by Ed James
“Careful what you’re saying, Max.” Nguyen arched her eyebrow, her pupils shifting to the corridor. Outside, the chief of police was grilling his direct reports, their voices low in that way that meant jobs were on the line. “Him and Holliday go back a long way.”
“So I should just back off because of some old boys’ club?”
“Get over it.” She inched closer, her instinct for gossip overcoming her political machinations. “You seriously think Holliday kidnapped his own children?”
“I’ve been doing this a long time. So have you. Nothing should surprise you.” Carter decided to play her at her own game, so he leaned in, all conspiratorial. “But I think blackmail is the likely explanation. Only one kid in the car. Doesn’t that seem like they’re holding Avery back, letting him wonder when the other shoe will drop?”
Nguyen blew air up her face. “Okay, so what do you propose we do?”
“I want to stick him in a room, grill him, find—”
“Max.” She punched the sofa’s arm, struggling to keep her voice low. “His son’s in the ER. How will that look?”
“Brandon was probably shot because of Holliday’s actions.”
Nguyen laughed, emotionless and empty. “You’re a cold fish, Max, you really are.”
Carter thought it took one to know one. “Karen, I’m trying to do an impossible job to the best of my abilities. His son’s fighting for his life, sure, but his daughter’s still out there, and her life is in the hands of these people.”
Nguyen got up and paced around the room, exhaling slowly. “Okay.” Looked like she’d bitten into a lemon. “Interview him. But I want to be present.”
“Thank you, Karen. That’s all I asked.”
“But if you step over the line, that’s it. Am I clear?”
“Crystal clear.” Carter walked back out into the corridor.
Duvall, the state governor, was chatting to the SPD chief, wearing full uniform, more chains than a medieval mayor, more badges than a four-star general. They gave Carter the once-over, then went back to their chicanery.
Carter’s cell rang. He took it out and scanned the screen. Speaking of can’t be trusted… Against his better judgement, he answered the call. “Bill, this isn’t a good time.”
“It’s always a bad time with you, you sniveling little shit.” And he was drunk. His voice always reverted to that London drawl when he was loaded, like he was traveling back through time to before all that happened. “You never want to help your old man! Never let me even see my lovely litt—”
“Never call again, Bill.”
“Oh yeah? You and whose—”
“I’ll block your number.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“If you try and speak to Kirsty again, then I’m calling the cops. Do I need to remind you of the protection order?”
That cut through the noise. Sounded like Bill took a drink, the ice clinking in his highball glass. “Son, I need your help.”
Again. Always the same story with him, always trying to leverage Carter’s better side. And it was always the same, just Bill wanting to control things, like he always did.
“Goodbye.” Carter stabbed the End Call button. He pressed the little “i” icon next to the call record and it took him to the contact for Bill Carter, his location pinned to a few miles down the freeway in Redmond. Carter rolled the screen down to the bottom, and his finger hovered over “Block this Caller”. He pressed it and got a warning message. He didn’t read it and hit “Block Contact”. He locked the cell and put it away, sucking in a deep breath to re-center himself.
Elisha was still sitting with Megan, both sipping from cardboard cups, locked in silence.
No sign of Holliday.
Elisha clocked Carter. She patted Megan’s arm and left her, meeting Carter with a nod. “What’s up?”
“Where’s Holliday?”
Elisha frowned. “I saw him go to the bathroom.”
“That was earlier.” Then it hit Carter—he’d gone to the accessible restroom. With a sigh, he walked over to the door, as calmly as he could given the eyes on him, and tried it. Locked.
Wrong. Holliday was in there, after all. Just Carter’s brain seeing conspiracies everywhere he looked.
He knocked and spoke at the door: “Senator, I need a word when you’re done.”
The door rattled open. An elderly man leaned on a cane, scowling. Big guy, but he’d lost a lot of weight. Wearing a plaid shirt, but a lumberjack rather than a grunger.
“Sorry, sir. I thought Senator Holliday was in there.”
