Page 83 of Dead Air
"Which is why we need to move quickly on the Byrd angle." Claire's strategic thinking was fully engaged. "She's still in Savannah. Still operating under the assumption that her involvement remains hidden."
"What do you suggest?" Lawson navigated through empty streets, heading toward downtown without a conscious destination.
"Direct confrontation. Present the evidence. Force her to choose between cooperation and federal prosecution."
Parks shook his head, security training asserting itself. "Dangerous approach. Byrd has resources and connections we can't fully predict."
"Less dangerous than allowing her to continue operating." Claire's conviction strengthened. "Every day we delay gives her more opportunities to destroy evidence or eliminate witnesses."
Lawson weighed the options while driving toward the city center. Direct confrontation carried significant risks but offered the potential for immediate resolution. A federal investigation provided procedural safety but required time they might not have with Blackwell in immediate danger.
"Where would we find Byrd at this hour?" she asked.
"Home address is public record. But approaching her residence puts us in violation of numerous regulations." Claire's lawyer instincts warred with her desire for justice.
"We're already beyond regulations." Lawson reminded her. "I'm on the lam. You're harboring a fugitive. Parks is risking his career. At this point, direct action might be our only viable option."
"Valid point." Claire paused briefly. "I'm sending Byrd's address now. You can decide how to proceed."
The text arrived within seconds. Residential address in Savannah's historic district. Expensive neighborhood where judges and successful attorneys maintained their public images alongside old-money families.
"Claire, document everything we've discovered. Create multiple backup copies. If this confrontation goes wrong, make sure the evidence reaches federal authorities."
"Already handled." Claire's efficiency provided reassurance. "Every document, every recording, every connection has been transmitted to multiple secure locations. Nothing disappears even if we do."
"Good." Lawson ended the call and turned to Parks. "Ready to interview a judge?"
chapter
thirty-one
Judge Byrd'sestate sprawled across two acres in Savannah's most exclusive historic district. Wrought-iron gates guarded the entrance to grounds that belonged in architectural magazines. Manicured lawns stretched between century-old live oaks draped with Spanish moss. The main house rose three stories, its Federal-style columns and wraparound porches speaking of old money and established power.
Lawson parked two blocks away, positioning the car where they could observe the property through binoculars without attracting attention. The neighborhood slept peacefully around them—expensive homes occupied by people who trusted their security systems and assumed their wealth protected them from the violence that plagued less fortunate areas.
"Motion sensors on the gate posts." Parks studied the entrance through his field glasses. "Cameras covering the driveway approach. Professional security installation."
"Expected for a federal judge." Lawson scanned the grounds systematically. "Pool house behind the main residence. Guest cottage near the back fence. Multiple outbuildings."
"Any activity?"
"Lights on in the main house. Second floor, what looks like a home office." She adjusted focus, examining windows for movement. "Pool house is dark."
They settled into surveillance routine, taking turns monitoring the property while the other documented observations or contacted backup resources. The digital clock on the dashboard showed 11:47 p.m., late enough that most legitimate activity should have concluded.
"There." Parks pointed toward the estate's eastern boundary. "Movement near the fence line."
Lawson swung her binoculars toward the indicated area. A figure moved through shadows cast by oak trees, staying clear of the main driveway's lighting. Athletic build. Deliberate movements suggesting familiarity with the property layout.
"Professional approach pattern." She tracked the figure's progress toward the pool house. "Knows where the cameras are positioned."
The intruder reached the pool house without triggering any visible security responses. Instead of forcing entry, they produced what appeared to be a key.
"Authorized access." Parks lowered his binoculars. "Either Byrd's expecting someone or this person has legitimate access to the property."
"Or they've been here before. Either way, we need to get closer."
They approached on foot, leaving the car parked. The estate's perimeter fence stood eight feet tall, wrought iron with decorative spear points that would discourage casual intruders. Parks located a section where landscaping provided cover from the main house's sight lines.
