Terra stops mid-stride and rubs her throbbing temple; her flinty eyes snap at the sound of a laugh, a hollow whistling sneer that she frowns to hear yet again. "What?" she barks at O'Neil. Yet again, he says nothing.
"Terra." Darwin approaches the other side of the locked gate; his eyes scrape over O'Neil, taking in his casual lean against the pebble finished concrete wall. Darwin shucks his head to Terra's left.
"I can leave if you girls want to share your diary secrets," O'Neil bellows.
"Bite me!" Terra retorts.
"This is a bad time to cross Stark," Darwin shouts, his eyes boring into O'Neil's, "either of you." His gaze softens on his partner's face. "He said stay, so you stay."
"What's up, Dee? Who's that?" Terra demands, tipping her chin toward the other man.
"Coleman, FBI. Stark called him. He called Harlowe, too; that's what we're waiting on."
Terra crosses her eyes and huffs. "For what?" she snaps. "Got me feeling like I'm in a holding pen over here."
"I don't know, alright?" Darwin retorts, sighing. "But Stark is pissed. He practically ordered the whole field lab out here to investigate the scene."
"Where's Mason?"
He shrugs, turns back toward the smoldering dock. "MIA. There's Harlowe. Be back in a minute."
Terra sniffs impatiently; she spins toward O'Neil, narrows her eyes as she approaches him. "What's the deal?"
O'Neil shrugs one beefy shoulder. "You tell me. You're ATF, right? You know all about explosives."
"You know something," Terra accuses. Their boot toes collide instead of their noses. "Spill it."
"Blow off, half pint. Or just blow me, since you want to get up close and personal."
"Juris-dick-tion." Harlowe's arm loops through the gate; one finger curls, beckoning Terra toward him. The smile in his eyes simmers to stillness when she halts in front of him, half his size despite her fierce glare. He doesn't speak to her; he simply points to the opposite wall and unlocks the gate as she trudges away. His gaze flicks over her car as he withdraws a notepad and pen from his pocket, and then he strolls slowly past Stark's car toward O'Neil. "Let's take a walk," Harlowe says, shucking his head toward the long path in front of the Convention Center.
Terra's eyes narrow; she stomps around to the back of her Camaro, jumps up on the trunk, and folds her arms over her chest. She taps her toe on the bumper and frowns as they return, making a show of her belligerence.
"You never talked to me when I was your man, but if you're smart, you'll change your tune." Harlowe drags his pen over the Camaro's SS insignia as he draws up next to her.
"What's going on?" Terra demands through clenched teeth. He thumps her thigh, cutting his eyes to O'Neil who is just passing through the gate. "We ain't gonna take a walk?"
Harlowe shakes his head. "I want Stark to see everything we do so there won't be no shit later on." His gaze tightens on her suddenly alarmed eyes before flicking toward the gate and back. "So here it is: you and O'Neil got your heads on the block. I don't know how," he whispers, shaking his head and raising his hands against her grunt of protest, "I don't know why. But Stark's got his finger on you, Marie Antoinette."
"What the—"
"Wrap it up, save it for later," Harlowe advises harshly, "because all eyes are on you." He pulls out his pad and clicks his pen. "I want it in plain English, blow by blow, everything that happened after the meeting."
Terra pops her lips; she swallows, cranking her voice into gear. "I went outside, I talked to Dee. Waited for Mason; talked to him."
"How long?"
"Ten minutes, maybe. We made plans to meet an hour later. It was twelve twenty four when I got in the car; I looked at the clock. I got halfway home and Stark called me in — twelve thirty eight. No, I didn't stop nowhere," Terra replies tersely to the question in his eyes. "I came right back here, parked right here," she says, her boot tapping the bumper, "I found Stark knocked out in his car. Checked his pulse, laid him out over the seat and left the door open. I called Dee and that's when I saw the alley door open on the warehouse; he called back-up. I jumped the gate to go see what was up, but I didn't even make it to the building before I took a shot, took cover. Two more shots. Harbor police pulled up; they jumped out the car. The warehouse exploded. That's it."
"That's it. Everything?" She nods. Harlowe's jaw rasps under the scrub of his hand; he stares at her. "Quit lying to me, broad."
"What I got to lie about?" Terra retorts. "That's verifiable information; that's what you want, right? Ask Darwin, ask O'Neil, ask Mason. I didn't have nothing to do with that warehouse blowing up."
"You can forget the warehouse — your third alibi, Mason? He's dead." Harlowe stumbles over her sudden silence, clears his throat before continuing. "They're looking for him now, what's left of him. Stark thinks he bought it in the explosion."
