"Ines Garrido. TSA, south checkpoint, she's a supervisor. She cleared a passenger's cremated remains about half an hour ago and the passenger left her purse behind. Officer Blake picked it up. I said I'd bring it to her."
Whitfield nodded to the younger patrolman, who stepped away and spoke into his radio. They all stood there. It was one of the strangest minutes of Desmond's life, standing with his back to the glass in a ring of strangers and phones, everyone waiting for a radio to say whether he was who he said he was. The hockey coach had finally gotten his players to sit down. The toddler across the concourse had woken and was staring at him with enormous eyes over her mother's shoulder. Curtis Lindqvist stared at the carpet.
The radio crackled. The patrolman listened, and said, "Copy," and turned back.
"Garrido confirms. Says, quote, the captain's a good man, tell Brent he's an idiot, unquote."
Brent's face went dark red.
"Captain Hale," said Whitfield, and her voice had changed, though not by much. "Are you hurt?"
"My wrist. It's fine. I'll have it looked at."
"Do you want to make a complaint?"
Desmond looked at Curtis Lindqvist. Curtis looked back at him, and in his face Desmond saw a dozen things at once: fear, and stubbornness, and the start of an understanding that he was in real trouble, and underneath that, still, the stubborn little pilot light of certainty, the voice saying you saw what you saw, anybody would have done it, don't let them make you the bad guy.
He did not see, yet, any sign that Curtis knew whose purse it was.
"Yes," Desmond said. "I'd like to file a report. Both of them. Him and the guard. But I'd like to do it after I land, if that's all right, Sergeant. I've got a hundred and sixty-two people waiting on me. And one of them is waiting on this." He bent, slowly, and picked up the tapestry purse, and held it in both hands.
Whitfield studied him for a moment. Then she nodded. "I've got your information through the airline. Mr. Lindqvist, Officer," she turned to Brent, "you two stay right here with me for a few minutes. We're going to have a conversation. Captain, go fly your airplane."
Wendell picked up the garment bag and handed it to him, and then the roller bag, setting it upright on its wheels.
"You all right, Cap?"