Page 69 of Shadow of Death
“Andy Mason has a jet ready for you,” Garza continued. “Amy’s place, I understand, is on the outskirts of Orlando, but we’re having you stay farther to the south, in Broward County.” He took a breath. “That’s in the general area where the body parts have been found thus far.”
“That’s fine. Amy knows the territory, and we’ll pick up working with police and FDLE agents she knows down there, as well as people in forensics. I am beginning to suspect the final play will be down there with those still hanging around who didn’t wind up in prison after the incidents with the last ‘horseman,’” Hunter said. “All right—we’ll head to the airport. Please see we’re sent everything we need to know, briefed on locations—”
“Hunter, please,” Garza interrupted.
“Right. Yes, of course. You’re already doing that,” Hunter said.
“Loop me in on anything, no matter how minute.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How the hell does someone make someone else kill another person, much less chop that person up into little pieces?” Garza murmured aloud. “You’ve been working this all your adult life, Hunter.”
“And I know the tricks played, I know the vulnerabilities played upon, and I still wonder sometimes myself.”
“Get going,” Garza said quietly. “We need this ended.”
Neither of them said goodbye; they ended the call.
Amy was just ending her call as well.
“One body part was found in Miami-Dade and one was found in Broward County—the hand on the turnpike and then the accident that occurred on Route 27,” she said. “And I take it your conversation was with Garza.”
“Yep. Back to Route 27,” Hunter murmured. “We have a jet waiting.”
Amy shrugged. “At least they give us good transportation.”
“There you go,” he said. “And here we go.”
“Right,” she murmured. “Good thing we both know how to live out of suitcases!”
“Yep.”
They were good at it. In ten minutes, they were out of the hotel; in another twenty, they were at the airport.
It was just past noon when they landed. The flight from Colorado took a little less than four hours. Garza had already arranged for them to pick up a car at the airport, and Amy had set up a meeting at the site where the foot had been found off Route 27.
She leaned back with her eyes closed for a moment and murmured, “I hope...”
“Yeah?”
“I hope...if Gleason is dead, which logic suggests we assume, that he was dead before they began taking him apart,” Amy murmured.
Hunter was silent for a minute. “Let’s hope,” he murmured. He glanced at her quickly. “Amy, you know we need to find justice for him—and the others.”
“Yes. I know. We’ve both been at this.”
“And...”
“There is a small possibility he’s alive.”
“Then why do such things?” she asked. “Such horrible things to a fellow human being?”
“That’s been a question through the thousands of years throughout human history,” he said. “Dictators have bombed hospitals, invaders slay indiscriminately, men and women shoot, slash, beat, and poison one another. We see too much of it. But remember this. Human beings are capable of incredible kindness, too. We’ve seen what people, strangers, will do for others—take them in during times of war or upheaval. Support hospitals, children, the sick and the disabled. Hey, come on, it’s kind of a joke, but with some people it starts early—and there’s a reason Boy Scouts help old ladies across the street.”
She smiled at last, glancing at him. “Old ladies, huh? What about old men?”
He laughed and let out a sigh. “Sorry—oldpeople.I did not mean to be sexist.”
