Just Cause (66 page)

Shaeffer caught a movement out of the corner of her eye and swerved the car to the curb. 'What's that?' she said.

They all turned and saw a pair of men, crusted, abandoned, homeless, fighting over a bottle. As they watched, one man kicked the other savagely, knocking his antagonist to the sidewalk. He kicked again, swinging his leg like a pendulum, smashing it into the side and ribs of the fallen man. Finally, he stopped, reached down, seized a bottle, and clutched it close. He started to leave, seemed to think better of it, walked back and slammed his foot into the head of the beaten man. Then the assailant slithered away, moving from shadow to shadow, until disappearing.

Tanny Brown thought, I've seen poverty, prejudice, hatred, and evil and hopelessness. His eyes traveled the length of the street. Not like this. The inner city looked like the bombed-out remnants of a different nation that had just lost some terrible war. He wanted desperately to be back in Escambia County. Things there may be wrong or evil, he told himself, but at least they're familiar.

'Jesus,' Cowart said, interrupting the policeman's thoughts. 'That guy may be dead.'

But as soon as the words left his lips, they all saw the beaten man stir, rise, and limp off into a different darkness.

Shaeffer, wishing she could be anywhere else, put the car back in gear and for the third time drove them past the spot where she had lost sight of Wilcox.

'Nothing,' she said.

'All right,' Brown said abruptly, 'we're wasting our time. Let's go to Ferguson's apartment.'

The entire building was dark when they pulled in front, the sidewalks devoid of life. The car had barely ceased moving when Brown was out the door, moving swiftly up the stairs to the entrance. Cowart pushed himself to keep pace. Shaeffer brought up the rear, but called ahead, 'Second floor, first door.'

'What are we doing?' Cowart asked.

He got no reply.

The big detective's shoes resounded against the stairs, a machine-gun sound of urgency. He paused momentarily in front of Ferguson's apartment, reaching beneath his coat and producing a large handgun. Standing just to one side, he made a fist and crashed it down hard a half dozen times on the steel reinforced door.

'Police! Open up!'

He pounded again, making the whole wall shake with insistence. 'Ferguson! Open up!'

Silence battered them. Cowart was aware that Shaeffer was close to him, her own weapon out and held forward, her breathing raspy-fast. He pushed his back against the wall, the solidity affording him no protection.

Brown assaulted the door again. The blows echoed down the hallway. 'Dammit, police! Open up!'

Then nothing.

He turned toward Shaeffer. 'You're sure…'

'That's the right one,' she said, teeth clenched.

'Where the hell…'

All three heard a scraping noise from behind them. Cowart felt his insides constrict with fear. Shaeffer wheeled, bringing her weapon to bear on the sound, crying out, 'Freeze! Police!'

Brown pushed forward.

'I ain't done nothing,' said a voice.

Cowart saw a stout black woman in a frayed pale blue housecoat and pink slippers at the base of the apartment stairs. She was leaning on an aluminum walker, bobbing her head back and forth. She wore an opaque shower curtain cap, and brightly colored curlers were stuck in her hair. There was a ridiculousness in her appearance that pricked the tension building within him, deflating his fear. He instantly felt as if the three of them, guns drawn, faces set, were the ludicrous ones.

'Whatcha making all the noise for? You come in, like to raise the dead with all that pounding and shouting and racket like I never heard before. This ain't no crack house full of junkies. People live here got jobs. Got work and got to get their sleep at night. You, mister policeman, what you doing, making like some sledgehammer pounding?'

Tanny Brown stared down at the woman. Andrea Shaeffer slid past him. 'Mrs. Washington? You remember me from the other day. Detective Shaeffer. From Florida. We're looking for Ferguson again. This is Lieutenant Brown and Mister Cowart. Have you seen him?'

'He left earlier.'

'I know, shortly after six, I saw him leave.'

'No. He come back. Left again, 'bout ten. I saw him from my window.'

'Where was he going?' Tanny Brown demanded.

