“Make sure your daughter gets plenty of vitamins. Fruits and vegetables are best,” said the pharmacist.
Kelsey nodded stiffly. “Sure. Thanks.”
“You got time for a coffee?” the pharmacist was asking the cop as Kelsey shut the door behind her.
Outside, she took a few deep, steadying breaths, then went straight to the car. The instant she pulled the door closed, she turned the ignition and hit the gas. Dusk had already drawn an icy blanket over the city. She checked her watch: 7:28.
She had to get back to the house. And she had to do it fast.
CHAPTER FIVE
DAY ONE: 7:28 PM—ELIZABETH
The second Delaney was out the door, Richard went to the bar and poured himself a drink. Just as he tossed the first shot back, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, glanced at the screen, and answered it. “Blake, what’s happening?”
Blake Ressnick, Richard’s press secretary. He used tactics Elizabeth considered dirty, and he thought everyone admired him for it. His frequent quips were blatantly sexist, bigoted and homophobic, and he once suggested that Richard would have fared better had he been single.
Elizabeth had told Richard she didn’t like Blake. Richard told her it didn’t matter what she liked and didn’t like. Blake had made impressive gains in Richard’s ratings. Even Elizabeth had to admit that. She just wished someone else was leading the charge.
Still on the phone, Richard nodded a couple of times and said, “Yes, yes, put her on.” He gave Elizabeth a look, then turned his back to her again. “Alice, hello. Yes, listen I’m… yes, yes, I know but I’m not going to make the press conference. Jesus, you don’t have to tell me, but there’s no … No, I’m not at liberty to discuss it right now.” After a few more nods and murmurs, he turned a pained look on Elizabeth, and said, “Well … we got a note in the mail. It’s Holly. She’s been kidnapped.”
Elizabeth’s jaw dropped and she turned to face the windows. Alice Cressley. Of course he’d tell Alice Cressley. She was Richard’s campaign manager and the only person Elizabeth despised more than Blake. She ran his campaign like a political boot camp and kept all Richard’s dirty little secrets tucked away, thinking Elizabeth was too stupid to know. Sharp eyed, sharp tongued, she fired out orders like throwing knives and ate grown men alive. At sixty-five she had the personality of a machete and the features to match. There wasn’t one pleasant attribute Elizabeth could assign the woman.
She picked up her glass and drained the remnants of her drink while she waited for Richard to finish the call. He hung up just as she was putting the glass down again.
“That was Alice,” he said. “She’s on her way over.”
“Why tell her? Detective Delaney just told us not to speak to anyone.”
“Are you kidding? Alice is my campaign manager. I had to tell her.”
“Why? Why did you have to tell her?”
“Without her and Blake, how far do you think I’d have got? There’s no way I can keep this from her.”
An icy silence fell between them. Then Elizabeth said, “So, what’s she going to do?”
“Fix it. That’s what she does.”
“How is she going to fix it, Richard? We have no money, no idea where our child is, and an election in five days. What the hell can Alice Cressley do to fix this?”
“Whatever she has to,” said Richard, pouring himself a second shot. “That’s what I pay her for.”
*****
Elizabeth had been debating whether or not to get herself another drink when the doorbell chimed. Richard turned from where he stood over by the window while she went for the front door.
As soon as she opened it, Alice Cressley stepped inside and pushed straight past her, tossing a dismissive “Mrs. McClaine,” at her by way of greeting while she went in search of Richard.
In contrast to Elizabeth’s loose gray trousers and shell pink blouse, Alice wore a deep turquoise pant-suit fitting so tightly around her bird-like frame that it was a wonder she could breathe. A dark green-stoned brooch nestled at the throat of her cream silk blouse, her auburn-colored hair was swept up in two severe drapes that sat on either side of her face like folded wings.
“Mrs. Cressley,” Elizabeth muttered as Alice crossed the foyer and headed on into the house, saying,
“Where’s Richard? This is terrible, terrible news.”
