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Randall didn’t talk for several minutes, then said, “That’s a lot to absorb, and to make sense of. I’m going to work on it, think on it some more, and I won’t forget, Grandfather. I know you’re telling me all this for my own good.”
“Not just your own good. John’s involved, too, and the woman, the shooter.”
Randall still didn’t understand how his grandfather knew about Hunter. He hadn’t mentioned her, and they never met.
Grandfather said, “You can sleep on it. These things take a while to filter into you. When are you going to Florida?”
“I haven’t made a reservation yet. I’ll stay until you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. And you should take off tomorrow. They need you in Florida.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Oh yes. I’ll have Jeffrey check on me if that makes you feel better.”
“It would.”
“Good. Now, it’s my bedtime, so you need to leave. Call me when you get to Florida.”
“I can come by in the morning.”
“No need. We’ve talked, and it was good to see you. But I need some alone time. Oh, take the saddle with you.”
“I can’t do that.”
“It tells me it needs to be with you. Don’t make me mad by saying you won’t take it. I put it in a big duffel bag for you already.”
Randall grinned, “All right, Grandfather. Good night.”
Randall made reservations for a straight through on American Airlines to Fort Lauderdale International. Good, he thought. I’ll be home in no time.
Randall packed everything so he could leave early in the morning to drive to the airport in El Paso, and then tried to go to sleep. He dozed off, and then spent the remainder of the night awakening to fight animals and snakes made of smoke and floating faces over and over. The clock read 3:20AM when he finally gave up and left the hotel, driving through the night to El Paso.
Chapter 4
The young newlywed couple that took photos at the Food Court sat across from Marc Dessaline as he looked through the images. He said, “You have everyone identified correctly?”
“Yes sir,” the young woman said. “We shook their hands and they told us their names. We also followed them to their work.”
He looked at one photo again, “Young Anson, an ethnologist, and John Quick, a Homicide Detective from yet another department. This is becoming tedious. Who was pushing the conversation?”
The young man said, “The female, Kincaid. What we overheard is that she asked for the meeting and Detective Quick arranged it for her and her partner.”
“And the ethnologist, he is Haitian?”
“Yes, but very little accent.”
“Was he guessing, or…”
“He knew of our practices, mentioning certain events in Haiti that are not common knowledge, and, I think, referred to you without knowing your name.”
“What did he say?”
“He talked about Haiti’s history, and he mentioned the Tonton Macoute, at length.”
Marc put the photos down and said to the couple, “Thank you. My assistant will pay you as you leave.”
The woman hesitated, and Dessaline said, “Is there something else?”