The woman scowled at him. 'How'm I s'posed to know? Had a couple of bags. Just left. There you go. Didn't stop to say no hellos or goodbyes. Just went walking out. Be back, mebbe. I don't know. I didn't ask no questions. Just heard him bustling 'bout up here. Then out the door, no looking back.'

She stepped back. 'Now, maybe you let some of the folks get some sleep.'

'No,' Tanny Brown said immediately. 'I want in,' he gestured with his revolver toward the apartment.

'Can't do that,' said the woman.

I want in,' he repeated.

'You got a warrant?' she asked slyly.

'I don't need a goddamn warrant,' he said. His eyes burned toward the woman.

She paused, considering. I don't want no trouble,' she said.

'You don't get the key and open that door, and you'll see more trouble than you've ever known,' Brown said.

The woman hesitated again, then turned and nodded.

Her husband, who'd been out of sight, hove into view. He carried a jangling key ring. He was wearing an old pajama top over a pair of faded and tattered khaki trousers. His feet were stuck into untied boots. He moved his stringy legs rapidly up the stairs.

'Shouldn't be doing this,' he said, glaring at Brown. He pushed past and faced the apartment door. Shouldn't be doing this,' he repeated.

He started feeding keys into the lock. It took three before the door swung open.

'Oughta have a warrant,' he said. Tanny Brown immediately pushed past him, ignoring his words. He found a light switch on the wall and quickly walked through the apartment, gun out, checking the bathroom and bedroom, making certain they were alone.

'Empty,' he said. The words echoed the sensation that tore within him. Empty and cold and like a tomb. He stared around the silent space, knowing what had happened yet refusing to allow himself to think what was loose in the world. He walked through the center of the small apartment, over to the desk where Ferguson had once sat. The student, he thought. An assortment of papers had fallen in disarray to the floor. He kicked at them and looked up and saw Matthew Cowart staring about at the room.

'Gone, Cowart said. His voice was shocked and quiet.

The reporter took a deep breath. He had expected Ferguson to be there, mocking them all, thinking himself forever just beyond their reach. There's no time now, he realized. He could feel the story he had been planning to write slipping through his fingers. No time. He's out there and he will do whatever he wants. The reporter's mind raced through scene after scene. He had no idea what Ferguson intended, whether his child was at risk or not. Or some other child. Nothing was safe. He looked over at Tanny Brown and realized the detective was thinking precisely the same thing.

The night closed rapidly toward dawn but promised no relief from the darkness that had descended upon each of them.

They lost hours to fatigue and bureaucracy.

Tanny Brown felt trapped between procedure and fear. After discovering Ferguson's apartment empty, he had felt compelled to report Wilcox's disappearance to the local police, while at the same time believing that every instant passing distanced him from his quarry. He and Shaeffer had spent the remainder of the night with a pair of Newark gold shields, neither of whom fully understood why they had each arrived from a different part of the state of Florida to question a man suspected of no current crime. The two gold shields had listened blankly to her account of the stakeout with Wilcox and acted surprised when she described how he'd taken off into the gloom and darkness after Ferguson. Their approach seemed to express a certain acceptance that whatever Wilcox had got, he'd deserved; it made no sense to them that a man, out of his jurisdiction, far from any familiar territory, driven by anger, would pursue a man deep into a country they clearly thought was not a part of the United States, but some alien nation with its own rules, laws, and codes of behavior. Tanny Brown bristled at their attitudes, thinking them racist, if logistically correct. Shaeffer marveled at their callousness. More than once, she promised herself that no matter how terrible things might become for her as a policeman, she would never succumb to what she heard in their voices. where she'd last seen Wilcox and showing them the route that she'd followed in her search. They had returned to Ferguson's apartment, but there was still no sign of him. The two gold shields clearly didn't believe that he had left the city, however.

Shortly before dawn, they told Brown they would put out a BOLO for Wilcox and would assign a team to canvas the streets asking for him. But they insisted Brown contact his own office, as if they actually believed that Wilcox would show up in Escambia County.

