Page 87 of The 9th Man

“Good to hear. Tell me what you found out.”

“Theharvestemail addresses is a dead end. It’s a truly unique address. A Googlewhack extraordinaire.”

“You sound impressed.”

“Most of the tech issues I deal with are pretty simple.”

“For you, maybe.”

“This one is a mystery. It’s almost like it doesn’t exist.”

The ziplock, vial, and flash drive were still safe in his pocket. Unaffected by the swim. They all required attention. But Marcia was hundreds of miles away.

So he was on his own.

“I need a laptop,” he told Marcia. “Along with some privacy. Especially the latter. I’m in Louisiana. Any suggestions?”

They left Lafayette and drove sixty miles to Baton Rouge, zeroing in on the address Marcia had provided. It led to a shady street of 1950s ranch-style homes. Julie Hopkins was the head archivist for the East Baton Rouge Parish Historical Society. According to Marcia she was smart, clever, thorough, and one of her oldest and dearest friends. Totally trustworthy. A call en route told him that a fresh laptop would be waiting for him to use.

“Pigeon knows the score,” Marcia said. “She’s at work, if you need her. I’ll text her cell number. Otherwise, the house is yours for as long as you need it.”

Which seemed like a perfect place to lie low a little while and think.

“There, on the right,” Jillian said, pointing.

He pulled into the driveway and shut off the engine. “Marcia says the Pigeon nickname came from raising messenger pigeons with her father. She loves them.”

Though relatively certain they’d been neither followed nor tracked, he didn’t want to risk turning someone else’s life upside down. So it was good Julie Hopkins was out for the day.

“Marcia gave me the door code and WiFi password. I was told we’re to make ourselves at home.”

41

LUKE WAS A LITTLE DISAPPOINTED.

Aside from a few figurines in the living room, the house bore no sign of Julie’s fondness for pigeons. The interior was comfortable and cozy. Jillian switched on lights and he checked the fridge for something to eat and drink. Marcia had said to make themselves at home.

“She sure loves herring and sauerkraut,” he called out from the open refrigerator. “For the life of me I have no idea why.”

He checked the freezer and found two packs of frozen lasagna. That and the beer in the fridge would make an excellent early dinner. He joined Jillian on the living room couch.

Time to come clean.

“I’ve got something else,” he said.

And he showed her the vial. “It was hidden in the nylon bag from the safe.”

“You’re just now mentioning this?”

“We’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

She examined the drive through the clear plastic. “What do you think?”

“Talley burned Simmons’s house to the ground, with everything in it, for a reason. But this survived. Which is why we’re here. We have to take a look. But first, we need food and beer.”

The lasagna took an hour to cook. While they waited he called Stephanie and reported more of what had happened. He’d already provided her some of the details a few hours ago.

“I paid Thomas Rowland a visit,” she told him.

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