“That prick? Haven’t seen my son-in-law since I got here. Should be helping my daughter, if you ask me.”
Carter pulled out his cell phone and started dialing.
Carter raced out the front door into the ambulance bays and the parking lot. The Children’s Hospital was more like a high-end Marriott, but with EMERGENCY in huge red letters above both doors. Farther away, it was all trees and grass, bisected by a busy highway.
Carter looked both ways. No sign of Holliday.
Elisha was clutching her cell to her head. Her eyes widened, then she opened her laptop. “Max, Holliday left the hospital twenty minutes ago.”
Carter shut his eyes. “Where has he gone?”
“Tyler’s pulling the surveillance footage.” Elisha swiveled her laptop around.
The screen showed where they were, the gray revolving doors rattling as Holliday sloped through, head low, passing a crying mother hauling two children toward the hospital. The video ran at quadruple speed and Holliday jerked over to the road.
The screen changed to a long tree-lined avenue. At the right, a red sign hung above a low building, WELLS FARGO in yellow. Holliday made for it, skipping behind a Ford Ranger as he crossed the road. A yellow cab sat in the bank’s parking lot, the engine idling. Holliday flagged it down, getting a flash of lights. He got in and it rolled off. The video stayed on that frozen image, cars whizzing past.
Carter grabbed Elisha’s cell. “Peterson, can you follow the cab?”
“I’ll try, sir.” Tyler’s voice rattled out of the speaker, sibilant and warped. “I’m pulling out all the stops just to get that footage.”
Carter walked over to the street. He could see the Wells Fargo from here, the sign glowing through the rain. “Holliday is meeting the kidnapper, isn’t he?”
Elisha joined him, folding her laptop shut, her cell clamped between ear and shoulder. “Blackmail? Why him? What can he get them? What on earth could justify kidnapping both of his kids?”
Carter didn’t have an answer for her. “Tyler, can you get a trace on Holliday’s cell? Also, start going through his cell records.” He paused, long enough to clock the anger in Elisha’s eyes. He spoke in an undertone: “Are you blaming yourself?”
“Don’t you? We were here with him, and he just walked out.”
“This isn’t on you, Elisha. It happened on my watch.”
“Even so.” Sighing, she passed her laptop to Carter.
“Got it.” Tyler hissed down the line. “Calls and texts. iPhone XS, by the looks of it. Oh, here we go. Network ping says he’s right by the entrance?”
Carter raced over, scanning every face, but Holliday wasn’t there. Two male patients sucked on cigarettes. Three schoolkids skipped through the front door.
Then a groan as his realization hit.
He darted over to the trash. Sitting on top, a white-and-silver iPhone. He tugged on some gloves and fished it out. “We’ll never unlock this thing.”
Elisha bagged it for him. “Not never, just not in the timeframe we need.”
Carter held up her phone. “Tyler, you still there? He’s trashed it.”
“Right, sir. Okay, I’ve got something. Fifteen minutes after the abduction, Holliday got a text and a photo message from a burner phone.” Frantic clacking of a keyboard clattered out of the speaker. “I’m sending it to Elisha’s screen.”
She grabbed her laptop back and pu
lled up the photo. Brandon and Avery sleeping in a minivan, this morning’s Seattle times sitting between them.
“There’s a text, says ‘Big Al’s truck stop off I90. Be there by noon or they die.’”
Carter checked it, and it was just where he thought it was. Google Maps said it was permanently closed. Not too far from the parking lot in Bellevue where Brandon was shot. But whatever happened, receiving texts from his children’s abductor proved that Holliday was being blackmailed. “Peterson, do whatever you can to get me his current location, okay?”
Back upstairs, Megan Holliday was at the nurses’ station, eyes closed. “I just want to know how my son is doing.”
“Dr. Benedict is still in surgery, ma’am.” The nurse gave a hollow smile. “I’ll come and find you as soon as I hear anything, I promise.”