“He’s in the living room,” Elizabeth called. “Don’t mind me,” she added in a flat tone, and closed the door. “Just go on through.”
As if on cue, Richard appeared at the living room door. “I’m in here, Alice. Come on in,” he said, gesturing her through.
“What’s happened? Fill me in,” Elizabeth heard her saying. “What did the police say?”
Elizabeth followed her into the living room where Alice had already peeled off her jacket, flung it across a chair and sat down. “How about some coffee?” she said to Elizabeth, and snapped her fingers. “I’m running on empty here. I’ve been up to my ass in opinion polls since five this morning. We’re doing okay,” she told Richard. “But what’s this about your daughter? What are the police doing?”
Not in the house two seconds and already she was handing out orders. Elizabeth tightened her lips and went to the kitchen. She took three cups from the cabinet, then paused. What the hell was she doing? This was her daughter they were talking about here. This wasn’t a referendum on healthcare initiatives. It wasn’t a debate on immigration policy. Her daughter had been kidnapped. She had been taken from her school in a violent act that had left her teacher in the hospital. Elizabeth had every right to hear what this woman planned to do about it.
She left the coffeepot sitting on the counter and went straight back into the living room to sit at the far end of the sofa. “Coffee won’t be long,” she lied.
“So, this is how I see it,” Alice began, sitting forward like she was about to regale them with the highlights of a movie she’d seen. “All the way over here, I was thinking, ‘How do we run the election and get your daughter back home?’ There’s no easy fix. You have to understand that if we continue on with the election—even if Holly is found—”
“Alive,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Dear God, they have to find her alive,” she added, and pressed her hand to her mouth.
“Of course they will,” Alice said. “But even so, continuing on with the campaign will make you come across as uncaring. That’s an image we cannot afford.”
Richard rested his elbows on his knees and drew both hands down his face. “So what do you have in mind?”
Elizabeth sat rigid with her breath held.
Alice waited a beat, letting the suspense build. “I say we go public.”
“We can’t do that,” Elizabeth said.
Richard sat back, deflated. “She’s right. It’s out of the question.”
“Now, wait. Before you go making any rash decisions, listen to me,” Alice said. “What I’ve got in mind will bring your daughter home, and win the election. If we do this right, we achieve all of our objectives.”
“Go on,” said Richard.
“The police told us not to talk to anybody. They also told us to stay home—near the phone,” Elizabeth said.
Alice turned on her. “And why do you think that is, Mrs. McClaine? I’ll tell you why. First, they want you out of the way; and second, the media will hang them out to dry if they fail. Believe me, it’s their own asses they’re protecting here, not your daughter’s.”
“This is the police,” Elizabeth insisted. “We can’t just ignore them.”
Alice dropped her head. “I understand your feelings, Mrs. McClaine, but tell me, why do you need to stay home? You can take your phone with you. They’ll have a tap on the line. It’s not like your phone is fixed. You can divert all your calls to your cell phone. There is nothing to stop you leaving this house.”
“Okay, but,” said Elizabeth, floundering at the obvious truth, “maybe they think we could drop the call at the critical mo
ment or—”
“You have an unlisted number,” Alice said slowly. “How are they going to call if you have an unlisted number? They’re not. That’s why they sent you a note.”
“She’s right,” Richard said. “Where would they get our number?”
This was typical. Elizabeth knew this woman would turn him around. This election had sucked up every moment of his time for as long as she could remember. Nothing existed beyond it. It was a wonder Richard even recognized her these days.
“What about the officer Detective Delaney is sending over?” Elizabeth asked. “Shouldn’t we at least wait for him?”
“Officer? What officer?” Alice said. “The police should have had somebody here already. How long are you supposed to wait? Hmm? Listen to me,” she said before they could answer. “Law enforcement budgets in this state have been cut to the bone under this administration. Police in this city are stretched to breaking point. You’ll be lucky to get someone here before the middle of next week. Tell me this, Mrs. McClaine, are you willing to place your daughter’s life in the hands of a police department that takes two weeks to attend to a street shooting? Because I sure as hell wouldn’t.”
