living. She didn’t. And if the FBI closed in? Well, she had decided
from the moment she learned her husband was alive that his chances of
keeping that life intact would be considerably enhanced if he would
place himself in the hands of the authorities.
Sawyer paced the room, hands shoved in his pockets. He had drunk so
much coffee he could feel his bladder shooting nasty signals at him. The
phone rang. The young agent answered it, identified the caller as Ray
Jackson, and then handed it over to Sawyer, who took off his headphones.
“Yeah?” Sawyer’s voice was vibrating with anticipation. He rubbed at
his bloodshot eyes; a quarter century of pulling this kind of duty
didn’t make it any easier on the body.
“So how’s the Big Easy?” Ray Jackson sounded fresh and alert.
Sawyer looked around at the crumbling surroundings. “Well, from where
I’m standing, it’s sorely in need of a broom and some paint.”
Jackson chuckled. “Well, your tracking down Sidney Archer at the
airport is already the stuff of legend around here. I still don’t know
how you did it.”
“Yeah, but I’m afraid I just wore my lucky rabbit’s foot clean out with
that one, Ray. Tell me you got something for me.” Sawyer switched the
receiver to his right ear and stretched his left arm until a cramp
worked itself loose.
“You bet I do. Want to guess?”
“Ray, I love you, man, I really do, but my bed last night was a sleeping
bag on a cold floor, and there’s not one part of my body that doesn’t
ache. On top of that I’ve got no clean underwear, so unless you want me
to shoot you on sight when I get back, start talking.”
“Stay cool, big guy. Okay, you were absolutely right, Sidney Archer did
visit the crash site in the middle of the night.”
“You’re sure?” Sawyer was convinced he was right, but years of habit
required independent substantiation.
“One of the local cops…” Sawyer heard papers being shuffled over the
phone line, “Deputy Eugene McKenna, wasn duty that night when Sidney
Archer pulls up. McKenna thinks she’s just a curiosity-seeker and tells
her to head on out, but then she tells him about her husband being on
the plane. She just wants to look around; she’s all broken up. McKenna
feels sorry for her, you know, driving all night to get there and all.
He checks her out, confirms she is who she says she is and then drives
her up near the crash site so she can at least watch what’s going on.”
Jackson paused.
Sawyer was irritable. “So how the hell does that help us?”
“Man, you are grouchy. I’m getting to that. On the drive up, Archer
asks about a canvas bag with her husband’s initials on it. She had seen
it on TV. I guess it had been thrown off in the crash and was found and
put with the other collected debris. Bottom line: She wanted to get
that bag.”
Sawyer sat down, looked out the window and then refocused on the phone.
“What did McKenna tell her?”
“That it was evidence and wasn’t even on-site anymore. That she’d
probably get it back after the investigation was complete but that that
would be a while, maybe years.”
Sawyer stood up and absentmindedly poured himself another cup of coffee
from the pot on the hot plate while he worked through this latest
development. His bladder would just have to deal with it.
“Ray, what exactly did McKenna say about Archer’s appearance that
night?”
“I know what you’re thinking. Did she really believe her husband was on
that plane? McKenna said if she was faking, she’d make Katharine
Hepburn look like the world’s worst actress.”
“Okay, we’ll let that ride for now. What about the bag? You got it?”
“Damn straight. Right on my desk here.”
“And?” Sawyer’s shoulders tensed, then dropped just as suddenly at his
partner’s response.
“Nothing. At least nothing we can find. The lab’s been through it
three times. Just some clothes, a couple of travel books. Notepad with
nothing written on it. No surprises, Lee.”
“Why would she drive all that way in the middle of the night for that?”