The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,99

but I’m leaving it entirely up to you how to use it if you think she can advance the investigation. This is an exceptional case and it deserves exceptional treatment. If you decide to keep this information confidential, we’ll do the best we can to follow your lead.”

34

INSOMNIA

New Orleans, Louisiana

10:00 a.m., Monday, August 29, 2005

Amaia put her eye to the slit someone had cut in the brown paper taped across the window. The windowpane mirrored her peering eye. Shading her face to reduce the reflection, she tried to see outside. The city was a leaden gray; the day had begun hours earlier, but the dark skies were as opaque as a bottomless lake. Flames caused by gas explosions flickered low against the horizon.

Several cars floated slowly down the street, bobbing in the water like dead turtles.

After they’d quizzed the rescue team chief by radio, she went back to reviewing the Galveston files. She paid particular attention to a statement by the younger Joseph Andrews, the crime scene analysis, Nelson’s own accounts, and Captain Reed’s summary. She and Johnson had searched archives and databases all the way back to 1982 but found no earlier case that matched the Lenx murders. Everything suggested the serial killer’s spree had begun with the Andrews family.

“Murder was the alpha and will be the omega,” Amaia whispered aloud, praying for insight.

The racket from the operations center made it hard for her to stay focused.

Johnson and the New Orleans cops appeared in the doorway. She shut her laptop and followed them.

The phone lines were jammed. The instant an operator ended a call, another came in. Amaia went to the deputy who’d spoken to her the previous day. The operator raised a finger in acknowledgment as she dealt with a caller. Her voice remained calm and professional throughout the call, though tension was evident in her face.

The supervisor put the calls on speaker phone.

Sobs. “Please help me, my house is off the foundation, I’m here with two little babies, and the water is pouring in!”

“Ma’am, we can’t do anything; I can’t send anybody right now, the police can’t get into the streets until the storm’s over.”

A man, desperate. “Please help us! We here in the attic, they’s no way out, the water’s all the way up to the ceiling down there. Come get us out!”

“Sir, we had to take our officers off the streets; it’s too dangerous out there. I can take your names and address.”

“What you mean, ‘your names’? So you know who we are when you find us here dead?”

“All our calls are like that.”

The supervisor placed an encouraging hand on the deputy’s shoulder. She didn’t react; she put her headset on and went back to work.

“People call us for help, and all we can do is put their names on a waiting list.”

“What’s it like out there right now?” Johnson asked.

Suddenly incensed, the supervisor waved a hand toward the monitors suspended from the ceiling. All of them looked up.

“In one word? Chaos. The city’s without power. High-tension lines are down; cell phones aren’t working. It’s raining into the Superdome where people are massed in the interior passages, human waste is gushing out of the toilets and flooding the place. We’ve received reports of assaults, rapes, and fights, both at the Superdome and the convention center. Reports of several fatal stabbings, rumors of more. Houses are on fire because gas lines broke when the foundations shifted.” He fixed his eyes on the monitor before him. “And as if we didn’t have enough to deal with already, now we’re getting reports of tornados and waterspouts. Bodies are floating in the streets and houses have washed away. As for your successive gunshots, you can forget about them. We have nothing so far.”

Johnson took offense. He stepped in close, so only the supervisor’s console stood between them. Johnson glanced at the man’s nameplate on the front of the desk.

“Listen to me closely, Mr. Ante.”

“Antée,” the supervisor corrected him automatically without looking up.

“Look at me, Antée,” Johnson insisted.

The supervisor did. The aggressive lift of his chin emphasized his foul mood. “What is it now?”

Without visible emotion, Johnson leaned over and whispered into his ear. “We are here to help; we’re looking for a killer. He’s going to murder, in their own home, some luckless family who managed to survive this catastrophe. And yes, there will be a series of gunshots, because he’ll blow their heads off. One after another, including the children, forcing the others to watch. I know you’re