Free Cross Current by Christine Kling Page B

papers.”
    “They aren’t releasing any of the details to the public. For some reason, the press hasn’t put it together yet. They will with this one, though. They will with number four.”
    1 thought about what Helmut Hair – the woman reporter had said to me at the hospital. She asked me about the other victims. Now that made sense. “I think they already have, Collazo.” 
    “We’re putting together a task force made up of FLPD, INS, and the FBI. They’re calling it the Deceased Alien Response Team—DART.”
    “Sounds like alphabet soup.”
    “The child. She may be able to tell us something, but she seems frightened by authority figures. My Haitian translator tells me that’s typical for their culture. Elliot says they can’t get any of the Haitians to talk about the smugglers. Ever since Papa Doc and the Tonton Macoutes, they don’t think much of police or authorities.”
    “I’m impressed, Collazo. You seem to know quite a bit about Haiti.”
    Again, it was as though I had not even spoken. “We are operating on the assumption that they were aboard the boat that sank up in Deerfield, and they were put off into the smaller boat.”
    “There’s a problem with that theory. The timing doesn’t work. The Gulf Stream runs at two to three knots. That boat should have been much farther north if they were dropped off thirty-six hours before they were found.”
    “There were no other boats in the area.”
    “None that you know of,” I said. I’d heard estimates that the authorities stopped only ten to twenty percent of the illegal immigrants flooding into Florida.
    “We want you to get close to the child,” he said. “See if you can get her to talk, find out what she knows. Anything at all about the people behind this operation and their location in the Bahamas.”
    I jumped at the mention of the islands. Tired as I was, I suddenly wondered if they had somehow listened in on my conversation with Solange. “Why do you say the Bahamas?” 
    “The plastic water bottles and the food cans in the boat with the dead woman. The labels were all Bahamian. Get her to tell us something that will indicate where in the Bahamas.”
    “I don’t know, Collazo, she’s just a little kid. I don’t think she knows anything.” I wanted to protect her from this mess. She had talked about the “bad man,” and I was fairly certain she would recognize him if she saw him again.
    “It doesn’t really matter what you think, Sullivan. What really matters is what the killer thinks.”
    That tightness in my chest returned. I felt so stupid. Why hadn’t I thought of that? I slid over on the seat and reached for the car door. “Solange, they might try—”
    “It’s taken care of. There is a guard. She’ll be safe. For now.”
     
     
    After Collazo left, I opened the gate and walked behind the Larsens’ house to my cottage in such a daze that I barely saw the shrubbery, the path, or the wide yard out back.
    Abaco seemed to sense my mood, and though she rubbed her wet nose against my hand, she wasn’t insistent when I didn’t reach down to rub her head. My mind was busy trying to make connections, to draw some kind of lines between the small dots of information I had.
    I let myself in and went straight to the fridge, thirsty after all those french fries. A bottle of Corona in hand, I dialed Mike’s cell phone. I pulled out the sunglasses I’d found on the Miss Agnes and examined the paintings of the skull and crossbones under the light as the phone rang again and again. I was about to give up when he finally answered.
    “Mike? This is Seychelle. Did I interrupt something?” 
    “Nah, I just couldn’t find the damn phone. I’m glad you called, young lady, ’cuz I wanted a chance to give you hell for sticking me with that sniveling bastard Perry Greene.” 
    “That’s why I’m calling, Mike, to apologize, even though there wasn’t much else I could have done under the circumstances.”
    “Apology