Page 106 of Holmes, Margaret and Poe

“Two weeks ago, he was in Ohio,” the parole officer said. “But at the moment, no, I don’t know. He’s been moving around. Working at various Amazon warehouses.”

Sampson said, “He got released for medical reasons?”

“Paddy’s terminal,” Michaels said. “Slow-moving cancer with no cure. Maybe a year to live now.”

“Can you do us a favor and ping him?” I said. “Get on the phone with him long enough to track his location?”

“Well, we weren’t scheduled for a check-in until the day after tomorrow, but I’ll give him a try. No promises. He uses one of those damn phones with the prepaid cards and keeps it off most of the time.”

We’d no sooner gotten to Metro PD headquarters than the federal parole officer called us back.

“You’re lucky I’ve got U.S. marshals across the hall,” she said. “They do this kind of phone tracking of fugitives all the time. Anyway, they set it up before I called Paddy, and they traced his location. He told me he’s in Omaha, but they have him in Springfield, Virginia. Outside an Amazon warehouse.”

CHAPTER 88

BY THE TIME WEreached the Amazon fulfillment center in Springfield, Virginia, about five miles southeast of downtown Washington, DC, Paddy Filson had finished his overnight shift and left.

The warehouse supervisor said he had no permanent address for Mr. Filson. He believed that Filson, like a lot of people who worked at the fulfillment center, lived in some kind of mobile home or trailer.

“Try the Burke Lake campground or Pohick Bay,” he said. “They’re the closest.”

We got back in the car, pulled up a Google map of the area, and saw Burke Lake to our west less than three miles and Pohick Bay farther to our southeast.

“Burke first?” I said.

Sampson shook his head. “My gut says he’s at Pohick. Lookhow close that campground is to Accokeek and that national park where they found Henry Pelham.”

“Other side of the river,” I said. “He has to drive all the way north to the bridge and then come back down.”

“It’s still close,” Sampson said. “But we’ll check Burke Lake first.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were waved through the gate. The manager said he had only ten campers this time of year, what with the weather getting colder. None of the campers matched the photograph we showed him of Filson.

“He’s at Pohick,” Sampson said when we left. “I’m feeling it.”

It took us more than half an hour to get there. In the light, steady rain, autumn leaves were falling on the narrow route east off the interstate.

When we reached Pohick Bay Regional Park and the entrance to the campground, we found the guard shack empty but the gate open. A sign there saidWINTER FEES COLLECTED ONCE A WEEK.

An older woman walking a dachshund appeared. We drove up to her. She acted suspicious until Sampson showed her his badge, and I showed her a picture of Filson.

“Gray, blue, and white Forest River Arctic Wolf fifth wheel,” she replied. “Dark blue Dodge Ram pickup. He’s been here long as I have. Works at Amazon and talks to no one. What’s he done?”

“We just want to ask him a few questions about Amazon.”

She laughed. “I can tell you all about Amazon.”

“We’ll find you afterward,” I said.

“One thing you should know before you go down there — he’s got guns. Weird ones.”

“What do you mean, weird?”

“Like I think he builds them. In the trailer.”

“Thank you,” I said. “You’ve been a big help.”

As we pulled away from her, both Sampson and I were thinking about the recent firefight we’d survived outside Sami Abdallah’s home.

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