"Bullshit," Terra wheezes.
"We'll see, huh?" he replies gruffly. "All the shit'll be stinking when the sun comes up tomorrow." He tracks her implosion with a cool gaze, his eyes lingering on her drooping eyelids, the way her mouth softens, the way he remembers. "You got anything to add before we do this?"
"Do what?" Terra croaks.
"C'mon, agent — you know the drill. They ain't got nothing on you yet, but it looks better if you volunteer. So let's take a ride."
For three hours, Terra slumps in the straight backed metal chair of the interrogation room, her legs cocked open, her arms folded, the line of her lips flat and belligerent. But her breath tells a different story in long stiff silences punctuated with sudden gasps that burst through her constricted throat as coughs.
"You need some water?" Harlowe asks as he enters, clenching a cup of coffee in one hand and an already thick folder in another.
"No. What's the word on Mason?"
Harlowe's eyes shutter as he studies her face; he shuts the door. "In a minute," he barks over the thud of the folder on the tabletop.
"No. Now." Terra crosses her ankles to keep her knee from bouncing, shoves her hands under her thighs where they will warm up, stop trembling.
"Stark just got the call. He's dead." Harlowe shuts his eyes against her face, rubs away the grit of a day not laid to rest and now rolling over into another. Abruptly, his fingertips drum on the table. "Yeah. Talk to me about you and Mason." She looks at him; her lips bob soundlessly. Harlowe sighs and flips open the folder. "You were outside talking to Darwin about 'why Stark changed the protocol'," he quotes dully. "Darwin left; you waited for Mason," he prompts. She nods stiffly. "Jones, you have to—"
"Yes," Terra growls. She heaves a breath and then repeats, "Yes. He came out; we talked about ten minutes, made plans to meet for dinner in an hour, then I left."
"What'd you talk about?" he asks casually.
Her eyelids loll, slowly shut as her head drops forward. "Nothing," she rasps, her shoulders shrugging slightly, incredulously.
"You didn't go anywhere, for a little walk or something?"
"No," Terra murmurs. Her head snaps up in the sudden silence; she winces against his pin-sharp stare. "No," she repeats. "I got in my car and left."
Harlowe's eyes narrow; he inhales deeply as he stands and strolls around to the far side of the table across from her. "What next?"
"I was going home to change clothes."
"Why?" He rolls his eyes at her blank stare. "I mean, was it a business dinner, or were you romantically involved with Agent Mason?"
"Romantically involved," Terra repeats snidely. "We were going to have dinner, talk shop. That's it," she replies flatly.
"Why didn't you talk about it at the Port? You talked shop with Darwin at the Port." He stalks around the table toward her, staring at her. "You sure you didn't have something else on your mind?"
"No."
"Where were ya'll going to eat?"
"The Marigny on Frenchman."
"Did you call and make a reservation?"
"No."
"You left Mason in the parking lot, right?"
"Yes. He said he walked from the Hilton and he would walk back."
Harlowe nods with mock gravity. "And he was just going to walk across town and meet you for dinner?"
Terra's lips tighten. "No, Lieutenant. His car was at the Hilton."
"I see. So you're on the way home, and you get a call."
"Yes. Stark called me. He said, 'Come down to the warehouse', then something else I didn't get. We got disconnected. I checked the number; it was his number, so I turned around."
Harlowe crosses behind her; his fingers trail over the back of her chair, then across the table top to the edge of the folder. "It was his cell phone number?"
"Yes."
"So he called you from this phone?" He pulls out a small evidence bag and slings it across the table in front of her. "This phone that Stark lost yesterday and found at the warehouse today?"
Terra squints at the silver phone, its case blackened but still intact. "I don't know." She slides it back across the table and cuts her eyes away from him. "I never saw this phone up close; I didn't touch it or leave it at the scene. Print it."
Harlowe raises his hands; his chin juts out as he shrugs. "Who said that? Who said you went to the warehouse at all? Unless maybe you took a little walk down the river with your boyfriend. That's what Mason told Stark."
"Well he lied," Terra hisses, popping her neck. "We didn't walk nowhere."
"So where were you when Stark came out the office and saw your car parked right next to his?"
Terra shuts her eyes tightly. "We didn't . . . we just walked around the building, to the back."
"What for?"
"Nothing. We were just kicking it."
"Yeah, for ten minutes." He sticks his hands in his pockets and strolls toward her, casually, slowly. "Or maybe it was longer than that. Maybe you hung around, kicking it, took a little walk down to the warehouse, and your boy didn't make it back."
