Page 34 of Girl, Accused

The backstage area assaulted Ella's senses the moment she stepped through. Intense body heat. The chemical tang of hairspray. Murmured prayers and nervous laughter. Men and women scurried between makeshift dressing areas, some in suits and ties, others in flowing robes that made them look like extras from a nativity play.

‘Spread out,’ Ripley said.

Ella nodded and peeled right. She scanned the faces around her, comparing each to the file photo of Caldwell she'd memorized. No matches. She pushed deeper into the crowd, noting details with the automatic precision that had been drilled into her at Quantico. Three exits. Two fire extinguishers. One guard who looked like he might be carrying under his jacket.

‘Excuse me.’

The voice came from behind her. Ella turned to see a man in a powder blue suit. His nametag identified him as Gary Fletcher, Event Coordinator.

‘Hi,’ Ella said.

‘Can I help you? I know every face here,but not yours.’

Ella flashed her badge again. ‘FBI. We're looking for Jeremy Caldwell.’

‘Brother Caldwell? Is there a problem?’

‘Official investigation. We need to speak with Caldwell immediately.’

A roar of applause from the main tent cut through their conversation. A voice boomed through speakers:‘Are you ready to be cleansed by the light of the Lord?’Cheers erupted from somewhere outside. The faithful were getting warmed up.

‘Caldwell is our second speaker on. He’ll be onstage in thirty.’

Just then, the crowd roared again. From her vantage point, Ella spotted someone taking the stage. ‘So, where might he be now?’

‘Perhaps wait until his sermon is finished?’

‘This can't wait.’

Greaves sighed the put-upon sigh of a man accustomed to managing difficult people. He pointed across the room. 'He's over there. Blue shirt. Please make it quick.'

Ella spotted him immediately. Jeremy Caldwell was sitting in a chair, and he stood out from the rest because he was a slim figure with close-cropped hair and the thousand-yard stare of someone looking at something no one else could see. His lips were moving as he read from what Ella guessed were his speech notes.

Caldwell didn't look up. As she approached, snippets of his whispered chant reached her ears.

‘And the Lord said, 'What hast thou done? The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground.'‘

It was all Greek to her. She found her voice. ‘Jeremy Caldwell?’

Caldwell's head snapped up. For a heartbeat, they were locked in a staring contest across a no-man's-land of patchy grass. His eyes were the pale blue of winter sky, and behind them lurked that peculiar distance that separated killers from the rest of humanity.

‘Yes?’

‘FBI. We need to ask you some questions.’

Time stretched. Ella saw the moment recognition hit him, saw his pupils dilate with fight-or-flight instinct. She tensed, ready to move. She studied him with a profiler's eye. Athletic build, maybe 150 pounds of around 10% body fat beneath that cheap suit. The kind of body thatcould easily overpower a middle-aged professor or an unsuspecting therapist.

Caldwell's hand twitched toward his pocket. Weapon? Bible? The distinction felt dangerously thin. He rose from his chair with the deliberate slowness of someone trying not to spook a dangerous animal.

Stillness reigned for another heartbeat.

And then Jeremy Caldwell ran.

He became a blur of motion as he sped to the left. Yelps came from people that Caldwell brushed past. A man in a headset looked between the moving blur and Ella confusedly.

She didn’t waste time with words. Demanding him to stop wasn’t going to get any results.

So Ella rushed in pursuit.

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