Page 31 of Sting

“He shoots them in the car, abandons it with the bodies inside and sure to be found, then what?”

“It’s anybody’s guess,” Hick said. “Nobody knows how he got out of the area or where and how he crossed the border. He arrived in New Orleans midday Thursday on a flight from Dallas / Fort Worth. He grabbed a meal at an airport Chili’s before boarding.”

“How’d he get to Dallas?”

“We’ve got guys working backward from there, but so far, they haven’t found a trail. All that’s known is that he called a taxi to take him to the airport from a local motel, where he spent one night. We have him on numerous security cameras at DFW.” Hick shuffled through photos, pointing out Shaw Kinnard in blurry shots of the busy, crowded airport. “Outside our airport, he hailed a taxi and had it drop him at the Doubletree. But he didn’t check in.”

“He walked through and went out another door.”

“Not before waving to the security camera,” Hick said sourly. “He exited the side-street door, strolled off down the sidewalk, and that was the last anyone saw of him until he showed up at that bar with Mickey Bolden.”

Joe belched behind his fist. “What ID did he use when he went through DFW’s security?”

“Georgia driver’s license. Breezed through. He checked a bag. His weapons must’ve been in it.”

Joe grumbled, “Don’t count on it.”

He stuffed his trash into the carryout sack, then stood up and made a circuit of the small room, giving Hick time to wolf down his sandwich. Joe resumed by asking, “Anything out of Mississippi?”

Mickey Bolden had kept an apartment in Biloxi. Basic shelter. Nothing fancy by any stretch. It was paid for by what he earned as a maître d’ at a restaurant in one of the shabbier casino hotels. He reported his gratuities to the IRS, as any solid citizen would, and paid his income taxes and bills on time.

His hobby, for which he seemed to have a passion, was far more lucrative than the restaurant job. Unfortunately the Bureau hadn’t yet discovered where he banked the fees he earned by snuffing people, which was one reason they were never able to make a case against him that a prosecutor felt would hold up in court.

“Last Wednesday, Bolden told his employer that he needed to take a few days off,” Hick said.

“Which he did periodically.”

“And nobody ever asked why.”

“Probably because everybody knew why,” Joe remarked.

“Probably. Anyway, he hasn’t been seen around his Biloxi apartment since Thursday evening. But the car registered to him is still in the parking lot.”

“Rental?”

“None leased in his name.”

Joe hadn’t expected there to be. Mickey would have had someone under the radar who supplied him with a vehicle when he went to a job.

“I did hear from Morrow,” Hicks said, “but don’t get excited. Deputies canvassed Jordie Bennett’s neighborhood. One lady noticed an unfamiliar car parked at the end of the street yesterday. In a nutshell, all she remembers is that it was dark in color and had four wheels.”

Joe chuffed.

“There might have been two men inside. She couldn’t say with any degree of certainty.”

Law enforcement agencies in Louisiana and surrounding states were on the lookout for Shaw Kinnard and Jordie Bennett, but they didn’t even know what kind of vehicle to be looking for or in which direction Kinnard was headed. So far no sightings had been reported even by the crazies who routinely reported they’d seen Elvis and Osama bin Laden.

“Agents have been interviewing Ms. Bennett’s employees and friends with whom she keeps in touch,” Hick said. “All went hysterical when told of her disappearance and probable abduction. None were helpful, but they sing the same chorus. It must have to do with her brother and Billy Panella.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Joe groused. “Anybody contact Jackson Terrell?”

“He was reached by phone at a ritzy wellness spa in Colorado. Woke him up, and he wasn’t alone.”

“New girlfriend?”

“New wife. They got married several months ago.”

“Guess we weren’t invited.”

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