The Fugitive (5 page)

A
gent Daniel Frye was a nice guy, but he was becoming a drill sergeant. He insisted the team work early Saturday, because, who knows, Pete Duffy just might move around some. He had obviously changed his routine, and since Theo and Ike were in town anyway, why not ride a few more subway trains and hope for a miracle? Their flight didn't leave until noon.

Over an early breakfast, Theo and Ike talked about the obvious: If Pete Duffy had not been back to his apartment in four days, he was gone. Something had spooked him and he'd vanished again. They had been lucky once, but their luck had run out.

They devoured pancakes, then met with the team for a final foray into the underground.

A miracle was not in the works. At ten a.m., Theo, Ike, Slade, and Ackerman left the hotel in yet another black FBI van and went to the airport. They checked in and, after a long walk through a concourse, found their gate. They had over an hour to kill, and Theo was immediately bored. He was also tired of this little adventure. Furthermore, he was irritated because he was missing his weekly round of golf with his father.

During the tour of the Hoover building the day before, he had entertained thoughts of becoming an FBI agent, of traveling the word stalking terrorists and the like. Now, though, he dismissed those thoughts and could not imagine a career that involved sitting on subway trains for hours on end. He told Ike he was going to find a restroom and roam around. Ike, his nose stuck in a newspaper, grunted in response. Slade and Ackerman were both on the phone and watching planes take off and land in the distance. The airport was not busy, and as Theo walked along the concourse he passed a bookstore, a gift shop, two bars where some folks were already drinking too much, a sad little quarantine box where the smokers were caged in, and several restaurants. He used the restroom, and as he stepped back onto the concourse to continue his stroll, he bumped into a man who was in a hurry. The contact was slight, but it was enough to make the man drop his carry-on bag.

“Sorry,” the man said as he hurried to pick up his bag. When he bent over, his eyeglasses slipped off.

“Sorry, too,” Theo said, embarrassed.

As the man grabbed his glasses, Theo looked at him and moved back a step. Something about him was familiar; in fact, he looked a lot like Pete Duffy, but with blond hair and different glasses. He froze for a second, glared at Theo as if he knew him, then smiled as if all was well. Theo froze, too, but quickly remembered Frye's warning: Don't stare. He returned the smile and walked in the opposite direction. Duffy continued on, in a hurry, and Theo ducked behind a newsstand. As he watched Duffy hoof it down the concourse, he realized he'd seen that walk before. He called Ike. Straight to voice mail. He had numbers for both Slade and Ackerman. He called Slade and began trailing Duffy, who was getting farther away. Twice he glanced over his shoulder, as if he knew someone was back there.

Slade answered after the fourth ring. “Yes, Theo.”

“I got Packer,” Theo said. “Come quick.”

“Where?”

“Down the concourse. He just passed gate number thirty-one. He's in a hurry and I think he's trying to catch a flight.”

“Stay on his tail. We'll be right there.”

Theo moved along the edge of the concourse, trying to stay out of sight but having trouble keeping up with Duffy. At gate twenty-seven, though, Duffy slowed down and got in the back of a long line of people boarding. He glanced back again, but Theo was hiding behind an information booth. He waited for what seemed like hours until he saw Slade and Ackerman walking rapidly toward him. Ike was trying to keep up.

Theo waved them over. “He's at gate twenty-seven, waiting to board.”

“Are you sure it's him?” Ackerman asked.

“Pretty sure. We made eye contact. I think he thought he'd seen me somewhere before.”

“Which guy?” Ackerman asked as they peeked around the booth. A lady at the desk asked, “May I help you?”

Slade said, “FBI, ma'am. We're cool.”

Theo said, “He's at the back of the line, brown jacket, khaki pants, black carry-on bag. He's got blond hair now.” Ackerman looked at the large screen above them and said, “Gate twenty-seven. Delta nonstop to Miami.”

Slade said to Ackerman, “Call Frye. Get the flight delayed or grounded or whatever. Let's stay here, let Packer get on board, and at that point there's no escape.”

“Right,” Ackerman said, punching numbers on his phone.

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.”

I
t 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.

Mrs. Boone said, “It's Sunday morning, Theo. Why wouldn't we go to church?”

“Just asking, that's all.”

Fine, let's play the quiet game.

• • •

After church and lunch, Theo wanted to get out of the house. He told his mother he was going for a bike ride, with Judge on a leash. She told him to be home before dark. He took off, flying along the shaded streets of his quiet neighborhood. He waved at Mr. Nunnery, an old guy who never left his porch, and he called “Hello” to Mrs. Goodloe, another neighbor but one who couldn't hear.

