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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,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], pimps, muggers,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], and their victims. Tracy was marched to the desk of the sergeant-on-watch.
One of her captors said,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "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, "Are you Tracy Whitney?"
"Yes. I---"
"Lock her up."
"No! Wait a minute," she pleaded. "I have to call someone. I--- I'm entitled to make a phone call."
The desk sergeant grunted,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], "You know the routine,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], huh? How many times you been in the stammer,[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."