“You’ve got to focus, Sam. You’ve got to help us find her.” Hannah signaled for the bartender. “Coffee, please. Black.”
Sam studied his martini then pushed the glass away. “Make that two,” he said.
Hannah turned again to Sam. “In most cases, kidnappers turn out to be someone connected to victim. In this case, either you or Maureen.”
“You think I haven’t thought about that? But anyone who knows me would know I don’t have the kind of money they’re after.”
“Someone with a grudge against you, maybe?”
“The only person like that is my former father-in-law.”
Hannah blinked. “Is that a possibility?”
Sam shook his head. “The guy’s a hotshot businessman. Wealthy, with friends in high places. Kidnapping isn’t his style. And he certainly doesn’t need the money.”
“He must resent that you’ve remarried though.”
“Assuming it’s even registered with him.”
“You don’t keep in touch with them?” Hannah asked.
“Only about Molly.”
Revenge, greed, and lust. Most crimes could be traced back to one or more of the trio. Sam seemed ready to discount the first two. That left lust.
“Are you involved with another woman?” she asked, almost casually.
He gave her an icy look. “No, I am not.”
“What about your wife? Could she be involved with someone?”
He shook his head, but his expression was ever so slightly guarded. “We’ve only been married two years. Maybe we’re past the honeymoon phase, but we’re still in love.”
That’s what Hannah would have said about her own marriage. And she’d been completely off base. Could Sam be as much in the dark?
She felt bad about kicking him when he was down, but she didn’t see that she had a choice. “Maureen asked a friend of hers for the name of a divorce attorney.”
For a moment, Sam didn’t speak. “You’re lying,” he said finally.
“No, I’m not.”
His expression had gone slack. “Who’s the friend?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Maureen could have been asking for someone else,” Sam pointed out.
“True.” Hannah let him have that. “But if there’s something you know that might help us find her ...” She let the sentence trail off and waited for a response.
Sam looked like he might be about to say something then shook his head. “There was never any talk of divorce,” he said at last.
“The important thing now is to find your wife. First thing tomorrow morning I’ll have someone at your house to rig your phone so that we can monitor incoming calls.”
“It won’t make any difference,” Sam said glumly. “I keep telling you, I fucked up.”
Hannah agreed, but not in the way Sam was thinking. What he’d done wrong was not notifying the police as soon as he’d gotten the call.
Saturdays at the station were generally chaotic, but with this morning’s hastily called meeting on the Maureen Russell kidnapping, the sense of urgency was greater than usual. Hannah had called Lieutenant Morrissy at home last night to tell him about her conversation with Sam, and he’d given the okay for electronic surveillance and personnel overtime. Now he and the four officers assigned to the case were crammed into the largest of the interrogation rooms, balancing notebooks with Styrofoam coffee cups and muffins. The muffins had been Hannah’s peace offering since she knew all of them had places they would rather be on a weekend morning.
“How does Sam know they actually have her?” Carla asked. She was drinking her own special blend of tea and hadn’t even glanced at the muffins.
“They put her on the phone during one of the calls,” Hannah explained. “Just long enough for Sam to hear her voice.”
“And he actually paid them part of the ransom money?” Brian Murphy whistled softly. The sound was muted by the muffin crumbs still on his lips. “That’s a gamble.”
Carla brushed back a wisp of hair that had escaped from her long braid. “I’m surprised the kidnappers agreed to two drops. It doubles the risk for them.”
“So maybe we’re not dealing with the sharpest tools on the bench,” Hannah said.
“The whole story sounds phony to me.” Until now, Dallas had been tinkering with his watch, seemingly uninterested in the discussion around him. Hannah hadn’t been sure he was even listening. But now he had the attention of everyone in the room.
“How so?” Brian asked.
“The guy runs into Hannah in a bar—I understand he’s a recovering alcoholic, by the way. He’s been through the whole AA thing, so you got to wonder what he’s even doing there.”
So that was why he hadn’t touched his drink, Hannah thought. Or maybe he’d already finished off a couple by the time she arrived.
“And then he just drops this ransom thing on her,” Dallas continued. “Like an afterthought. Why not call us directly if he’s going to involve the cops?”
Hannah felt the eyes in the room shift in her direction. “I don’t think he planned on involving us,” she said. “He was kicking himself for messing up. The words just came out.”
Dallas shook his head. “Don’t let Sam fool you. He knows exactly what he’s doing.”
It wouldn’t be the first time Hannah had been hoodwinked into buying a story that wasn’t true. But Sam’s desperation had seemed genuine. “I’m willing to err on the side of believing him. Especially since there could be a woman’s life at stake.”
Dallas ticked off points on his fingers. “First there’s the guy who supposedly broke into his house the other day. And now it’s a ransom demand. Sam knows we’re onto him and wants to muddy the water. He wants us looking anywhere but at him.”