Once again, Theo was thankful that he lived in a town where kids could ride their bikes anywhere they wanted, with no worries about heavy traffic and a million people on the sidewalks. He could never live in a place like Washington. It was a cool city, a nice place to visit, but Theo needed space. With Judge galloping beside him like the happiest dog in the world, he zigzagged here and there, avoiding downtown where a bored policeman might yell at him for running stop signs. Theo knew many of the policemen in town and they were generally nice guys, but there were a few who felt as though kids on bikes should follow all the rules of the road. One of his favorite places was the campus of Stratten College, where students were always tossing Frisbees and killing time on the wide, green lawns. He liked the college but wasn't sure he would go there. It was very close to home and, at the age of thirteen, he was already thinking about getting away.

The Delmont neighborhood was near the school and a lot of students lived there, in older duplexes and apartment buildings and run-down houses. There were coffee shops, bars, used bookstores—a more rustic version of downtown. He found the street he was looking for, then the small house where Julio Pena and his family had been living for a few months.

The Penas had once lived in the homeless shelter on Highland Street. Theo had met Julio there and had helped him with his homework. He was a seventh grader at Strattenburg Middle School, and Theo saw him occasionally on the playground. His cousin, Bobby Escobar, was the prosecution's star witness against Pete Duffy.

On the day Myra Duffy was murdered, Bobby was working at the Waverly Creek golf course. He had been there for about three months. He had been in the country for about a year, after he entered illegally from El Salvador. Some would call him an “illegal immigrant.” Others, an “undocumented worker.”

Theo had read in the newspaper that there were about eleven million people like Bobby working and hiding in the country.

At any rate, Bobby was having a quiet lunch under some trees when he saw Pete Duffy suddenly appear in his golf cart, hustle into his home, stay about ten minutes, then hop back into his golf cart and speed away. It was eleven forty-five a.m., the approximate time Myra Duffy was strangled to death. Bobby was afraid to come forward for the obvious reason—he did not want to be deported—but Theo had convinced him to talk to Judge Gantry. This was after the trial had started, and it was the reason the judge declared a mistrial. Since then, the police had promised to protect Bobby and make sure he didn't get into any immigration problems. Mr. and Mrs. Boone were attempting to sponsor him and help him get his citizenship, but that process was moving slowly.

• • •

Theo knocked on the door but no one answered. He peeked into the backyard, then hopped on his bike and continued down the street. Some boys were playing a pickup game of soccer in a small park and a lot of people were watching and milling about. Almost all appeared to be Hispanic. Julio was with a group of kids, including his twin siblings, Hector and Rita, behind a goal, kicking a soccer ball and killing time. Theo inched closer until Julio saw him. He smiled, walked over, and said, “Theo, what are you doing here?”

“Nothing really, just out riding my bike.”

When the Pena family lived at the shelter, Theo had taught English to Hector and Rita, and when the two kids saw him talking to their brother they ran over to say hello. Judge soon got their attention, and they took the leash and went for a walk. A lot of kids noticed Judge and wanted to pat him on the head and say things to him. It was a proud moment for the dog.

Theo and Julio chatted about this and that, and when the time was right Theo asked, “Say, Julio, how's Bobby doing? Is he still living with you guys?”

Julio frowned and glanced at the soccer game not far away. “He stays with us some, and then he'll go back to his old place. He's still pretty scared, you know? Plus, Bobby and my mother don't always get along.”

“That's too bad.”

“Yeah, they fight a lot. Bobby likes to drink beer and he brings it home, and this upsets my mother. She doesn't want that stuff in the house, says it's her house, and he has to live by the rules. And I think he might be doing some other bad stuff, you know?”

“I know,” Theo said, though he really didn't. “Doesn't sound too good. Is he still working at the golf course?”

Julio nodded.

“Look, Julio, there's something Bobby needs to know. They just found Pete Duffy and arrested him. He's coming back to town for another trial.”

“The guy who killed his wife?”

“Yep, and Bobby is about to be a very important person. Has he talked to the police lately?”

“I don't know. I don't see him every day.”

“Well, I think you need to talk to Bobby just so he'll know. I'm sure the police will be around shortly to have a chat.” Theo wanted to say something about Omar Cheepe and Paco and the other tough guys who were still around, and probably still worked for Pete Duffy, but he didn't want to frighten anyone. If Bobby got scared, he would vanish into the night.

Julio said, “He's thinking about going home. His mother is dying and he's very homesick.”

“Your mother's sister?”

“Yes.”

“I'm so sorry. But my parents are trying to help him get a work permit. He really shouldn't leave anytime soon, Julio. Can you tell him this?”

“It's his mother, Theo. If your mother were dying wouldn't you want to go home?”

“Sure.”

“Plus, he's still pretty nervous about getting involved. Just last week some of his friends who worked in an apple orchard not far from here got arrested because they didn't have the papers, you know, and now they're in jail somewhere, waiting to be sent back to El Salvador. It's not easy living like this, Theo. It may be hard for you to understand, but Bobby doesn't want to be involved. He doesn't trust everyone like you do.”

“Okay. I get it.”

Hector and Rita were back with Judge, bored with him now and ready to hand over the leash. Judge was tired of the attention and wanted to leave. Theo said good-bye to the Penas and pedaled away.