Page 174 of The Fourth Option
“And the BOLO?”
“It was for an older vehicle. An AMC Eagle, manufactured back in the eighties. Plates trace back to a house in the Quarter, about a mile from your house, which is why I called. It’s registered to an elderly woman named Gloria Travois. The Metairie detective said the suspect vehicle had been following Kimbel’s Mercedes just before the IED detonation.”
Stanton pulled out his notebook, steering with his knee. “Give me the address for Ms. Travois.”
J.J. rattled it off.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“I reviewed Detective Gormley’s investigative case files in Connor Staub’s death. One of the people he interviewed was a young woman named Mirabelle Travois, a college associate, listed as a possible romantic partner.”
“Daughter? Granddaughter?”
“Looks like a granddaughter. I’ll confirm.”
“Let’s keep that part between us for now. Meet me there,” he said, accelerating down the street.
The house was tucked behind a fence overgrown with laurel, shaded by crepe myrtles and live oaks. Stanton parked across the street and spotted J.J. already waiting in her unmarked sedan.
They walked up the drive together, keeping their voices low. No AMC Eagle in sight.
“Bates countermanding that BOLO means he either found the car or didn’t want anyone else to,” J.J. said.
“Or someone told him to back off,” Stanton muttered. He paused to survey the front porch. “This look like the safe house of a CIA assassin turned cartel contract killer?” J.J. asked.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
Stanton reached the door, hand resting on the grip of the pistol under his jacket. He turned an ear toward the door and listened, hearing an older woman’s voice muffled by the walls. The place reminded him of a Hallmark card version of Grandma’s house. He knocked.
A silver-haired woman answered the door. “Yes?” She stood in the entryway, dressed in a crisp blouse and slacks. Her eyes were sharp, her smile warm.
Stanton flashed his badge. “Ma’am, I’m Special Agent Stanton with the FBI.” He gestured toward J.J., who had appeared beside him. “This is Special Agent Jimenez. Are you Ms. Gloria Travois?”
“Last I checked.”
“We have a few questions for you regarding your car.”
“Of course,” Gloria said. “But the police are already here.”
“Police?”
“An Officer Bates arrived just five minutes ago.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
STANTON AND JIMENEZfollowed the old woman into the house and down a short hallway. The kitchen smelled of French roast and lemon polish.
“Coffee, Special Agent Stanton? You, Ms. Jimenez?”
Stanton’s jaw tightened. “Yes, ma’am. That’d be nice.”
Bates sat at the table, sipping from a porcelain cup. His suit coat hung over the back of a neighboring chair.
Gloria moved with quiet grace, pouring coffee for the newcomers.
“I was just telling Lieutenant Bates that I haven’t driven that old Eagle in over a year,” she said. “It’s been parked out back. I suppose someone must’ve stolen it.”