“If that’s what he’s trying to do,” Carla observed, “it seems like he’d do a better job of it.”
“He’s scared,” Dallas said. “He’s not thinking clearly.”
Morrissy ran a hand along the back of his thick neck. “Dallas could be right. But for the time being, we’re going to treat this as a legitimate abduction.” He turned to Hannah. “Do we have anything more on the intruder?”
She shook her head. “No prints, nothing that points to his identity. Forensics found the lock that was jimmied though. It was a professional job. Not the kind of break-ins we’re used to seeing around here.”
“You think Sam and his wife are mixed up in something bad?”
It seemed, on the surface, to be an obvious explanation. And it fit with Sam’s reluctance to cooperate fully. But at the same time, Hannah had seen Sam right after the break-in. He’d been frightened and angry, but he’d also seemed genuinely perplexed.
“We need to explore that line of thinking,” she said. “But I’m not convinced it’s right.”
“What Sam’s mixed up in,” Dallas muttered, “is getting rid of his wives.”
Morrissy glanced at the notebook in front of him. “Brian, I want you at the Russell home within the hour. Think of a pretext to get in without calling attention to yourself, in case the kidnappers are watching. Once the trace line is in place, you and Carla can alternate covering. Dallas, check to see if Russell actually withdrew funds, as he claimed.” He turned to Hannah. “What have you got on the partial plate?”
“Seven possibilities once we narrowed it to cars that fit the description he gave and that are registered locally.”
“Fucking waste of time,” Dallas muttered.
Morrissy ignored him. “They need to be checked out immediately. Dallas, why don’t you take the lead on that, along with the money angle. You can get some help from the patrol unit if you need it.”
Dallas didn’t say anything, but he reached for the sheet of registrations.
“And another thing,” Morrissy said, “let’s keep the media off this.”
“They know she’s missing,” Carla pointed out.
“Fine. Nothing about the ransom though. It’s important for ou
r investigation, and maybe for Maureen’s life. Let’s not forget that Russell was warned about bringing in the cops.” He jotted something on the page in front of him. “Hannah, I want you and Carla to go out to the drop sight. Look for evidence that might help us track the kidnappers, as well as evidence that either corroborates, or doesn’t, Sam’s story.”
It better corroborate it, Hannah thought, or she’d look like a damn fool.
CHAPTER 22
I woke up Saturday morning feeling so wrung out my first thought was that I had succumbed to the temptation of drink. Then a clear memory of the evening slammed into me with the force of a two-ton truck, making me long for the simplicity of a hangover.
What had I been thinking? Why hadn’t I simply dropped off the money and left? You fuck with me, Sam, I fuck with you. That’s how it goes.
And then I’d topped it off by telling the cops.
If there’d been any chance in hell the kidnappers would overlook my stupidity in following their car, I’d blown it by doing the very thing they’d warned me against.
I was sick with regret. Sick with guilt. Sick with self-loathing.
From the beginning, the cops had suspected me of killing Maureen, and now I’d done just that. I’d made a mess of everything.
I knew something of the cruelty people could inflict on others. I’d seen more than enough examples during my residency at Mass General. Unwanted visions of torture and suffering filled my mind. I felt nausea rise in my throat.
Rolling over, I reached my hand to Maureen’s side of the bed. The sheet was cool and taut. My eyes filled with tears as I remembered the soft, warm imprint of her body. On the days she got up first, I would sometimes slide over to her side just to wrap myself in her fragrance. Now, the emptiness overwhelmed me.
How could I live with myself, knowing what I’d done?
I finally dragged myself out of bed when the doorbell rang. I would have ignored it except that I remembered the police were coming to wire my phone.
As if it would make any difference.
Even if the kidnappers called, it would be from a pay phone. As far as I could see, the police could do nothing but screw things up. And that would be my fault too.
I threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and opened the door to a man from the cable television company.
I frowned. “I didn’t call—”
“I’m Brian Murphy with the police department.” He held out a clipboard with his photo ID and badge. “I’m here to work on your phone.”
I looked at the panel truck in front. “But it says—”
“I know. We wanted to be careful in case the kidnappers were watching.”
I hadn’t thought of that. I had a moment’s panic as I wondered if they might have been watching me last night.
Reluctantly, I let him in. I didn’t really have a choice. “What do you need? Any help from me?”
“Just show me where the phones are located.”
While he worked, I made myself a cup of coffee and again tried making a list of possible kidnappers. Detective Montgomery had suggested I think about workmen or delivery people who had been in our home recently. I drew a blank. Maybe Maureen had had someone in I didn’t know about, but that seemed unlikely. The only name I could come up with was Wanda, our cleaning lady, who was in her fifties and a member of my father’s church.
Someone we knew? It certainly appeared that Maureen had let her kidnapper into the house or had at least gone with him willingly. But again, I couldn’t come up with a single name.