Alice was referring to a recent front-page story in which two men had been shot dead in a rival gang incident. All witnesses had suddenly gone mute, and two weeks after the event—big surprise, still no arrests. The story was an attempt to highlight the effects of recent budget cuts in law enforcement across the state. Instead it had left the police department looking incompetent.
“I’m sorry if it sounds harsh, but these are the facts,” Alice told Richard. “The police don’t have the time or the resources to deal with even the everyday crime in this city. If you wait for them, they’ll throw you up in front of a camera and get you to squeeze out some tears hoping the person who took your daughter will have a heart. Well, I’m telling you right now, they don’t have a heart. If they had a heart your daughter would be here at home with you.” Alice sat even further forward, determined. “Richard, think about it—I’m offering you a solid, workable strategy. We go public; take it to the people. We have a window here. As soon as this policeman arrives, that window closes. Forever.”
Richard chewed his lip while he considered it. “So, let’s hear what you’ve got.”
Alice leaned forward, a determined glint in her eye. “Okay, so here’s the plan going forward. We hit it hard, and we bat for the bleachers. I can get back-to-back media coverage; we’ll have the story across every network channel, on every TV, in every home. We get your name, your face up there: ‘Richard J. McClaine,’” she said, framing her hands as though it was already in neon. “It’ll be in full public view, so every man, woman and child in this city can see your grief, feel your pain. They will know what it’s like to lose a child. They will see you reaching out—”
“When the police told us not to speak to anyone, I’m assuming that included the press,” Elizabeth said sharply, and wondered why she was even bothering. “They said—”
“Elizabeth!” Alice cut in. “With all due respect, you’re not seeing the big picture. How could we possibly keep this quiet? How long do you think it’ll take before the media notice one of the leading candidates in a race for the United States Senate just vanished off the radar? Hmm? With only five days before the election? My God, it’s a wonder they’re not jumping all over it now. But listen,” she said, addressing her comments only to Richard now. “I can leak it. I have a contact with every newspaper in the state and an ear in Townsend’s camp. First, we put the story out in the papers, then we drop the word on Townsend that your daughter’s been abducted. You know what he’s going to think? I’ll tell you what he’ll think—he’ll think you’re out of the race. He’ll think this election is a done deal. This is a simple strategy. It buys us time, it buys us media exposure, it buys us an advantage. Because when we strike, Townsend won’t know what hit him.”
She sat even further forward, eyes narrowed, determined. In a low, confident voice, she said, “One word, and I can have an entire PR machine ready to roll within minutes. I say we get this out there, right here, right now, overnight. We catch the early edition of every paper in the state, and right off, we’re ahead of the game. Every man, every woman, every child will wake up tomorrow morning thinking they slept in a time capsule. The news will be everywhere—on the TV, the radio, in the office canteen. They won’t be able to move without hearing your name.”
“So, how is this going to help Holly? How does this bring our daughter home?” Elizabeth asked, wondering why she was wasting her breath.
Alice broke the connection with Richard and took an infuriated breath. “It’ll help her because Mr. and Mrs. White-bread America will know exactly what your daughter looks like. It’ll help because if anyone tries to move her, someone will see her, and that someone will call it in through our hotline. This will work, Richard. But I need your okay on it.”
Elizabeth got to her feet. “And what if the kidnappers panic and kill her? Did you think of that? What if, while you’re so desperate to keep your campaign on the rails, these people murder our daughter?”
“Mrs. McClaine—Elizabeth, please. Come, sit down,” Alice said and patted the seat next to her. “I understand your concerns. But trust me,” she said, in a calm, consoling voice. She reached to take Elizabeth’s hand but Elizabeth pulled hers away. She’d seen Alice perform this switch so many times she’d lost count. She didn’t know which she trusted less—the Alice who held nothing but contempt for her, or the Alice who pretended to care. “What this is about, Elizabeth,” Alice said in a voice thick with exaggerated passion, “it’s about control. Who has it; who doesn’t. I’m warning you, don’t wait for the police. Remember little Christobel Hopkiss? That child was taken two days before her fifth birthday. Six days later, they found her body. Who do you think was running that investigation?”
