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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,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych],[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], 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,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and their victims. Tracy was marched to the desk of the sergeant-on-watch.
One of her captors said, "The Whitney woman, 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, "Are you Tracy Whitney?"
"Yes. I---"
"Lock her up."
"No,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]! Wait a minute," she pleaded. "I have to call someone. I--- I'm entitled to make a phone call."
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"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! "Two-one-five-five-five-five-nine-three-zero-one."