Too Far Gone Read Free

wouldn’t bother you at this hour just to chat. I was wondering if I could impose on you a little bit.”
    â€œPlease do.” Perhaps he had a pressing question on a case he thought she might have an answer to.
    â€œWe’ve got ourselves a potential situation. I was hoping you could spare me a couple of hours.”
    â€œMy flight leaves just after nine.”
    â€œI mean right now. This deal is what you do, and Winter said you’re one of the best there is at it.”
    â€œAn abduction?” She straightened and let the curtains drop shut, closing out the night.
    â€œPossibly. Going missing in New Orleans is hardly unusual. Ninety-nine times out of ten, the case solves itself pretty quick. I hope you might be able to help us assess a situation. Tell us what you think we’ve got. It’s a pretty delicate deal.”
    â€œYou’re the head of Homicide, aren’t you?”
    â€œMissing Persons is understaffed, and, like in most places, we work hand in hand a lot. I hoped I could get your opinion on this since you’re here and have the reputation you do. That’s all.”
    â€œI see.” She was flattered.
    â€œAnd then I can tell Massey truthfully that we got together. Are you free to go to a location with me?”
    This wasn’t going to be a question or two over the phone. “How soon?”
    â€œI’m in the lobby now,” he told her. “Standing by the elevators. I’m wearing a green suit.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    If he hadn’t been the only man in a dark green suit watching the elevators, Alexa would have kept scanning the lobby until the detective approached her. Michael Manseur’s voice had thoroughly misrepresented him. He sounded like Tommy Lee Jones but looked more like a chronically unsuccessful door-to-door salesman. Even with the thickness of the soles of his scuffed brown wingtips, Manseur was no more than five-seven and, except for the laurel of short pale hair anchored by small ears, he was bald. His pasty round face featured intelligent but sad eyes with large bags beneath them, a razor-thin nose, acne scars, and a smile like that of a child with a secret. The loosened knot on his predominantly yellow tie rested between stiff shirt collars, one of them bent up at the end like a hand waving.
    â€œAgent Keen?” he said, uncertainly.
    â€œAlexa,” she said, smiling. “Michael, please call me Alexa.” She realized that he had expected her to be a white woman—and not a light-skinned black woman. She knew there was nothing in her voice that gave away her ethnicity.
    â€œCertainly,” he replied, nodding. He swept his arm to indicate the direction she should travel to get to his car, which turned out to be a large white sedan waiting at the curb.
    Manseur opened the passenger door for Alexa, and closed it gently before hurrying around to get in behind the wheel. He checked the rearview, pulled out, and headed away from the Mississippi River, flipping on the blue light centered on the dash to cut a path through the traffic as the vehicle gathered speed.
    â€œWhere are we going?” she asked him.
    â€œUptown a little way,” he replied, as if that answered her question.
    Alexa sat back and watched the Big Easy rush by.

3
    Detective Manseur drummed his fingers absently on the steering wheel as he sped along streets Alexa wasn’t familiar with. Policemen, firemen, and ambulance drivers were required to learn the streets of their cities and towns until they were human GPS devices. If cabbies and delivery people didn’t do the same, they were less effective at their jobs, but people didn’t usually die on account of it.
    Alexa’s understanding of the layout of New Orleans was sketchy. She knew that the streetcar ran from Uptown, through the Garden District, and made a loop at Canal Street. She knew the Mississippi River curved around the city, which was why it