"No!" Terra snaps. "I didn't get anywhere near there. Check the surveillance tape."
"We did. There is no surveillance tape."
Terra's eyes widen. "Bullshit. O'Neil said he saw me on surveillance, jumping the gate."
"Yeah? O'Neil told me that Agent Moon called while he was on patrol with his partner, and he came right over. I checked the logs; it's verified. What I can't verify are your whereabouts between twelve fifteen and one. Forty five minutes; that's a long time," Harlowe drawls, pacing back and forth behind her chair. "Plenty of time to snatch a surveillance tape, take out two agents, and blow up a building. You drug your boy like you drugged Stark?" Terra's head wags dumbly. "What'd his face look like — he was surprised? Did you tell him you loved him before you turned him into gator snacks?"
"No!" Terra shouts. "This is bullshit, and you know it, Harlowe."
"It definitely stinks. Explosives, dead federal agents, whew!" he exclaims, waving his hand in front of his nose. "It's gonna be some serious stank when they pile it all up in an evidence bag."
"There ain't no evidence because I didn't do nothing."
"Can you prove it? I'm all ears if you got something else to say. Something I can actually verify. No?" he spits, leaning over in front of her face. "Well, you know the drill," he drawls, gesturing grandly to the door. "I'll be in touch."
"Terra!"
Terra rolls her neck around to see Darwin glaring at a patrol officer who sidesteps in front of him. She blinks, blinks again when her wallet and keys appear on the counter in front of her. "Thanks," she mumbles to the precinct clerk.
Darwin falls into step on her right side, away from the hostile wake of her boots stomping toward the front door. "Where you headed?"
"Home."
"Good. Get some rest. You don't have anything to worry about, okay?"
"Right," Terra snaps. She pushes through the glass double doors into the seven a.m. sunlight, too clear and bright for the wide whirlpools of her eyes. She blinks furiously, shielding her face with her hands as she turns to Darwin. "I didn't do anything; you know it, I know it. I thought I had Harlowe, but . . ." Her fingers rub down her forehead over the bridge of her pert nose; she taps her lips. "If they find anything, one thing, that's the nail in my coffin. Harlowe was busting me in there. Why?" she grits, stamping her foot. Her gaze awaits a response; she looks away from Darwin's blank expression, heaving an irritated breath.
"Terra, they don't have anything on you."
"They might," Terra whispers. "They have Mason's . . ." The word 'body' sticks in her craw like a pebble. "I was with him last night after the meeting. With him," she repeats, glancing up at Darwin beneath a fringe of lashes.
"Shit. Stark said—"
"I know. Stark. That's who I'm worried about. I mean," she falls silent, squinting against the horizon. "Look — what did you think happened at first?" Darwin blinks, gaping at her. "I'm saying, did you start screaming 'sabotage'? A warehouse full of explosives explodes? Nuh uh," she rumbles, wagging her head. "There's 'no hostility', but Stark moves up the raid, he's staking out? Something ain't right, Dee. It's like he was looking for something to happen."
"So what? Suspicion isn't enough to pin it on you."
"He's FBI; he'll make it enough," Terra mutters, shoving her hands in her back pockets as she lurches away.
"You are going to get some sleep, right? I'll call you if anything comes up."
"Yeah," Terra replies dully, her hips switching in time to the slow turning of her thoughts. Her lazy neurons fire slowly, grasping for connections; they lead her to ATF headquarters where she sits in the Camaro for ten minutes, pulling threads that keep breaking. Terra sniffs loudly and scrubs her face; finally, she cuts the engine and climbs out of the car.
She breezes right into the building, into the scent of fresh coffee and old investigations, her usual perfume. She nods to the usual people as her boots scrape over the sandpaper industrial carpet toward her desk, her sloppy t shirt and haggard hair as common as a cold. Terra turns left and left again into her desk area; she sits down, pulls a folder from the drawer, and simply begins to fill it with everything on top of the disarray, everything recent, everything involving the raid. It is only after the phone rings that she digs a discarded plastic take out bag from the trash and shoves the folder beneath a Styrofoam tray grimy with barbeque sauce and seasoning salt. "Agent Jones, ATF," she recites, clenching the handset between her chin and shoulder while she knots the plastic handles.
"Jones — Henderson here. I just got a call from some priss named Stark at the FBI. Get to my office now."
Drills, procedures — Terra knows them all by heart, and it is her heart that shivers, naked, when she walks out of headquarters stripped of her badge and her gun.
