Page 86 of The Fourth Option
“No. They were dead when they got there, likely Mexican nationals according to NOPD. Media’s already up and running. That reporter, Greer, pinged Icy’s office for a comment. They’re saying it’s a drug warthat crossed borders, maybe from Mexico to Texas to here. Sinaloa, I think.”
Stanton blinked. “I haven’t seen any data that suggests Mexican cartel activity in New Orleans.”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is the narrative taking shape. Icy’s office is in damage control mode. She’s worried it’s going to blow up, maybe go national, generate political interest on the Hill. If it’s true, it’s a juicy story. You can understand why she’d try to get ahead of this.”
“Politics,” Stanton said. “We’re short of facts.”
He shook his head briskly, rattling the cobwebs in faint disbelief.Didn’t truth matter anymore?
“The nurse’s son was Connor Staub. NOPD said he was an addict and a dealer, which is how he got mixed up with the cartels. We have any touch points on that case?”
Jarrett’s mind was still catching up. As a numbers man, he had a good memory for qualitative details. He didn’t recall anything about a Garden District kid involved with cartels. “Not familiar with it. NOPD must’ve handled it.”
“Yeah. I figured. For what it’s worth, Icy’s already all over this. She wants us to find the link to the Mexicans, which is federal jurisdiction.”
“Assuming there is one, you mean.”
“Where there’s smoke. No need to make this complicated.”
Stanton leaned on the kitchen island. “I’m not making it complicated. Things get that way naturally.”
The SAC exhaled sharply. “I probably don’t need to say this out loud, but a story like this will probably get interest from the deputy director.”
Stanton remained quiet.
“You don’t want to turn lemonade into lemons,” Augie went on. “Icy’s critics are going to have a field day with a Garden murder and with the victim being an ER charge nurse at Tulane. It’s bad. Find the link to the cartels and get me something I can use with Icy. See you at the office.”
Stanton stared at the phone for a moment and then set it aside, flipping on the coffee maker, which he had set up to brew the night before. He propped open the tall French doors that went to the hardscape and let the cool night air inside.
The city was asleep in the dark; no trumpets, no grind of garbagetrucks, no inebriated revelers hollering in the alleys. He listened to the hum of the refrigerator as the coffee dripped into the decanter.
He was so deep in thought that he didn’t hear his wife approach. He gave a slight jump when she wrapped her arms around him.
“Did I surprise you?”
“Just thinking.”
The coffee ready, Alama poured them two cups, yawning in her silky robe and fuzzy slippers.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
“I got a call from Augie Lloyd.”
“Is it bad?”
He took a few seconds before replying. “Yes, just not sure how bad. Not yet.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I need to get to the office. I need more data.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
IT WAS STILLdark when Jarrett Stanton walked down the front steps in a blue tropical wool suit.
It was already shaping up to be another scorcher, but Stanton was used to it. His father had been a law professor at the University of Georgia and later at Auburn, which meant the family was accustomed to the heat. And at his level, FBI agents wore suits. This one concealed the Glock 19 he carried in a black leather holster on his belt. Handcuffs were in a matching leather case at the small of his back, and a spare magazine rode on his left side. Like most FBI agents, he had never fired his weapon in the line of duty. He was prepared to do so if necessary, but he believed that if you worked the data, you could build cases and make arrests without having to go to the gun.
A tanker truck contracted by the city roared into view, spraying water through nozzles on its front bumper with the force of a fire hydrant. Stanton breathed through his mouth. The water was infused with lemony detergent, which helped freshen the streets throughout the Quarter, but early in the morning, it was like a big dose of the Lemon Pledge his mom used to spray all over his childhood home. Still, he noted the morning procedure with approval. Another sign that this city was cleaning up its act.
