woman says just because she’s a woman. Think twice before opening your mouth.”
Emerson emitted an anguished whimper. “I don’t understand! You don’t agree with her either.”
“The difference is that I respect her. You can brownnose all you want, but if you think I’m going to gang up with you to criticize a woman who’s worth two of you, you have another think coming.”
Emerson released a stream of air through his nose and chose to remain silent, uncertain how to respond to her criticism.
Tucker smiled again. She took out her mobile, looked up a contact, and pressed a button. “No reason to be down in the mouth, Emerson. Maybe Nelson’s in New Orleans. And who knows, Salazar may even be right.” She waved the rolled-up report at him. “But believe me, you and I