By 5 a.m., Warden Tallulah Terradas had arrived at the turnaround where I’d crashed the Crown Vic into the RV. Frank was in an ambulance, heading to Houston Methodist. Terradas had my map of east Texas spread out over the hood of her truck.
At her side, I studied the lay of the land.
“We faced off here,” I said, pointing to an area in the Jack Gore Baygall Unit. “These rivers run north to south, correct? Eventually they ferry you down, east of Beaumont and out into the Gulf of Mexico.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“I passed a sign for canoes.”
“Those trips are educational, mostly. We’ve got boaters, though. A lotta them.”
Before Terradas had arrived, I’d examined the back of the crashed RV in the predawn light. It sported a hitch with a two-inch ball, suitable for hauling.
Nolan had a boat stashed somewhere.
A white truck pulled up beside the game warden’s vehicle, and Shooter got out.
“How you doin’, Gardner?” she said, her face more serious than usual.
I introduced Shooter to Terradas, and the warden estimated how far Ethan Nolan could have traveled in the three hours it had taken for me to get Frank to the road. She broke her numbers down by canoe and motorboat. If he was in the former, he could still be on the water.
“If I was him,” Terradas said. “I’d put out somewhere near Rose City. It’s close to the Louisiana-Texas border.”
I glanced southward on the map. At the Beaumont area I’d driven through last night.
“The current takes you there fast.” She tapped the map. “And you’re right near Interstate Ten. From there you can go west toward California or east toward Florida.”
Meaning he could be anywhere.
Shooter looked at me. “We got a bird coming in twenty, Gardner. You make the call.”
“The logical thing for Nolan to do is float down that river,” I said. “But he’s been countering our logic for days. I’d bet he went upriver instead. Put out to the north.”
As our eyes moved in the opposite direction, Shooter’s phone chirped. It was Cassie, and Shooter put her on speaker.
“Guys,” Cassie said. “I found something at the Nolan house. Kinda low-key weird.”
“Weird how?” I asked.
“It’s a picture of Nolan Senior from nineteen sixty-eight,” Cassie said. “Vietnam.”
“Yeah, he served,” I said. “Sixty-seven to seventy.”
“We know that,” Cassie said. “But in the photo, he’s with a group of soldiers. Gardner, I swear I recognize one of them.”
“How do you mean?”
“I could be wrong,” she said. “But I think it’s a young William Banning.”