Elizabeth sank back to her seat and felt her breath go.
“Delaney,” Richard supplied quietly.
“Exactly,” Alice said. “That man only has one strategy for a case like this. He plays everything so close to his chest, even the parents don’t know what’s happening. Let me ask you something—how many people in this state knew who little Christobel Hopkiss was before she was found strangled? Did you? Because I didn’t. Trust me, in a case like this, everything depends on circumstances you have no control over. At least this way, we have control at our end. If you ask me, I’d say we have a much better chance of getting your daughter back if you have the whole country behind you.”
“And I wouldn’t have to abandon the campaign,” Richard said. “A lot of people out there are depending on me.”
“Exactly, Richard. Everybody comes out a winner. We get control, we handle it. That’s what this is all about.”
Richard hesitated, thumb and forefinger to his mouth. He let the moment stretch, then he said, “Okay. Let’s do it.”
Elizabeth wasn’t so sure. She was about to make another objection when the sound of a key in the front door drew their attention.
Elizabeth jumped up. “It’s Sienna. Oh, thank God,” she said, and made for the foyer, then stopped in her tracks. Not only did she have to tell Sienna that Holly had been kidnapped, she’d eventually have to fire her, regardless of what happened. A shot of acid flushed her stomach and she felt ill.
Sienna stepped into the room wearing a loose-fitting sweater, jeans, and a blue anorak that hid any hint of the slim figure beneath. Her dark brown hair was pulled back from her face in an untidy bunch, while her clear skin and large brown eyes gave her the appearance of a girl younger than her nineteen years. She gasped in surprise and clutched the front of her sweater, while her startled gaze crossed each in the room, finally settling on Elizabeth.
“I’m sorry. I leave my coat here,” she explained and gestured to the foyer. “I get it, then I go.”
Elizabeth crossed to her. “No, wait. Where have you been? Why weren’t you here for Holly today?”
The girl blinked at them as if she hadn’t understood. “I got a call,” she said, the lilt of her Spanish lending her words a poetic cadence. “Someone call me on my phone. He tell me my mother have an accident. I try to call you, but you don’t answer, so I leave a note on the kitchen counter. Then I go straight away. Why? What’s happen?”
“Oh my God,” Elizabeth said. “Is your mother all right?”
“She is fine. She wasn’t in no accident,” Sienna said. “Somebody is playing a joke. I drive right across to my mother’s—tree hours,” she said, shaking three fingers at them. “When I get there, no mama. I get in the car, I go to all the hospitals; I call her doctor. I’m thinking, ‘Oh my God, my mother is dead.’ I turn around to come back, and Mama walk in the door. I say, ‘You okay, Mama?’ She say, ‘I’m fine.’ She say she been to the beauty parlor. So, I get in the car and drive all the way back again. Why? What’s going on?”
“Well, at least we know why you didn’t call when Holly didn’t come home,” Richard said.
Sienna moved into the room. “Holly? Why? What’s happen?”
Elizabeth placed a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Come with me,” she said. “I need to speak with you. Through here,” she said and motioned to the door. When she glanced back for confirmation, Richard gave her a curt nod, so she followed the girl to the kitchen and closed the door.
Sienna went straight to the counter, took a small square of paper from the surface and handed it over. “See? Here is the note I leave. I try to call. But there’s no answer,” she said again.
Elizabeth took the note, focusing her attention on it without reading the words. After a moment, she folded it, running her thumbnail firmly down the crease. “Holly’s been kidnapped.”
Sienna gasped. “Kidnap? But why? When?”
“This afternoon. They’re demanding money for her return. That’s probably who called you. They wanted you out of the way so they could … take her.” She cleared her throat and continued. “Anyway, I know this has come as a shock to you, but …”
The Elizabeth McClaine Thriller Boxed Set Page 4