“You’re right.”
“I came to that conclusion just before dawn this morning. I figured I’d leave you in peace. Then I saw Hawkins on his way to your house. Sudden change of plan.”
“Am I truly to believe that Fred killed Sam Marset?”
“I witnessed it.” He glanced at her; her expression invited him to elaborate. “There was a meeting scheduled for Sunday midnight at the warehouse.”
“A meeting between Marset and Fred?”
“Between Marset and The Bookkeeper.”
She rubbed her forehead. “What are you talking about?”
He took a breath, collected his thoughts. “Interstate Highway 10 cuts through Louisiana, north of Tambour.”
“It goes through Lafayette and New Orleans.”
“Right. I-10 is the southernmost coast-to-coast interstate, and its proximity to Mexico and the Gulf make it a pipeline for drug dealers, gun runners, human traffickers. Big markets are the key cities it passes through—Phoenix, El Paso, San Antonio, Houston, New Orleans—all of which also have major north/south routes that intersect it.”
“Essentially—”
“Connecting I-10 to every major city in the continental U.S.”
Again she nodded. “Okay.”
“Any vehicle you pass on it—everything from a semi, to a pickup, to a family van—might be transporting street drugs, pharmaceuticals, weapons, girls and boys destined for forced prostitution.” He looked over at her. “You stil
l following me?”
“Sam Marset owned Royale Trucking Company.”
“You get a gold star.”
“You’re actually saying that Sam Marset’s drivers were dabbling in this illegal transport?”
“Not his drivers. Sam Marset, your church elder and historical society whatever. And not dabbling. He’s big-time. Was. Sunday night put an end to his life of crime.”
She thought that over, checked to see that the kid was still distracted by her toy, then asked, “Where do you factor in?”
“I was assigned to get inside Marset’s operation, find out who he did business with, so the hotshots could set up a series of stings. It took me months just to gain the foreman’s trust. Then, only after Marset gave his approval, I was entrusted with the manifests. His company ships a lot of legal goods, but I also saw plenty of contraband.”
“Human beings?”
“Everything except that. Which is good, because I’d have had to stop that shipment, and that would have entailed blowing my cover. As it was, I had to let a lot of illegal contraband go through. But my bosses aren’t interested in one truck of dry goods concealing one box of automatic handguns. The bureau wants the people sending and receiving them. I didn’t have enough proof yet to catch the big fish.”
“Like Marset.”
“Him and bigger. But the real prize would be The Bookkeeper.”
“Who is that?”
“Good question. The bureau didn’t even know about him until I got down here and realized that somebody is greasing the skids.”
“You just lost me.”
“The Bookkeeper is a facilitator. He goes to the people who’re supposed to be preventing all this illegal trafficking, then bribes or strong-arms them into looking the other way.”
“He bribes policemen?”