“Why?” Murphy said, spinning a little in her chair to face Harper. “Something doesn’t sit right with this case. I mean, last night, I would have sworn that Ethan was connected to the murders on the houseboat, then slipped out of New Orleans right before the flight he was supposed to be on exploded, which connected the events somehow.”
“How? The NTSB’s all over the airwaves saying it’s an accident.”
“Since when did the NTSB do anything quickly? That doesn’t strike you as odd?”
“Murphy, you’re looking for a forest fire because you saw a little smoke in the air. Sometimes, coincidences happen in life. We don’t have to like them. And they sure as hell screw with investigations, but that doesn’t mean they don’t happen.”
“And sometimes coincidences are a clear sign something is going on. I don’t know which it is here.”
“You’re like a dog with a new bone, aren’t ya? If this is how you want to have a good time, do it. I’d rather head over to some hole in the wall, listen to jazz and get shit-faced. To each their own, I guess.”
“Is there a reason you dropped by this morning?”
“Yeah, I wanted to give you a heads-up. I heard from Geraldine Jackson’s assistant that she knew about the warrant from FreeMail last night. She got an earful this morning from Judge Vangelisti. The judge is pissed that you used terrorism as a ploy to get private email data since the NTSB has ruled the explosion an accident.”
“Fuck!”
“Yeah, fuck is right. Thought I’d see if you wanted to get out of here for a bit to let Jackson cool off before she finds you.”
Without saying another word, Murphy stood, grabbed her coat from the back of her chair and put it on. She then unlocked the top drawer of her desk to grab her shield and service revolver. She holstered the gun and pocketed the shield.
“Where are we going?” Murphy asked.
“Another Broken Egg?”
“You love that place.”
“Got the best beignets in New Orleans,” Harper said with a smile. “And the coffee ain’t half bad, either.”
She followed Harper out of the building and found their usual sedan parked out front. She threw Harper the keys. “You drive. I’m going to make a phone call on the way.”
They got into the sedan, buckled up and Harper merged into the traffic. Murphy fished in her pocket and found the business card ZERO’s manager had given her the day before. She dialed Ron Hightower’s number.
“Hightower,” a voice said in a clipped fashion.
“Mr. Hightower. Special Agent Sarah Murphy.”
“Agent Murphy,” Hightower responded, his voice changing in recognition. “How can I help you this morning?”
“Ethan,” she said, letting the boy’s name hang in the air for a second.
“Ethan, what? You find him?”
“We tracked him through airport security videos. He boarded a Roadrunner flight to Houston.”
Murphy heard Hightower swear. “Sorry,” he apologized. “Not sure how my people missed seeing him get on another plane.”
“In their defense,” Murphy said, “he’d disguised himself. It would have been easy to overlook. He’d wanted to slip away.”
“What the hell is Ethan doing?” Hightower said into the phone.
“I was hoping you could tell me. Do you know if he has friends or relatives in the Houston area? We’re trying to track down where he’s staying.”
“I don’t know of anyone specifically. I’ll ask the band and see if they have any ideas. Can I call you back at this number? I’m heading over to our rehearsal space now. I can get back to you in the hour?”
“Perfect. I’ll be waiting.” Agent Murphy pushed the end-call button.
* * * *