Megan looked like she was going to press it further, but she trained her glare on Carter, her rage simmering away behind her eyes. “Have you found Avery?”
He gave a slight shake of the head. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Now?” She clenched her jaw. “Can’t you ask my husband?”
“That’s kind of the issue.” Carter beckoned her away from the station, leading her toward their family room.
Megan stayed standing, arms crossed. “What’s going on?”
Carter nudged the door shut behind him. “Just after the abduction, your husband received this message.” He showed her the laptop screen and the photo. “We also believe he intended to meet the kidnapper around the time of the shooting.”
Megan slumped on the couch, eyes shut. “Idiot.”
“You didn’t know?”
“My husband always has secrets.” Megan opened her eyes again, the full force of the fury back. “It’s the nature of being a politician. You always need angles on people. Chris is always playing games, trying to leverage any slight advantage on his opponents and enemies.”
“I believe your husband is being blackmailed. Has he talked to you about it?”
“You think I’m involved?” She snarled out a laugh. “Of course I’m not. But trusting you got my son shot. I should never have called 911 in the first place. I should’ve just sat it out. Brandon would still be okay.”
“Mrs. Holliday, that wasn’t—”
“I know.” Megan held up a hand. “Let me be upset, will you?” She let out a deep breath. “Believe me, Chris never mentioned this to me. I would’ve come to you if he had.”
“Can you think of anywhere your husband could go?”
Megan sat there, rubbing her forehead for a few seconds. “I can’t think of anywhere here.” She ran her tongue over her lips. “Washington DC is his playground, not Washington state. I know of a hundred restaurants, bars, and private members’ clubs he’d go to in DC. But nothing here.”
Carter’s phone rang. Tyler Peterson’s cell number.
Carter smiled at Megan. “I need to take this.” He slipped her a business card. “Give me a call if you need anything, day or night. Okay?”
She took it without a second look, without a word.
Carter walked out into the corridor and took the call. “What’s up?”
“Sir, I’m going through Holliday’s records.” Sounded like Tyler was somewhere he shouldn’t be, somewhere he wouldn’t be overheard. But he heard him double. Tyler was in the corridor, waving at Carter, cradling his phone. They both killed their calls, and Tyler walked over. “This isn’t exactly aboveboard. I had to pull a few favors with a buddy.”
“The ends justify the means, Peterson. What have you got?”
“Holliday got a call from a burner thirty minutes ago.”
Carter checked his watch. That explained when Holliday was in the accessible bathroom. “Give me the number.”
“What?”
“I’m going to speak to this guy. Try to reason with him.” He got Tyler to type it on his cell. “Need you to run a trace on that number, okay?”
“Sir.” Tyler hunched down, back against the wall, laptop resting on his knees. “Just a second.”
Carter waited for a nod.
Tyler looked up and gave it.
Carter hit dial and put the cell to his ear, listened to it ringing and ringing.
It was answered. Quiet at the other end, like the guy was inside. Slow breathing, steady and unemotional. No words, though.
“I know you’re there.” Carter kept his focus on Tyler, laser-like precision. “And I know you’ve got Avery.”
No response, but his breathing was slightly faster. Meaning Carter was getting to him. So some response, some reaction.
“If you return her, I promise I’ll make sure it’s okay.”
Faster breathing, then a snort through the nose. Dulled car sounds, meaning he was out somewhere. Possibly a mall, possibly just a street.
“I know you didn’t kill Brandon.”
“Kill?”
Got you. American accent. Seattle, at a push, based on one word.
“It wasn’t you. It was an accident. Give me Avery, and we can do a deal. You’ll walk free.”
Much faster breathing now. He didn’t think he’d crossed a line, but now he knows he has. A dead child on his conscience, even though Brandon was still fighting for his life.
“Listen to me, my priority is Avery’s safety. You give me that, and I’ll give you whatever you need.” Carter paused, letting the words sink in. “What do you want?”
“I didn’t kill him.” Click, and he was gone.
