THERE’S CONFUSION AND a lot of movement and yelling going on over there by the tent and the people, and Marsha Gray is trying to figure out what’s going on. When Grissom had moved away from the riverbank, Marsha had slipped to another viewing position—a wet patch of ground soaking her belly—and saw the Stokes litter being brought into the white tent. The folks over there lined up on each side as the body was carried in, with covers coming off their heads and salutes being made, as if the dead woman were part of the military.
Then about a minute ago the whole scene on the other side of the river just got tumbled up when a black woman ran out, and now she’s laughing, crying, and lifting her arms up to the darkening sky.
Marsha whispers, “What the hell is this?”
She slowly moves the binoculars back and forth, trying to gauge what just happened. There’s a sense of something being noticed, being released. The group over there had looked somber and tired, and Marsha sees that’s all changed. They’re relaxed, some laughing, others giving their buddies hugs and slaps on the back.
Okay then.
Two minutes ago, the First Lady’s body was being recovered. It was dark and quiet over there, a funeral procession, and now it’s different.
Smiles. Laughter. Happy people.
Grissom is now talking and gesturing with a Homeland Security guy, who’s giving it right back to her.
Conclusion?
The First Lady is still missing.
That’s not her body that was just brought in.
Damn.
She slips out her iPhone, slides the earpiece in, starts sliding the phone’s screen and working the numbers.
No answer.
Where the hell is Parker Hoyt?
The crowd over there is starting to disperse. Two Humvees have started up and left the scene.
“Well, this sucks,” she whispers.
What now?
What now is that something is going to change. Right now she’s been a bird dog, following tips and orders from Parker Hoyt. Okay, that’s the job. She’s a big girl and can do what it takes.
She sees Grissom and the Homeland Security guy still talking, looking animated, whatever. If Marsha had been on the other side of the river, she could key in on what’s being discussed, planned, where this so-called search would go next.
So Marsha knows what needs to be done, what she earlier had decided to do.
Time to slip away and get to Grissom’s home, surveil the crap out of it, leave a little listening souvenir behind, and maybe—if things go well—do the same to Grissom’s vehicle.
Still…
Let’s make one more try to get ahold of her boss.
Once more, her fingers work away on the iPhone.
Still no answer.
Where the hell is Parker Hoyt?