around Atlanta with a newspaper under his arm. Why? And then I remembered a sighting with no corroborating surveillance photos about three months earlier. Someone had thought they’d seen DeVane walking through a motel parking lot with a newspaper under his arm.”
“You thought it was a meet signal.”
They hadn’t heard, Ariel realized, and gave Jack Hale a look. The oddest, faintest smile was barely twisting his lips.
“No, sir. I thought it might be more than just a flag to alert someone, maybe a contact, that he was there. I thought the newspaper itself might hold the instructions for a meeting.”
“Classifieds?” Kellerman asked, and Ariel nodded.
“From that earlier sighting we knew where he likely was for a meeting, and we knew what paper he had from the later witness reports, so I had the classified ads for the days leading up to the earliest sighting scrutinized. And we found something in the previous day’s paper.” She still remembered it. “Four seven twelve Natalie. Seven.”
Kellerman was nodding and smiling. “The address.”
“Four seven one two Natalie Way,” Ariel confirmed. “The location of the Grand View Motel, where Mills DeVane was sighted at approximately seven p.m. After we had that we went back to the classifieds for the times near the two documented sightings and we found similar ads. And there were two motels in the two areas with address numbers mentioned in the ads, on streets mentioned in the ads.”
“So you took his picture there,” Director Weaver surmised quite correctly.
“And we found witnesses. Desk clerks, customers from those days.”
“And from that day on you watched the classifieds,” Kellerman said.
“Like a hawk.”
Kellerman nodded and shared a look with Jack Hale.
“You were surprised when he wasn’t there,” the AD suggested.
“Very,” Ariel said. “Because the ad was in the paper.” She shot a look Hale’s way. “But someone made a mistake and he was spooked.”
“There was no mistake, Agent Grace” Kellerman said, the statement more confirmation than denial.
“What do you mean?”
It was not Kellerman who explained his remark. It was Jack Hale. “What he’s saying, Ariel, is that there was a car on the boulevard that night.”
“ What? ” she asked, dumbstruck.
“It was my car,” Hale told her, and her mouth hung open.
Director Weaver sat forward and drew her attention. “Agent Grace, I didn’t approve your being removed from the DeVane case because you were off the mark. The fact of the matter is you were getting too close.”
“You would have caught him that night if Agent Hale hadn’t scared him off,” Kellerman said.
Ariel looked to each of them. Her head was shaking. She was at a loss. “Why in the world would you want to let Mills DeVane get away?”
“Because he’s one of us,” Director Weaver said. “He’s an FBI agent. Undercover.”
Ariel stared slack-jawed at him, then asked, “Can I have that drink now?”
Jack Hale got it for her, lime fizzy water, and sat next to her again, his arm on the back of the couch behind her. She sipped her drink and looked at him and saw something different in his face. Something that seemed out of place there, in him, on him, part of him: apology.
“I didn’t want to pull you Ariel. I didn’t want to cut you down in front of everybody. But I had no choice. It had to look real.”
“It felt real,” she said, then the weight of what they were telling her hit. Another long sip half drained the bottle and she set it on the coffee table. “Jesus, what is he doing on the most wanted list if he’s UC?”
“Credibility,” Jack Hale said.
Director Weaver spoke next, all things about him right then exuding seriousness. Danger. “Agent Grace, you’re one of a select few to know anything about this operation. I don’t need to say the obvious.”
That Mills DeVane would be a dead man if the truth ever leaked out, or was surmised upon. “No
“You thought it was a meet signal.”
They hadn’t heard, Ariel realized, and gave Jack Hale a look. The oddest, faintest smile was barely twisting his lips.
“No, sir. I thought it might be more than just a flag to alert someone, maybe a contact, that he was there. I thought the newspaper itself might hold the instructions for a meeting.”
“Classifieds?” Kellerman asked, and Ariel nodded.
“From that earlier sighting we knew where he likely was for a meeting, and we knew what paper he had from the later witness reports, so I had the classified ads for the days leading up to the earliest sighting scrutinized. And we found something in the previous day’s paper.” She still remembered it. “Four seven twelve Natalie. Seven.”
Kellerman was nodding and smiling. “The address.”
“Four seven one two Natalie Way,” Ariel confirmed. “The location of the Grand View Motel, where Mills DeVane was sighted at approximately seven p.m. After we had that we went back to the classifieds for the times near the two documented sightings and we found similar ads. And there were two motels in the two areas with address numbers mentioned in the ads, on streets mentioned in the ads.”
“So you took his picture there,” Director Weaver surmised quite correctly.
“And we found witnesses. Desk clerks, customers from those days.”
“And from that day on you watched the classifieds,” Kellerman said.
“Like a hawk.”
Kellerman nodded and shared a look with Jack Hale.
“You were surprised when he wasn’t there,” the AD suggested.
“Very,” Ariel said. “Because the ad was in the paper.” She shot a look Hale’s way. “But someone made a mistake and he was spooked.”
“There was no mistake, Agent Grace” Kellerman said, the statement more confirmation than denial.
“What do you mean?”
It was not Kellerman who explained his remark. It was Jack Hale. “What he’s saying, Ariel, is that there was a car on the boulevard that night.”
“ What? ” she asked, dumbstruck.
“It was my car,” Hale told her, and her mouth hung open.
Director Weaver sat forward and drew her attention. “Agent Grace, I didn’t approve your being removed from the DeVane case because you were off the mark. The fact of the matter is you were getting too close.”
“You would have caught him that night if Agent Hale hadn’t scared him off,” Kellerman said.
Ariel looked to each of them. Her head was shaking. She was at a loss. “Why in the world would you want to let Mills DeVane get away?”
“Because he’s one of us,” Director Weaver said. “He’s an FBI agent. Undercover.”
Ariel stared slack-jawed at him, then asked, “Can I have that drink now?”
Jack Hale got it for her, lime fizzy water, and sat next to her again, his arm on the back of the couch behind her. She sipped her drink and looked at him and saw something different in his face. Something that seemed out of place there, in him, on him, part of him: apology.
“I didn’t want to pull you Ariel. I didn’t want to cut you down in front of everybody. But I had no choice. It had to look real.”
“It felt real,” she said, then the weight of what they were telling her hit. Another long sip half drained the bottle and she set it on the coffee table. “Jesus, what is he doing on the most wanted list if he’s UC?”
“Credibility,” Jack Hale said.
Director Weaver spoke next, all things about him right then exuding seriousness. Danger. “Agent Grace, you’re one of a select few to know anything about this operation. I don’t need to say the obvious.”
That Mills DeVane would be a dead man if the truth ever leaked out, or was surmised upon. “No
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