Cowart spent the night waiting in his motel room for the two detectives. He had no idea how great the threat might be to him or his daughter, only knew that as each minute slid past, his position worsened and his only weapon, the news story, grew more remote. No story would have an impact unless he knew where Ferguson was. Ferguson had to be trapped by the story, he had to be immediately surrounded with questions, mired in denials. It was the only way Cowart could buy time to protect himself. Ferguson abroad in the world was a constant, invisible danger. Cowart knew that before a word appeared in the paper, he had to find Ferguson once again.

He stared at his wristwatch, seeing the second hand race through each minute, reminded of the clock on Death Row.

Now you're beginning to know a bit…

He realized he could delay no further. Ignoring the sure-to-be terrifying impact of the middle-of-the-night call, he picked up the telephone and dialed his ex-wife's number.

It rang twice before he heard her new husband's voice groan an acknowledgement.

'Tom? It's Matt Cowart. Sorry to disturb you, but I've got a problem, and…'

'Matt? Jesus. Do you know what time it is? Christ, I've got to be in court in the morning. What through the darkness. He couldn't hear what she said but heard her new husband's response. 'It's your ex. He's got some sort of emergency, I guess.'

There was a pause, then he heard both voices on the phone.

'Okay, Matty? What the hell is it?'

The lawyer's tones had taken over, irritated, imperious. Before he could answer, the man added, 'Oh, Christ, there's the baby waking up. Shit.'

Matthew Cowart wished he'd rehearsed a speech. 'I think Becky's in danger,' he said.

The phone line was quiet for a moment, then both people responded.

'What danger? Matty, what are you talking about?' It was his ex-wife.

'The man I wrote about. The one on Death Row. He threatened Becky. He knows where you live.'

Another pause before Tom responded, 'But why? You wrote he didn't kill anyone…'

1 might have been wrong.'

'But why Becky?'

'He doesn't want me to write anything different.'

'Now look, Matt, what did this man say, exactly? Let's get this straight. What sort of threat?'

I don't know. Look, it's not that, I don't know, it's all…' He realized the impossibility of what he was saying.

'Matt, Christ. You call in the middle of the damn night and…'

The lawyer was interrupted by his wife. 'Matty, is this serious? Is this for real?'

'Sandy, I wish I could tell you what was real and what isn't. All I know is this man is dangerous and I no longer know where he is and so I had to do something, and I called you.'

'But Matt,' the lawyer interjected. 'We need to know some details. I need to have some appreciation of what the hell this all means.'

Matthew Cowart felt a sudden rage slide within him.

'No, you goddamn don't. You don't need to know a goddamn thing except Becky may be in danger. That there's one goddamn dangerous man out there and that he knows where you live and he wants to be able to strike at me through Becky. Got that? Got it good? That's all you need to know. No, Sandy, pack a damn bag and take Becky someplace. Someplace neutral. Like up to Michigan to see your aunt. Do it right away. First flight in the morning. Just go until I get this straightened out. I will get it straightened out, I promise you. But I can't do that unless I know Becky's safe and out of danger and someplace where this man can't get to her. Just go now. Do you understand? It's not worth the risk.'

There was another momentary pause, then his ex-wife replied, 'All right.'

Her husband immediately interjected. 'Sandy! Jesus, we don't know…'

'We'll know soon enough,' she said. 'Matty, will you call me? Will you please call Tom and explain this? As soon as you can?'

'I will.'

'Jesus,' said the new husband. Then he added, 'Matty, I hope this isn't some crazy… ' He stopped, hesitated, then said, 'Actually, I hope it is. I hope it is all crazy.' And when you call me with your goddamn explanation, it's a good one. I don't understand why I just don't call the police, or maybe hire a private investigator…'

'Because the damn police can't do anything about a threat! They can't do anything until something happens! She won't be safe, even if you hire the goddamn National Guard to watch over her. You've just got to get her someplace where this guy can't reach her.'

'What about Becky?' his ex-wife said. 'This is going to scare the hell out of her.'

I know,' Cowart replied. Despair and impotence seemed to curl about him like smoke. 'But the alternatives are a whole lot worse.'

This man… ' the lawyer started.

"The man is a killer,' Co wart said between clenched teeth.