“It’s just come to my attention that a fellow named…” he paused, Alexa assumed so he could check a note, “Gary Alexander West has gone missing. I was informed that you are already familiar with this incident.”
“I am.”
“Gary West is married to the niece of a valuable friend of the Bureau, a man I have known for some time. I understand you have met Dr. LePointe and his niece.”
“Casey West. Yes, sir.”
“What is your assessment of the situation?”
“I’m not sure what the situation actually is. It’s sort of hard to read at this point. Gary West is missing, and the authorities are looking for him.”
“What is your personal impression, Agent Keen?”
The director of the FBI wants me to tell him what my gut feeling is? “At the moment there’s no evidence it’s an abduction. While there’s no indication that this is a kidnapping, I don’t think it can be ruled out, sir. There are circumstances that make me think abduction is very likely, but at this time there’s no request from the locals for us to become involved. I believe the situation warrants close monitoring though.”
“Is it, in your opinion, beyond NOPD’s capabilities?”
“Detective Manseur is in charge here, and he’s a good and competent man. That said, there’s a political angle that could potentially lead to a tragedy. It’s complicated, and I’m not sure I have enough information or understanding of the precise politics to make a thorough judgment at present.”
“Meaning what exactly, Agent?”
“Dr. LePointe appears to be the VIP here. The locals are not going to do much that the doctor doesn’t support. The family fortune he heads makes him an indispensable asset to the community. I think the concerns he has for his niece’s best interests, for his family’s reputation, and his nephew-in-law’s best interests may be in that order. I think he sees this incident more as an intrusion by the authorities and a potential embarrassment to his niece than a danger for Gary West.”
“New Orleans is a political cesspool. And when I say that, I could be sued by cesspools for slander.”
“Sir…”
“Everybody knows it, Agent. Dr. LePointe is the closest thing to a god in that particular kingdom, and this Detective Manseur’s ability aside, the whole bunch has got to be already tripping over one another to kiss LePointe’s ring. Here’s what we’re going to do: You’re going to be my eyes and ears on this. I want you to interface with Chief Jackson Evans. I want you to play the role of adviser to NOPD and be our liaison. If this isn’t an abduction, you can back off, the NOPD will appreciate whatever help we gave them, and I won’t forget your help. If it turns out to be a kidnapping, you’ll be right there on top of things. If you have to hurt some feelings, do it. I know you’ll do the Bureau proud, Agent Keen. I’m counting on you to help keep this low-profile, because the family deserves our discretion. If necessary, you request a Bureau team. Call on the New Orleans field office if you need to. The lab is yours as needed. We’ll give your evidence top priority. You are representing me personally as well as the Bureau. Make us look good. Find Gary West. That’s a direct order.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Be as gentle with Evans as possible, but don’t let him block you. We don’t want the locals to think we’re working at cross-purposes or trying to steal their thunder. This is a new day for the Bureau, and all that. If we’re going to build bridges of trust and cooperation between ourselves and other law enforcement departments, we have to do whatever it takes. But if the locals get in your way, don’t hesitate to break a few heads. We are the Federal Bureau of Investigation after all.”
Bender hung up.
Alexa set the phone in its cradle, sat down on the edge of the bed, and stared at the wall trying to figure out just what the hell had happened in the hours since Casey West had walked out of her hotel room. She glanced up at her image in the mirror and was surprised by the smile she was wearing.
13
Alexa took a taxi from the Marriott. The radio was tuned to a local station so the driver could keep up with the hurricane. The driver wore a bowling shirt, a herringbone wedge cap, and a patch over one eye. A short, thick cigar jutted out of the side of his mouth like a rotten oak limb.
“…joining the governor of Louisiana, Kathleen Blanco,” the announcer said.
“Governess a’ Loosana, Katie Blanko,” the driver corrected. “She good somewhat, and perty decent-lookin’, but she ain’t no Edwin Edwards. He was a man knew what this state needed-specially N’awlins. Rest of the state hate N’awlins, always has, even though this where the money flows out to the rest of the state.”
“I understand he was more concerned with what he needed,” Alexa offered, since the moon-faced flamboyant white-haired Cajun Edwin Edwards was spending his golden years in a federal stir for taking bribes as fast as people wanting state favors could offer them up. His corruption seemed to have been a secret the entire state was in on.
“He was a great man, that man. Lived large like a king.”
“He had sticky fingers,” Alexa pointed out.
“Now, of course he took a little taste here and there, but if he don’t take the money the rich companies and all them that’s payin’ for something they need, somebody else will. Man be crazy not to get his own piece ’fore the rest of the dogs run in.”
“The old finite-amount-of-graft argument,” Alexa said, reaching into her purse for cash. “I’ve heard that one before. It rarely works.”
The governor went on with her message, “…so, since it is certain that Hurricane Katrina will make landfall on the Louisiana Coast late tomorrow night, and based on predictions of her strengthening into a category five, I am declaring that a state of emergency now exists and, as governor, I am ordering the National Guard to mobilize in Baton Rouge. People living in low-lying areas should evacuate to safer ground far inland immediately. I…”
“That storm gone turn toward Texas, she gone turn west an’ leave us alone. You gone see it fo’ yo’ self.”
“You aren’t evacuating?”
“Where I’m go’n go? I got a wife likes it right here. I got four cats that’s all old and crotchety. We go’n be safe enough in Chalmette. Even if the wind comes, by the time it gets up here, we blow back at it from the front porch.” He laughed.
“I’ll need a receipt,” she told the driver.
He handed her a printed receipt and winked at her. “This police headquarters. You in trouble with the law, little girl?”
“Perpetually,” she replied, laughing as she slid out on the sidewalk side.
Alexa looked up at the New Orleans Police Department and took a deep breath. She passed the eternal flame monument dedicated to officers killed in the line of duty and walked into the glass-fronted reception area. After she showed the disinterested policewoman behind the counter her FBI credentials, the woman made a call, handed Alexa a visitor’s pass, and told her,” Someone will be right down for you.”
Fifty seconds later, a woman in a business suit exited the elevator, strode over the composite-stone flooring to Alexa, and ordered her to follow her upstairs.
They rode up in silence with an assortment of police detectives and office workers. The escort stepped out and, walking fast down the wide corridor, led Alexa through a waiting room, an outer office, and to a door marked SUPERINTENDENT OF POLICE. The woman tapped twice and swung open the door, stepping aside to let Alexa pass into an expansive room where framed photographs, awards, and newspaper and magazine articles pertaining-and flattering-to Jackson Evans covered the walls like scales on a carp.
Jackson Evans sat regally behind his desk in his uniform. Michael Manseur was slumped in the chair opposite. Both men stood when she entered.
“Come in, Alexa,” Evans boomed in his finest microphone-ready voice. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“Detective Manseur,” Alexa said, nodding, “Superintendent Evans.”
“Please, in this room, it’s Michael and Jackson,” Evans corrected. “Can I get you a cup of coffee, Alexa?”
