Just Cause

Then nothing.

He turned toward Shaeffer. 'You're sure…'

'That's the right one,' she said, teeth clenched.

'Where the hell…'

All three heard a scraping noise from behind them. Cowart felt his insides constrict with fear. Shaeffer wheeled, bringing her weapon to bear on the sound, crying out, 'Freeze! Police!'

Brown pushed forward.

'I ain't done nothing,' said a voice.

Cowart saw a stout black woman in a frayed pale blue housecoat and pink slippers at the base of the apartment stairs. She was leaning on an aluminum walker, bobbing her head back and forth. She wore an opaque shower curtain cap, and brightly colored curlers were stuck in her hair. There was a ridiculousness in her appearance that pricked the tension building within him, deflating his fear. He instantly felt as if the three of them, guns drawn, faces set, were the ludicrous ones.

'Whatcha making all the noise for? You come in, like to raise the dead with all that pounding and shouting and racket like I never heard before. This ain't no crack house full of junkies. People live here got jobs. Got work and got to get their sleep at night. You, mister policeman, what you doing, making like some sledgehammer pounding?'

Ta

'He left earlier.'

'I know, shortly after six, I saw him leave.'

'No. He come back. Left again, 'bout ten. I saw him from my window.'

'Where was he going?' Ta

The woman scowled at him. 'How'm I s'posed to know? Had a couple of bags. Just left. There you go. Didn't stop to say no hellos or goodbyes. Just went walking out. Be back, mebbe. I don't know. I didn't ask no questions. Just heard him bustling 'bout up here. Then out the door, no looking back.'

She stepped back. 'Now, maybe you let some of the folks get some sleep.'

'No,' Ta

'Can't do that,' said the woman.

I want in,' he repeated.

'You got a warrant?' she asked slyly.

'I don't need a goddamn warrant,' he said. His eyes burned toward the woman.

She paused, considering. I don't want no trouble,' she said.

'You don't get the key and open that door, and you'll see more trouble than you've ever known,' Brown said.

The woman hesitated again, then turned and nodded.

Her husband, who'd been out of sight, hove into view. He carried a jangling key ring. He was wearing an old pajama top over a pair of faded and tattered khaki trousers. His feet were stuck into untied boots. He moved his stringy legs rapidly up the stairs.

'Shouldn't be doing this,' he said, glaring at Brown. He pushed past and faced the apartment door. Shouldn't be doing this,' he repeated.

He started feeding keys into the lock. It took three before the door swung open.

'Oughta have a warrant,' he said. Ta

'Empty,' he said. The words echoed the sensation that tore within him. Empty and cold and like a tomb. He stared around the silent space, knowing what had happened yet refusing to allow himself to think what was loose in the world. He walked through the center of the small apartment, over to the desk where Ferguson had once sat. The student, he thought. An assortment of papers had fallen in disarray to the floor. He kicked at them and looked up and saw Matthew Cowart staring about at the room.

'Gone, Cowart said. His voice was shocked and quiet.

The reporter took a deep breath. He had expected Ferguson to be there, mocking them all, thinking himself forever just beyond their reach. There's no time now, he realized. He could feel the story he had been pla

The night closed rapidly toward dawn but promised no relief from the darkness that had descended upon each of them.

25. Lost Time

They lost hours to fatigue and bureaucracy.

Ta

Shortly before dawn, they told Brown they would put out a BOLO for Wilcox and would assign a team to canvas the streets asking for him. But they insisted Brown contact his own office, as if they actually believed that Wilcox would show up in Escambia County.

Cowart spent the night waiting in his motel room for the two detectives. He had no idea how great the threat might be to him or his daughter, only knew that as each minute slid past, his position worsened and his only weapon, the news story, grew more remote. No story would have an impact unless he knew where Ferguson was. Ferguson had to be trapped by the story, he had to be immediately surrounded with questions, mired in denials. It was the only way Cowart could buy time to protect himself. Ferguson abroad in the world was a constant, invisible danger. Cowart knew that before a word appeared in the paper, he had to find Ferguson once again.

He stared at his wristwatch, seeing the second hand race through each minute, reminded of the clock on Death Row.

Now you're begi

He realized he could delay no further. Ignoring the sure-to-be terrifying impact of the middle-of-the-night call, he picked up the telephone and dialed his ex-wife's number.

It rang twice before he heard her new husband's voice groan an acknowledgement.

'Tom? It's Matt Cowart. Sorry to disturb you, but I've got a problem, and…'

'Matt? Jesus. Do you know what time it is? Christ, I've got to be in court in the morning. What through the darkness. He couldn't hear what she said but heard her new husband's response. 'It's your ex. He's got some sort of emergency, I guess.'