The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [147]
As the passengers were being very professionally handled by the boat staff and the rescue people, cops were everywhere, armed with their photocopies of Gabriel, and trying to scan every person who left the Beauregard. Just as Shamrock had reported, our suspects, who had originally been in coveralls, had removed them and their ski masks as soon as the one who ventured out on deck had been shot. They were mingling with the crowd, and it was pretty impossible to identify them in the rush, but at least twice we were aided by irate and frightened passengers who helpfully pointed out suspects. Nice work. They’d be reexamined in the holding areas.
We also had a woman blackjack dealer point one of the robbers out to us. It was kind of funny, really. She just grabbed his nylon windbreaker, and wouldn’t let go. All the way down the ramp.
“Here’s one! I’ve got one here!”
He was afraid to hit her with all the cops about. We scarfed him up and got her into a secure area for a statement.
Still no Gabriel.
I did see Nancy and Shamrock come down a ramp on the other side of the bow from me. They looked all right, but Nancy seemed to be a little wet. I waved. She glared back, and then grinned. One of the additional DCI agents, who’d arrived within the last couple of hours, came running over. He talked to Art and Hester for a second, and then they gave us the news.
The same kid who’d surrendered the stretch van had started to talk. We’d cleared an auditorium in the pavilion, and some DCI and FBI agents were doing the post-arrest interviews there. One of the questions the prisoners were all asked was “And when was the last time you saw Gabriel.” They couldn’t incriminate themselves no matter what the answer, because they’d all come directly out of the van. They were, as we say, caught in the act. Gabriel’s last appearance in itself didn’t affect their individual fates at all. Armed robbery was armed robbery. Or, as Sally would have said, piracy was piracy.
Anyway, when he was asked, he said, “Yesterday.” The next question was directed at Gabriel’s current whereabouts. The answer? “At the bank.” So much for name, rank, and serial number.
Hester and Art went to the auditorium, and did the questions. She came out after about two minutes, at pretty close to a dead run. When she got across the street to where I had just been joined by George and Volont, she said, breathing hard, “He says that Gabriel wasn’t on the boat. He says Gabriel is at the bank.”
The other agent had said that the surviving suspects from the bank had said that Gabriel was on the boat. At first, they’d just thought that the two groups had their stories co-coordinated to confuse the cops. It looked to Hester, though, that both groups thought they were telling the truth.
“That’s impossible. If he wasn’t in the van, wasn’t on the boat, and sure as hell wasn’t in the bank…” said George, “where the hell is he?”
Our first thought was that we had missed him as they disembarked from the Beauregard. Then a state trooper came over, with a paper in his hand. He stood politely by, not wanting to butt in.
“Excuse me, sir?” Directed to me. I was pleased.
“Yeah, what you got?”
“The guy in this picture … are you sure he was on the boat?”
“Pardon?”
“Well, just before they went out with the cable, I could swear I saw him leave the parking lot over there in an old, beat-up green Chevy. It was weird, it caught my eye, because he was talking on a cell phone, and, well, he nearly fit the profile for a drug dealer, so I noticed him …”
Everybody was listening intently before he was finished.
He indicated the parking lot behind and offset to the left of the pavilion. “Right back there.”
Well, sure. Of course. Right in front of us all the time. Well, more behind, actually. Right where he could see into the back windows of the DCI office, and also part of the boat, and part of the bank. He’d been there all along. Had to have been. Complete control, close contact, and concealed by being obvious. Son of a bitch.
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