Maggie recognized the confusion in Nick’s face. She felt a bit of her own stuck somewhere down between her throat and chest. Confusion bordered on frustration, or perhaps frustration bordered on panic.

“Maybe he simply brought Father Keller to the airport,” Nick said in a low, quiet voice, though Howard was clear across the ticket lobby, far from overhearing.

“I usually don’t take along luggage when I drop people off at the airport,” Maggie said.

The large gray and black duffel bag looked heavy, making Howard’s limp more pronounced. He wore his usual uniform of well-pressed brown trousers, white shirt and tie. A navy blazer replaced the cardigan.

“Tell me again why he isn’t a suspect?” Nick asked without taking his eyes off Howard.

Suddenly, Maggie couldn’t remember any of her reasons. Finally, she said, “The limp. Remember the boys may have been carried into the woods. And Timmy was sure the guy didn’t limp.”

They watched Howard stop to examine the flight-schedule board, then head for the escalators.

“I don’t know, Maggie. That duffel bag sure looks heavy.”

“Yes, it does,” she said, and hurried toward the escalators with Nick alongside.

Howard hesitated at the down escalator, waiting to get his footing right before stepping on.

“Mr. Howard,” Maggie called out.

Howard looked over his shoulder, grabbed the railing and did a double take. This time a flash of panic appeared in his lizard eyes. He jumped onto the escalator and ran down the moving steps, clearing a path with the duffel bag, striking and pushing people out of the way.

“I’ll take the stairs.” Nick raced for the emergency exit.

Maggie followed Howard, ripping her revolver from its holster and holding it nose up.

“FBI!” she yelled, clearing her own path.

Howard’s speed surprised her. He weaved through the crowd, zigzagging around luggage gurneys and leaping over an abandoned pet carrier. He shoved travelers aside, knocking down a small, blue-haired lady and smashing through a group of Japanese tourists. He kept looking back at Maggie, his mouth open to breathe, his forehead glistening with sweat.

She was closing in on him, though her own breathing disappointed her. The ragged gasps sounded as if they were coming from a ventilator, surely not her own chest. She ignored the flame in her side, burning her flesh once again.

Howard stopped suddenly, grabbed a luggage cart from a stunned flight attendant and shoved it at Maggie. The suitcases snapped free. One burst open, spewing cosmetics, shoes, clothes and assorted unmentionables across the floor. Maggie skidded on a pair of lace panties, lost her balance and fell into the mess, smashing a bottle of liquid makeup with her knee.

Howard headed for the parking garage, smiling over his shoulder. He was almost to the door, hugging the duffel bag, his gait finally staggered by the limp. He pushed open the door just as Nick grabbed his jacket collar and swung him around. Howard fell to his knees and covered his head with his arms as if expecting a blow. Nick’s hands, however, never left Howard’s collar.

Maggie struggled to her feet while the flight attendant scrambled for her belongings. Nick’s eyes were filled with concern for Maggie, even as his hands clutched Howard’s collar, rendering him immobile.

“I’m fine,” Maggie said before he asked. But when she replaced her revolver, she felt the sticky wetness through her blouse. Her fingertips were smeared with blood when she brought her hand out from inside her jacket.

“Jesus, Maggie.” Nick noticed immediately. Howard did, too, and he smiled. “What are you doing here, Ray?” Nick responded, tightening his grip and turning Howard’s smile into a grimace.

“I brought Father Keller. He had a flight to catch. Why were you chasing me? I didn’t do nothing wrong.”

“Then why did you run?”

“Eddie told me to watch out for you two.”

“Eddie did?”

“What’s in the duffel bag?” Maggie interrupted the two of them.

“I don’t know. Father Keller said he wouldn’t be needing it anymore. He asked me to take it back for him.”

“You mind if we take a peek?” She pried it out of his hands. His resisting arrest justified a search. The bag was heavy. She swung it up onto a nearby chair, stopped, then leaned against a pay phone until the faintness passed.

“You sure it’s not your bag?” she said, grabbing the familiar brown cardigan and several well-pressed white shirts. Howard’s face registered surprise.

A stack of art books accounted for the bag’s weight. Maggie put them aside, more interested in the small, carved box tucked between several pairs of boxer shorts. The carved words on the lid were Latin, but she had no idea what they said. The contents didn’t surprise her: a white linen cloth, a small crucifix, two candles and a small container of oil. She glanced up at Nick and watched his eyes examine the contents, his confusion replaced with frustration. Then Maggie reached underneath the pile of newspaper clippings to the bottom of the box. She pulled out a small pair of boy’s underpants tightly wrapped around a shiny fillet knife.