Crescent City Connection

said, “What’s the situation?”
    “Ferguson’s been holding them off. We came over in ten minutes like they asked, but they wouldn’t give us the picture till they saw Lovelace.”
    Skip said, “Well, here I am.”
    “I like it. It’s good.” He turned to Lovelace. “Don’t shake hands—pretend you already know me. Agent Shellmire, FBI.”
    “Officer Jacomine, NOPD.”
    The name made Skip shiver, even when a young girl said it.
    Skip said, “I don’t really get the point of the picture. We’ve already talked to her.”
    “Let’s don’t worry about that now. Penny, you ready?” Ferguson whipped out a cell phone and called.
    “Reverend, look out the window. Your granddaughter’s here.”
    Though they could see no sign of activity at any of the windows, Skip waved.
    Ferguson said, “Listen, I really need you to give us the picture.” She paused. “Well, if I’m coming over, you at least need to come out and show yourself.”
    She listened. “Well, look, okay, I’ll deal with Bettina. But I’ve got some other things to tell you. Lovelace wants to know how her father is.”
    Ferguson waited a minute, then put her hand over the phone and spoke to the others, all part of the act for whoever was looking out the window. “He says, why don’t you ask him yourself, but I’m afraid we can’t…”
    Skip made a show of grabbing for the phone, but Ferguson snatched it back and kept talking, knowing she could be heard at the other end of the line. “I’m sorry. It’s not an appropriate time for you to talk to him. You’ll have to wait until we have the picture.”
    Skip moved her mouth, but Lovelace spoke, her lips hidden by her cap, and by Shellmire’s shoulder. “Tell him I want to speak to my dad.”
    Ferguson did, and waited while he answered. “I
know
it’s not part of the deal,” she said, “but you’re not letting us see you. Look, if she can’t talk to Daniel, why don’t you at least let her see him?” She paused.
    “Okay, okay—you’re counting to ten. You want to give me the photograph now. Hold it. Reverend. Can you hold it just a minute? Okay, we can do it now, but just do me one favor, to show good faith. Give me the picture you took an hour ago, and a new one, too. Deal? Okay, I’m coming.”
    She held the phone toward them so they could hear Jacomine counting, and began to walk across the street. As she did, several members of the TAC unit stepped into view behind her, on the sidewalk opposite the house, rifles raised.
    The door opened and a pregnant woman stepped out.
    Ferguson mounted the porch. Both women started at a noise behind them—something being pushed through the mail slot. The pregnant woman stooped, picked it up, and gave it to Ferguson.
    Ferguson looked at it, nodded, and said, “Is everyone all right in there?”
    The woman said, “I’m going back in now.”
    When Ferguson returned, she had two Polaroid pictures, one of a small black girl in a blue T-shirt, the other still developing. As it came into focus, they saw that it was the same little girl, still wearing the T-shirt. The only difference was that the first one was a head shot, and the second was full-length. The little girl was wearing jeans.
    Skip gave a slight nod to confirm it was Shavonne.
    Ferguson spoke into the phone. “Okay, we’re satisfied.” She listened. “Sure. You can talk to her now.”
    She handed the phone to Skip, who had a tape in her pocket, prerecorded by Lovelace after her visit with Isaac. Skip flicked it on and lip-synched, “Grandpa, how’s my dad?” She turned it off, ready for the next sound bite when she needed it.
    “He’s fine, honey. You look good—or you will when that hair grows out.”
    “Why can’t I talk to him?”
    “Come over and join us; then we’ll all be together.”
    They hadn’t known what he’d say, had simply recorded a generic bit to get the point across. “Please, please give yourselves up. I’m so afraid for you.”
    “Are you kidding? We’re Jacomines. Nothing’s going to happen to us. We need you, Lovelace.”
    Skip put her hand over her face, as if overcome with emotion, unable to go on, and gave the phone back to Ferguson, shaking her head, simply unable to say another word.
    Ferguson said, “She’s a mess, Reverend. Don’t put her through any more of this.” She listened a minute and folded her phone. “He said he’ll call us back in an hour.”

Twenty-eight
    KOHLER HAD A tape for them, a call to Jacomine