must have seen the woman shoot the first deputy and maybe the older woman shooting at us.”
“Don't you think the elevator operator would have cleared it up with the cops, if he saw it?”
She remembered the operator and her hopes sank. “He's pretty old and the lobby is big and gloomy. I don't know what he actually saw.”
“What kinds of guns did the women killers have?”
“Silenced ones.”
“Automatics or revolvers?”
“Automatics. Why would the FBI assume I was responsible, if there were no witnesses?”
“You ran, and the FBI believes you and your late husband were a team. Those two dead marshals were specialists. The FBI believes you couldn't have killed them unless you were a professional. I would tend to think you killing those men was highly unlikely unless you were a pro.”
“I couldn't kill anybody. Well, not unless it was to stay alive, and I certainly wouldn't shoot at people who were trying to help me.”
“What about the money?” he asked. “Where did you get the fake passport and the five thousand dollars the FBI found with your things?”
She had known the cops would find her duffel, and that this question could come up. She decided to tell him the truth. “It was my mother's idea. She had me put that money and the passport in a safe place in case I ever needed it.” She didn't tell him where she had left it, not wanting to make trouble for her banker friend. Trammel's eyes were unreadable, but they both knew that normal mothers didn't hide money and falsified passports in far-off cities in case their children had reason to flee for their lives.
“Why did you run away from the hotel in Arlington?”
“I was just freaked out after Rook Island. Out of the seven deputies protecting us, they killed all but one. Shapiro said he wouldn't keep watching me, but he lied. I didn't trust that someone inside the Marshals Service wasn't involved. I don't trust anybody except Winter.”
“If it isn't true about you and your husband being a team, why, now that he's dead, do those people still want to kill you?”
“I don't have the slightest idea. Maybe they think I know something. I also don't know how those fugitive deputies and those people found me.”
“I know how those deputies located you,” Trammel said. “Shapiro recorded your voice during a conversation. He got the NSA to add your voice pattern to an audio net covering electronic transmissions. The machines intercepted your voice, traced it. The two deputies went to Richmond and searched until they found you.”
“What about those women? I doubt they followed my scent from D.C.”
“That I don't know,” he conceded.
“You've already decided I'm guilty.”
He sat back and contemplated her for a moment. “I didn't say I thought you were guilty.”
Her nose began to itch. “Can you please uncuff me or at least come around here and scratch my nose?” She felt a tear roll down her cheek.
Trammel shot up, came briskly around the desk, and removed her handcuffs.
Sean rubbed her nose, snatched a tissue from a box on his desk, and wiped her cheek.
“If you were guilty, you wouldn't have left your duffel in that lobby. A trained professional would have had her running money and fake passport on her person. I believe your story because it makes the most sense. I don't know how two professional killers missed you, but gunfights are confusing affairs.”
“What's next?”
“I'm going to tell Director Shapiro what you've told me. What happens after that is up to him.”
“Where's Winter?”
Trammel winced involuntarily. “I wish I knew.” Hank lifted the telephone. “You still have that damaged computer?”
“In my motel room along with my leather jacket.”
“You think there's a bullet still in it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure that one of those women killers fired that round? Could either of the marshals have fired it?”
“I'm positive the younger woman did, because I remember feeling it get hit. Why?”
“Might support your story. I'm going to send somebody to your motel. In the meanwhile, you just relax.”
Relax? Sean almost laughed out loud.
81
Charlotte, North Carolina
While a deputy went to the downtown motel to retrieve Sean's leather jacket and her backpack containing the damaged laptop computer, Trammel e-mailed Director Shapiro. Sean sat on the couch, at first watching him but soon relaxed enough to nod off.
After the runner returned from the motel, Hank sent Sean's computer to his technician, Eddie Morgan, so he could retrieve the bullet from inside it. Trammel planned to send that along with Sean's Smith amp; Wesson for ballistic comparison purposes.
Trammel sat on the couch next to Sean. “Tell you what,” he started after she had woken, “you call me Hank and I'll call you Sean. That okay?”
“It's fine.”
“Sean, Rook Island and Ward Field are on a need-to-know-only deal. I have a good overview on the incidents, but I'm curious about what happened on Rook. I'd like for you to tell me what Winter did there when those men attacked.”
“He saved my life.”
“I know that. I'd like to know what you saw-how he did what he did.”
Sean studied Winter's boss, unsure of what she should say. Trammel reminded her of a proud parent wanting to hear about his child's football game. “I'll tell you, if you're sure it's all right.”
“The reports won't give it justice and Winter won't blow his own horn. So I want you to tell me everything.”
Sean had gotten to the part in the radar shack where Winter was taking the UNSUB's suit off when the receptionist interrupted by tapping on the door, then opening it. She entered carrying a FedEx package. “Sir, I think you might want to see this. It's addressed to Winter and the return is a cafeteria on the Norfolk Naval Base. I know you said if we heard anything from Winter to let you know, and while this isn't from him-”
“A cafeteria at Norfolk?” Trammel queried, reaching out for the package.
“Reed is the only name in the return box.”
As the receptionist closed the door behind her, Trammel opened the package and extracted a manila envelope as well as a number-ten envelope with the Navy's seal on it. Trammel unfolded the enclosed letter and displayed a worried expression as he read. “Fletcher Reed?” He stood and carried the package to his desk. “Sorry, Sean, this is important. I gotta check out this fellow.”
“Fletcher Reed is a lieutenant commander with the shore patrol. He was on Rook Island before the FBI arrived.”
Hank tore open the larger envelope and flipped through the contents; a stack of eight-and-a-half-by-eleven sheets of paper. From the few Sean could see, each of the pages had pictures and type on them. He swiveled his chair to his computer and typed an e-mail using two fingers. Two minutes later, as he studied the pages from the envelope, a bell alerted him that he had received a response. Seconds after reading the short message, Hank stacked as many of the pages in his fax machine as could fit and sent them.
Sean watched from the couch. After Hank had finished faxing the pages, he left the room carrying them and returned two minutes later with a duplicate set. He carefully put the originals back into the FedEx envelope and slipped that into a larger envelope, which he sealed. Hank put the photocopies into a manila envelope. That done,
