Slade said, “I’ll go get in line behind him, just to make sure he doesn’t disappear.” Slade casually strolled down the concourse, like any other passenger, and got in line for the flight to Miami. There were six people between him and Duffy and the line was moving slowly. Duffy seemed a bit jumpy. He was probably wondering where he’d seen that kid before, and he kept glancing down the concourse. Ackerman was talking to Frye. Ike was crouching behind Theo and breathing heavily. The lady at the desk just stared at them. She was probably thinking This kid ain’t no FBI agent. But she said nothing.
Ackerman stuck his phone in his pocket and said, “Got it. The flight will be delayed until we do our business. Packer won’t make it to Miami. Assuming, of course, it is Packer.”
“Is it Duffy?” Ike grunted at Theo.
“I sure hope so,” Theo replied, and then almost got sick again with the thought that maybe he had picked the wrong guy. What if all this was one big mistake?
But it was Duffy. Theo had seen his eyes, and he’d seen him walk.
As soon as Duffy handed his ticket to the Delta agent and disappeared through the door to the walkway, Slade walked to the counter, flashed his badge to another Delta agent, and said, “FBI. This flight is being delayed.”
Ackerman hurried to the gate, with Theo and Ike right behind him. All passengers were on board and the crew was preparing to push back. Ackerman said, “I’ll walk on board and see where he’s sitting. That way we’ll have a name.”
“Good idea,” Slade said.
Ackerman explained things to the Delta agent and hustled on to the airplane. Five minutes later he was back at the counter. He said, “Seat fourteen B. Who’s the passenger?” The Delta agent pecked the keys, scanned the monitor, and said, “A Mr. Tom Carson. Bought the ticket yesterday at a Delta office on Connecticut Avenue.”
“Cash or credit card?”
“Uh, let’s see. Cash.”
“Cash for a one-way ticket?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay. We think we need to have a chat with him. There is a warrant for an arrest, but first we need to verify his identity and it might take some time. Have your pilot announce that there is a slight delay. No one will be surprised.”
“Sure. Happens all the time.”
Twenty minutes later, Daniel Frye arrived in a rush with three other agents, all new ones. He huddled with Slade and Ackerman, and he asked Theo, “Are you sure?”
Theo nodded and said, “About ninety percent.”
Frye said, “Okay, here’s the plan. Let’s get the guy off the plane and talk to him. We’ll check his paperwork and see where that goes. If it’s the wrong guy, then we’ll apologize, send him on his way, and hope he doesn’t sue us.”
Theo and Ike were sitting with their backs to a wall in the spacious waiting area when Frye and Mr. Tom Carson exited the walkway. Carson was either angry or frightened; obviously, he was not very happy. As they were joined by other agents, he saw Theo across the way and shot him a look of murderous hatred.
They took him to an airport office for questioning.
As Theo and Ike waited, they began to worry about their flight. They couldn’t leave until they knew for sure if Carson was Duffy/Packer; nor did they want to leave.
Frye, though, was a veteran, and Duffy was an amateur. After fifteen minutes of interrogation, his story crumbled and he finally admitted who he was. His brand-new papers — Maryland driver’s license, Social Security card, passport — were all fake. He had a ticket on United from Miami to São Paulo, Brazil, and he had nine thousand dollars in cash in his pocket. He came within fifteen minutes of getting away.
After Frye informed him he was under arrest, he demanded a lawyer and stopped talking.
Theo and Ike were standing on the concourse near the office when they led Duffy away in handcuffs. As he walked past them, he once again glared at Theo.
Special Agent Daniel Frye walked over, as did Slade, Ackerman, and another agent. Frye put his hand on Theo’s shoulder and said, “Nice work, kid.”
Chapter 10
It was raining hard when Theo awoke in his own bed early Sunday morning. He said good morning to Judge, who slept under the bed, or sometimes beside the bed, and occasionally even on the bed, but the dog did not open his eyes. Theo opened his laptop and went straight to the Strattenburg morning newspaper, online edition. The headline screamed across the page: PETE DUFFY ARRESTED AT DC AIRPORT. Theo read the story faster than he had ever read anything. He knew the facts — he was searching for his name. His and Ike’s. Nothing.
He took a deep breath, and read it again. Acting on an anonymous tip, a team of FBI agents had cornered Duffy after he had boarded a flight to Miami, and so on. He was bound for São Paulo, Brazil, with fake paperwork and a pocketful of cash. According to an unnamed source, the FBI picked up his trail last week. It was believed that he had been living in the Cleveland Park area for a few weeks. The company that provided the false identity for a Mr. Tom Carson was also under investigation. Duffy was being held in jail in Arlington, Virginia, and was expected to be returned to Strattenburg in the near future. Phone calls to his attorney, Clifford Nance, went unanswered. The local police and prosecutors had no comment.
The story then went on to describe the murder charges against Duffy, details that virtually everyone in town had known for over a year. There was a photo of Myra Duffy, the victim, who had been found strangled in the living room of her home one Thursday morning while her husband, Pete, was playing golf on the course where they lived, at Waverly Creek. There was a photo of Mr. Duffy as he was walking into the courthouse during his trial, a trial that ended when Judge Henry Gantry abruptly stopped things and sent the jury home for good. It was rumored at the time that a mysterious witness had come forward late in the trial, a witness who could place Mr. Duffy inside his home at the time of the murder. This witness has never been identified. Just as his second trial was starting, Duffy disappeared.
Theo knew all this; he’d been in the middle of it. Now, he was in the middle of it again, and this made him nervous. No, it scared the daylights out of him. Duffy had some dangerous friends. The FBI, though, had assured him and Ike that they would be left out of the official version of the story. So far so good, but Ike didn’t trust the local police to keep secrets.
The story went on to say that Duffy not only faced another trial for murder, but an escape charge as well. That carried a maximum sentence of ten years. Theo asked himself how in the world could Duffy wiggle around the fact that he skipped town.
He woke up Judge and went downstairs. His parents were at the kitchen table, still in their pajamas, reading the same newspaper and sipping drinks, black coffee for his father, a diet soda for his mother. After a few sleepy good mornings, Mrs. Boone asked, “Have you seen the newspaper?”
“Yes, I just read it. Didn’t see my name.”
Both parents forced smiles and nodded. They, too, were worried sick about Theo’s involvement. What was he supposed to do? He saw Duffy on the train. The man was wanted for murder. Wouldn’t any good citizen do what Theo did?
Yes, they agreed that he had done the right thing, but it sure didn’t feel like it. He almost wished he had done nothing.
Theo said, “Looks like he’s facing at least ten years in the pen, right?”
Mr. Boone grunted and said, “Sure looks that way. I don’t see how he can claim he’s not guilty of running away.”
Mrs. Boone said, “He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get the death penalty.”
Theo fixed two bowls of Cheerios, one for him, one for Judge. His parents were lost in the newspaper and seemed worried. “Are we going to church?” Theo asked after a bite.