Greg Iles - Turning Angel

”You don’t think Marko could be hiding in the Reynolds’s house?“ Logan suggests.

”That’s a scary thought,“ I reply, ”but no.“ I change positions, trying to keep my feet moving. They’ve been burning badly for the past twenty minutes. If Mia doesn’t emerge soon, I’m going to have to get out and walk around a little.

”If Marko was in there,“ Kelly says, ”Mia would have switched on the transmitter.“

”You’ve got a lot of confidence in her,“ says Logan.

Kelly nods. ”Girl has her shit together.“

Earlier tonight, when Logan tried to tape the transmitter to Mia’s inner thigh, she shook her head and said, ”Marko’s hands will wind up there, I promise you. He’s that kind of guy.“

”Then where?“ asked the chief.

Kelly picked up Mia’s handbag, pulled a knife from his pocket, and slit open the inner lining of the bag. Then he slipped the transmitter into the lining. While Logan stared, Kelly took the duct tape from him, made a loop of it, and neatly sealed the slit he’d made in the bag from the inside. He made Mia practice switching the transmitter on and off through the lining until she could do it smoothly by touch alone. Mia seemed encouraged by Kelly’s professionalism.

”Where do you think Marko’s hiding?“ Logan asks, peering at some approaching headlights.

”Lots of possibilities,“ I answer, not taking my eyes off the lighted window on the side of the Reynolds’s house. ”He could be staying in an empty house up at Lake St. John. He could be in an empty building downtown.“

”Plenty of those.“

”He could be at somebody’s deer camp. He could be at one of the other empty factories, like Cyrus. The bottom line is, without somebody like Alicia, we’d never find him.“

Logan nods. ”So, he’d be stupid to take the bait.“

”Or arrogant,“ Kelly says.

”Good point.“

My cell phone rings. I snatch it up before it can ring again. ”Hello?“

”She’s on the phone with him!“ Mia hisses. ”She’s got a special phone for calling him. I think we’re leaving straight from here.“

”Any idea where you’re going?“

”No! Have you got the tracking device on the car?“ Mia sounds panicked.

”We didn’t know which car you were taking.“

”Hers, I think. Shit, I don’t know! She’s coming. Don’t lose us!“

She hangs up.

”Which car?“ asks Kelly.

”She thinks Alicia’s, but she’s not sure. They’re leaving soon.“ My heart thumps against my sternum. ”Marko’s still here. Jesus.“

”Put the tracker on Reynolds’s car,“ says Logan, visibly tense.

”Not until we know for sure,“ says Kelly.

”It’ll be too late then!“

Kelly shakes his head. ”I’m gonna wait.“

”If the girlfriend sees you, it’s over.“

Soft laughter. ”Nobody’s gonna see me, Chief.“

Kelly gets out of the car and quietly closes the door. When I look out my window, he’s vanished.

”Where’d he go?“ asks Logan. ”I don’t see him.“

”He’s there. Just be glad he’s on our side.“

Logan leans over and begins fooling with something. The seat between us is littered with gear: walkie-talkies; the receiver for Mia’s transmitter; and some of Kelly’s gear, including a subnote-book computer. Lying on the floor in front of the backseat are a carbon-fiber sniper rifle and an MP5 submachine gun like the one the Asian boy was carrying last week. Both weapons are fitted with night-vision scopes.

”What are you doing?“ I ask Logan.

”Making sure our radios are on the same channel. Sometimes it’s the simplest thing that kills you.“

The light under the Reynolds’s carport goes on.

”Here they come,“ I say.

Alicia’s white RX-8 is parked under the carport. Mia’s Accord is in the driveway. Marko’s girlfriend walks into the carport and stomps around to the driver’s door of her Mazda. She’s obviously pissed off. Mia walks out behind her, much more slowly, and opens the passenger door. She glances in our direction, but she doesn’t seem to be in distress.

”Reynolds could lose us in that Mazda,“ Logan observes.

”Kelly’s got it. Just wait.“

The RX-8 backs quickly out of the driveway, then peels up Lindberg Street, its motor whining as it heads into a large subdivision lying between us and the Highway 61 bypass.

”Where’s Kelly?“ Logan asks.

The door to my left jerks open and Kelly leaps in. ”Stay fifty meters back,“ he says. ”Don’t get in a hurry.“

Logan wants to hurry, I can tell. He keeps the Mazda’s taillights in sight, which makes sense to me.

”If you can see her, she can see you,“ Kelly says calmly, reaching over the front seat for his computer. ”Trust your gear.“

I wouldn’t trust the local police department’s gear, but this stuff belongs to Kelly.

”Have you got them?“ Logan asks, barely slowing.

I look into the backseat. Sitting sideways so I can see, Kelly pulls up a city map on his screen and studies it. ”Got ‘em. Slow down, Chief.“

Logan lets the taillights ahead wink out.

A red dot on Kelly’s screen moves along the streets of Montebello subdivision, moving toward the bypass. The dot turns onto the highway and accelerates.

”Where are they?“ Logan asks nervously.

”Bypass,“ I answer. ”Now they’re turning onto Montebello Melrose Parkway.“

”Headed downtown?“

”Looks like it. Lots of houses before they’re downtown, though. Woods, too.“

The red dot sweeps down the long curving lanes that cut through the thick forest between the bypass and downtown Natchez. It passes Melrose, an antebellum plantation purchased by the federal government and turned into a National Historical Park. This part of Natchez is thick with mansions, as many wealthy planters’ estates abutted in the vicinity.

Logan accelerates along the parkway. We pass a modern bank sited in the midst of the forest, then climb a hill and pass Melrose.

”They’re on Main Street,“ Kelly says.

”Not really,“ I tell him. ”That’s the Main Street extension. They’re not actually downtown yet.“

”They’re slowing down,“ says Kelly. ”Stopping now.“

”Where?“ asks Logan.

”Can’t tell,“ I say, thinking furiously.

”They turned into blank space on my map,“ says Kelly.

”Ardenwood, maybe?“ I suggest.

”Fuck,“ Logan curses, and suddenly I know I’m right.

”What’s Ardenwood?“ asks Kelly.

”Sixty acres owned by a complete nut,“ says Logan. ”Son of a bitch. We’re in trouble, Penn. Mia’s in trouble.“

”Just get us there. This makes all the sense in the world.“

”What’s Ardenwood?“ asks Kelly. ”What the fuck are we headed into?“

I close my eyes and try to summon what I know. Ardenwood was a majestic Greek Revival mansion built by one of the wealthiest planting dynasties in the pre-Civil War South. One of the few to remain in the hands of its original family, it stood pristine through the war, Reconstruction, decay, rebirth, and then the modern city of Natchez growing up around it. A decade ago, the property fell into the hands of an heir who didn’t care to live in it. An eccentric lawyer from Mobile, he preferred to let the house stand unoccupied, slowly rotting away along with its priceless contents. Last year, on a calm Sunday morning, a column of smoke began rising from the center of town. By the time the fire department arrived, a quarter of the mansion had been consumed. A crowd of hundreds gathered to watch it burn, some with tears in their eyes, others cursing the man who had let this jewel of history be destroyed for no reason. Annie and I were part of that crowd. Caitlin was out of town. All that remains now is a dangerous shell patched with plywood against the rain. That and some frightening rumors.