Christine’s cab had disappeared into traffic. The guy in the green jacket was nowhere to be seen. I turned and sprinted back into the courthouse, bumped my way through the security line and saw that the bench was empty. The man in the long black coat had left.
Fingers shaking, I dialed Christine’s cell from the phone Dell had given me. If I’d used my own, she wouldn’t answer.
The phone rang. No answer. I let it ring.
I began pacing the floor.
Two rings. I ran to a bank of pay phones in the corridor next to the inquiries office.
Oh Jesus, Christine, pick up the damn phone.
Three rings. Blood rushed to my face, and I felt my chest filling, drawing my shirt tight, but I had no breath. I sucked at the air like I was drowning and slammed a fist into the wall.
Voice mail.
I hung up, dialed again.
“Christine White,” she said. She hadn’t mentioned she’d reverted to her maiden name.
“It’s me. Don’t hang up. You’re in danger. Where are you?”
“What? Eddie?” She heard the urgency in my voice, the high pitch as I forced the words through my panting breath.
“Where are you?”
“I’m in a cab on Centre Street. What’s wrong? Is it Amy?”
I heard the first tremors of fear in her voice; she spoke fast, and she knew I was serious.
“No, it’s you. Tell the cabdriver to change lanes, as if he’s turning right on Walker Street. Then ask him to check if any cars follow you into the lane. Do it now.”
“You’re scaring me. If this is some kind of—”
“Do it now!”
“All right,” she said, and I heard her giving instructions to the cabdriver. I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, but she repeated the instruction, forcefully.
“Did you get a death threat? I’ve got a right to know, and why the hell didn’t you tell me this five minutes ago?”
“Christine, don’t ask. Not now. I’ll explain later. Have you changed lanes?”
“Yeah, we’ve moved. Exactly what am I supposed to be looking—wait,” she said.
The driver mumbled something and Christine replied. I couldn’t make it out.
Then I heard the driver say, “Blue sedan, three cars back.”
“Tell him to move back into his original lane, like you’ve changed your mind and you’re going back to the office.”
She gave the instruction.
“What’s going on?” she said.
“Did the sedan follow?”
The slow rumble of tires on the asphalt, a distant horn.
The driver again: “There he goes, lady. We’ve got a tail,” he said.
“Oh my God. What is this? What have you done?”
“I’ll explain later. You’re in danger. The guys in that car are going to hurt you, understand. Now, do exactly what I tell you.”
She was crying now. The driver tried to calm her.
“I’m calling the police,” she said, fear rippling through her voice.
“No, do not—”
The line went dead.