Page 47 of I Will Find You

There were seven other people in the reception area with Max, but the only one he’d known before five minutes ago was Sarah. Sarah Jablonski had been Max’s partner, his lieutenant, his right hand, his indispensable associate, whatever other term you need to understand that he adored her and needed her, for sixteen years. Sarah was a big redhead, a full six feet tall, broad at the shoulders, and she dwarfed Max, who was more than six inches shorter. Their size difference led to a somewhat comical appearance, something they used to their advantage.

Two of the other men in the room were federal marshals under his command. The other four were with the prison system or local police. Max sat down in front of the computer monitor. His right leg jackhammered in what would probably be diagnosed as restless legs syndrome if Max ever decided to look into it. Everyone in the room watched Max as he replayed the end of the video over and over.

“You got something, Max?” Sarah asked.

He didn’t reply. Sarah didn’t press it. They both understood what that meant.

Still staring at the screen, Max asked, “Who here from the prison is highest ranked?”

“I am,” a meaty man who’d sweated through his short-sleeve dress shirt said. “My name is—”

Max didn’t care about his name or rank. “We are going to need a few things pronto.”

“Like?”

“Like a list of any visitors Burroughs had in recent days.”

“Okay.”

“Any close family or friends. Cellmates he might have talked to or who’ve been released. He’s going to need to reach out to somebody for help. Let’s get eyes on them.”

“On it.”

Max rose from the chair and began pacing again. He gnawed on the nail of his index finger, not gently or casually, but like a Rottweiler breaking in a new toy. The others exchanged glances. Sarah was used to this.

“Is the warden back yet, Sarah?”

“He just arrived, Max.”

“We ready?”

“We ready,” she said.

Still pacing, Max gave a big nod. He stopped in front of the laptop and hit the play button again. On the tape, Warden Philip Mackenzie was stepping out of his car and waving his hands in the air toward the helicopter filming him. Max watched. Then he watched it again. Sarah stood over his shoulder.

“You want me to bring him in now, Max?”

“One more time, Sarah.”

Max started the video from the beginning. Periodically he would leap with the grace of a wounded gazelle from the computer screen to the map, trace the route with his gnawed-on index finger, go back to the computer screen. All the while Max fiddled with the dozen rubber bands—exactly a dozen, never eleven, never thirteen—he kept around his wrist.

“Semsey,” Max barked.

“Right here.”

“Give me the play-by-play of this ending.”

“Sir?”

“When did Burroughs get out of the car?”

“In the Wilmington Tunnel. You see here?” Semsey pointed on the map. “That’s where the warden’s car entered the tunnel.”

“You were talking to Burroughs?”

“Yes.”

“As they entered the tunnel?”

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