“Oh my, I don’t know if he said. Maybe TWA…no, United, I think. It leaves at two forty-five out of Eppley,” she added, as if that should be all that was necessary.
Now Nick glanced at his watch. It was almost two-thirty. He and Maggie split up at the ticket counters, flashing credentials and badges to shove their way through the lines and hurry the desk clerks.
The tall woman at the TWA counter refused to be rushed by a county sheriff’s badge. Nick wished he had Maggie’s FBI influence. Instead, he used his smile and a little flattery. The woman’s rigid expression slowly softened, though it was hard to see the change. Her hair was pulled back so tightly into a neat little bun that it made all her features look severe, stretched and pinned down. Perhaps that was also what made her lips so thin, barely moving when she talked.
“I’m sorry, Sheriff Morrelli. I cannot disclose our passenger list or information about any of our passengers. Please, you’re holding up the line.”
“Okay, okay. How about flights? Do you have a flight to anywhere in Venezuela, say in…” He glanced at his watch again. “In ten to fifteen minutes?”
She checked her computer screen, taking time despite the heavy sighs and shuffling coming from the line behind him.
“We have a flight to Miami that connects with an international flight to Caracas.”
“Great! What gate?”
“Gate 11, but that flight left at two-fifteen.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. The weather is excellent. All our flights are running on schedule.” She looked around him at a short, gray-haired man, anxious to hand off his ticket.
“Can you check to see if a coffin was on that flight?” Nick asked, refusing to budge despite an elbow in his back.
“I beg your pardon?”
“A coffin, as in a dead body.” He could feel the eyes around him, now staring, now interested. “It would be considered cargo. I’m sure I wouldn’t be infringing on its rights.” He tried another smile. From behind him, someone giggled.
The ticket clerk wasn’t pleased. The thin lips drew even tighter. “I still cannot divulge that information. Now, if you’ll step aside.”
“You know I can get a court order and be back later this afternoon.” No more Mr. Nice Guy. He was quickly losing his patience and time was slipping away.
“Perhaps that would be a good idea. Next, who was next, please?” she said, stepping aside when Nick wouldn’t, so she could help the elderly man behind him in line. The man shoved his way to the counter, shooting Nick a look filled with anger and impatience.
Nick moved over to stand near where Maggie talked to another ticket agent.
“Thanks, anyway,” she told the desk clerk at the United counter, then followed him to a corner out of the traffic.
She looked drained, even more pale, if that was possible. He wanted to ask if she was okay, but had already gotten three or four “I’m fine’s” on the drive to the airport.
“TWA has a flight to Miami that connects to one that goes on to Caracas,” Nick told her, watching her face.
“Let’s go. What gate?” But she didn’t move, leaning against the wall as if to catch her breath.
“It left about twenty minutes ago.”
“We missed it? Was Keller on board?”
“The desk clerk wouldn’t tell me. We may need a court order to find out. What do we do now? Is it worth going down there, trying to catch him before the connecting flight leaves? If he gets to South America we may never find him. Maggie?”
Was she even listening? It wasn’t the pain that distracted her. Her eyes were focused over his shoulder. “Maggie?” He tried again. “I think I just found Ray Howard.”
Chapter 102
Maggie recognized the confusion in Nick’s face. She felt a bit of her own stuck somewhere down between her throat and chest Confusion bordered on frustration, or perhaps frustration bordered on panic.
“Maybe he simply brought Father Keller to the airport,” Nick said in a low, quiet voice, though Howard was clear across the ticket lobby, far from overhearing.
“I usually don’t take along luggage when I drop people off at the airport,” Maggie said.
The large gray and black duffel bag looked heavy, making Howard’s limp more pronounced. He wore his usual uniform of well-pressed brown trousers, white shirt and tie. A navy blazer replaced the cardigan.
“Tell me again why he isn’t a suspect?” Nick asked without taking his eyes off Howard.
Suddenly, Maggie couldn’t remember any of her reasons, finally, she said, “The limp. Remember the boys may have been carried into the woods. And Timmy was sure the guy didn’t limp.”
They watched Howard stop to examine the flight-schedule board, then head for the escalators.
“I don’t know, Maggie. That duffel bag sure looks heavy.”
“Yes, it does,” she said, and hurried toward the escalators with Nick alongside.
Howard hesitated at the down escalator, waiting to get his footing right before stepping on.
“Mr. Howard,” Maggie called out.
Howard looked over his shoulder, grabbed the railing and did a double take. This time a flash of panic appeared in his lizard eyes. He jumped onto the escalator and ran down the moving steps, clearing a path with the duffel bag, striking and pushing people out of the way.
“I’ll take the stairs.” Nick raced for the emergency exit.
Maggie followed Howard, ripping her revolver from its holster and holding it nose up.
“FBI!” she yelled, clearing her own path.
Howard’s speed surprised her. He weaved through the crowd, zigzagging around luggage gurneys and leaping over an abandoned pet carrier. He shoved travelers aside, knocking down a small, blue-haired lady and smashing through a group of Japanese tourists. He kept looking back at Maggie, his mouth open to breathe, his forehead glistening with sweat.
She was closing in on him, though her own breathing disappointed her. The ragged gasps sounded as if they were coming from a ventilator, surely not her own chest. She ignored the flame in her side, burning her flesh once again.
Howard stopped suddenly, grabbed a luggage cart from a stunned flight attendant and shoved it at Maggie. The suitcases snapped free. One burst open, spewing cosmetics, shoes, clothes and assorted unmentionables across the floor. Maggie skidded on a pair of lace panties, lost her balance and fell into the mess, smashing a bottle of liquid makeup with her knee.
Howard headed for the parking garage, smiling over his shoulder. He was almost to the door, hugging the duffel bag, his gait finally staggered by the limp. He pushed open the door just as Nick grabbed his jacket collar and swung him around. Howard fell to his knees and covered his head with his arms as if expecting a blow. Nick’s hands, however, never left Howard’s collar.
Maggie struggled to her feet while the flight attendant scrambled for her belongings. Nick’s eyes were filled with concern for Maggie, even as his hands clutched Howard’s collar, rendering him immobile.
“I’m fine,” Maggie said before he asked. But when she replaced her revolver, she felt the sticky wetness through her blouse. Her fingertips were smeared with blood when she brought her hand out from inside her jacket,
“Jesus, Maggie.” Nick noticed immediately. Howard did, too, and he smiled. “What are you doing here, Ray?” Nick responded, tightening his grip and turning Howard’s smile into a grimace.
“I brought Father Keller. He had a flight to catch. Why were you chasing me? I didn’t do nothing wrong.”
“Then why did you run?”
