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The police station Tracy was taken to was in the Algiers district,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], on the west bank of New Orleans, a grim and foreboding building with a look of hopelessness about it. The booking room was crowded with seedy-looking characters--- prostitutes, pimps,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], muggers, and their victims. Tracy was marched to the desk of the sergeant-on-watch.
One of her captors said, "The Whitney woman,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], Sarge. We caught her at the airport tryin' to escape."
"I wasn't---"
"Take the cuffs off."
The handcuffs were removed. Tracy found her voice. "It was an accident. I didn't mean to kill him. He tried to rape me and---" She could not control the hysteria in her voice.
The desk sergeant said curtly,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "Are you Tracy Whitney?"
"Yes. I---"
"Lock her up."
"No! Wait a minute,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]," she pleaded. "I have to call someone. I--- I'm entitled to make a phone call."
The desk sergeant grunted, "You know the routine, huh? How many times you been in the stammer,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], honey?"
"None. This is---"
"You get one call. Three minutes. What number do you want?"
She was so nervous that she could not remember Charles's telephone number. She could not even recall the area code for Philadelphia. Was it two-five-one? No. That was not right. She was trembling.
"Come on. I haven't got all night."
Two-one-five.That was it,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]! "Two-one-five-five-five-five-nine-three-zero-one."