Carter ended the call and stared hard at Tyler. “Well?”
He twisted his lips together. “I’ve got a general location for him. Two cell sites we can triangulate.”
“That’s not great, but it’s a start.”
“Sorry, sir.” The laptop pinged, and Tyler frowned at the screen. “But I’ve just got a trace on the taxi Holliday got in.” He looked up. “It’s heading toward the cell locations.”
Chapter Nineteen
Holliday
Holliday got in the back of the cab and slumped in the seat, watching the mall parking lot drift by. Heavy lunchtime traffic, office drones out with their families on the weekend, liberated for two days. Lunchtime? Is that all? He kept looking behind for anyone following.
The cab driver kept looking in the rearview, focusing on Holliday like he couldn’t place him. Big black dude with patchy hair, clumps of gray, chunks of baldness. “You got to be there at a specific time, sir?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Some kind of meeting?”
“That’s right.”
The driver signaled left and waited for a bus to pass. “Man, I wish I had to meet people instead of taking them from place to place.”
Holliday gave a noncommittal grunt. He reached into his jacket pocket and took out the plastic packaging. That clear stuff that was almost welded shut, that you needed scissors to open. He got a way in near the cut-out for hanging the product, soon slicing the plastic at the back right down to the bottom, a curved cut, but good enough to get the knife out. Walmart’s finest, sharp and small, but deep enough to kill with. He dropped the packaging onto the floor and kicked it under the driver’s seat. He grasped the knife upside down, hiding the blade in his sleeve.
“Here we go.” The driver cruised over to yet another mall, smaller than the one they’d just left. “Anywhere in particular, sir?”
Holliday looked around and spotted the Starbucks. “Here’s good, thanks.” He handed the guy a twenty with his left hand, keeping the knife in his right. “Keep the change.”
The driver gave a heartfelt nod as he folded the crisp note. “Thank you, sir.”
Holliday got out into the drizzle and marched over to the Starbucks. Every single eye was trained on him, or so it felt. Right out in the open here, the one place where everybody knew his face. He stood in the doorway and looked inside the coffee shop, the metal warm in his hand now.
Nobody he recognized, just thirty or so unfriendly faces all glaring
at him, hating him for what he had let happen to his son. Wondering why he was out and about. Wondering why they voted for a loser who couldn’t save his own son’s life, and who cowered while some cop shot his boy, who wasn’t even in the hospital with him. Who let them take his daughter too.
Holliday turned back to the parking lot, but a tight grip on his shoulder stopped him.
“Come on, Senator.” That voice. Sounded deeper in person. “Let’s walk.”
Holliday didn’t look around. His mouth was dry. He tightened his grip on the knife.
Stab him now, take him down, gut him and get him to say where Avery is.
An arm reached out, a long tattoo running up the arm, a gloved hand pointing over to the parking lot. “See the Malibu?”
Holliday scanned the nearby cars. An old beat-up Chevy, burnt orange or nicotine yellow. Fifteen yards away. “I see it.”
“Get in the driver’s side. Keys are in the ignition.”
Holliday started walking, but his legs were like jelly. He stopped by the car to grab the hood for support. Almost dropped the knife.
“Come on, Senator.” Anger in the voice. Standing right behind Holliday.
No gun at my back now, just the threat of my daughter’s life.
He slowly turned around, then flicked the knife in his hand and lashed out with the blade.
Didn’t even get a look at the guy’s face. He blocked the wild slash, cracking Holliday’s hand against the car door. The knife clattered and rolled under the car. The hair at the back of Holliday’s head burned, and his head slammed against the glass.
Holliday stumbled to his knees, tiny stars prickling his vision. A boot to the side, and he fell flat.
“Don’t even think about doing that again.” The door opened and Holliday was pulled up to standing, then shoved in the driver’s seat. He sat there, struggling to breathe. Smelled like cheap burgers and twenty years of cigarettes. The keys rattled in the ignition as he shifted his leg over.