Hannah Montgomery had asked if Maureen could have been involved with someone. Not possible, I’d assured her. Not possible, I told myself now.
But I hadn’t forgotten the unexplained e-mail address for Redhotsugarbear. Fairly paltry evidence of infidelity, but my mind had no trouble filling in the rest.
Less than half an hour after Murphy arrived, he poked his head into the kitchen to announce that he was done. “One of us will be here Monday, but we’ll be monitoring calls in the meantime. If the kidnapper gets in touch when we’re not here, just hit this button. It will alert one of us at the station.”
My apprehension about involving the police returned. “I don’t want you guys to do anything that might jeopardize my wife’s safety,” I told him.
“We’re not going to do that.”
“Not intentionally, maybe.” I was wishing now I’d refused to let him in. “How much experience have you had with kidnappers, anyway?”
Murphy took off his glasses and cleaned the lenses with his shirt. “Me, personally, none. But the lieutenant’s been around a long time, and Detective Montgomery worked a couple of kidnaps when she was with LAPD.”
“A couple of cases?” If he’d meant to reassure me, he’d failed miserably. “What about the FBI? Shouldn’t they be involved?” A minute ago I’d regretted ever breathing a word to the cops; now I was suggesting we bring in another layer of law enforcement. I didn’t know what I wanted anymore.
“FBI doesn’t ordinarily get involved unless we ask. I think the lieutenant doesn’t feel the need.” Murphy looked at me with sympathy. “I can only imagine how hard this must be for you. But we’ve got it covered. We’re going to make it right.”
When Brian Murphy left, I went to my dad’s to pick up Molly. The two of them were in the living room watching a program on dinosaurs.
“You look like hell,” Dad told me.
“I feel worse.” I flopped onto the sofa next to them and gave Molly a hug.
“What’s wrong—” Dad stopped himself and lifted his thick white eyebrows to give me an inquiring look. When I didn’t respond, he turned to Molly. “Hey, why don’t you go get that bowl of ice cream you were talking about earlier?”
She wavered, no doubt aware that she was being bribed. But the ice cream won out. When she was gone, Dad turned to me again.
“You weren’t drinking, were you?”
“No.” I looked at my hands. “But I came pretty close.”
“Oh, Sam.” His tone wasn’t reproachful, but it was clear he understood how close I’d come to slipping up. “Why?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s part of what got you in trouble before, you know. You kept everything locked inside you.”
“I didn’t take the fucking drink, okay? So forget it.”
He shook his head. “Maybe you should call Jesse.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t give advice unless I ask for it!”
From the look on his face, I might as well have thrown a punch.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I shouldn’t take it out on you. It’s just ... just a bad time.” I picked up a green corduroy accent pillow and punched it into shape.
“I know it’s a bad time, Son. A terrible time. But you got the money delivered, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And they gave you until Monday to get the rest of it?”
I punched the pillow again, harder. “I told the cops.”
There was a moment of silence. My dad rubbed his jaw. “Well, that’s good. The cops are good.”
“The kidnapper told me not to.”
“So, what do the police think?”
“They put something on my phone. If the kidnapper calls back, the cops will be able to trace the call.”
“Cops are good,” Dad said again. “Once the kidnapper gets his hands on the money, there’s no telling ...” He let the thought trail off. “You did the right thing, Sam.”
“He told me not to tell anyone. First, I told you—”
“But I’m your father. Of course, you’d come to me.”
“And I told the cops.”
“Well, I don’t think—”
“But I did something even stupider.” I took a breath and told him about following the car last night and about the phone call when I got home.
Dad didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s done, Sam. You did what you thought was
right.”
“But I—”
Just then Molly came back, spooning cookie-dough ice cream from an oversized plastic bowl. She sat down next to me and pulled my arm around her like a cloak.
“What are you guys talking about?” she asked.
“Grown-up stuff.”
She gave a put-upon sigh. “You always say that.”
I smoothed her hair. “Always?”
“Well, lots of times. I hate it.”
There were times I wasn’t too fond of being a grown-up.
“Was it about Maureen?” she asked after a moment.
“Sort of.”
She set the spoon and bowl in her lap. “Did they find her?”
I shook my head. “Not yet.”
“But they will, right?”
“I don’t know, honey. They’re doing everything they can.”
“She has to be somewhere,” Molly said with inescapable logic.
But was she alive? That was the real question.
CHAPTER 23
“That must be it,” Hannah told Carla, pointing through the police car window to a weathered structure on their left. The building was about thirty yards from the road along an overgrown dirt drive. “Looks like a strong wind could knock it over.”
Carla slowed the cruiser. “Lucky for us,” she said, “it’s a calm day.”
Hannah detected a hint of sarcasm in the remark. She chose to ignore it. “We should park on the road so we don’t disturb whatever evidence there is.”
Carla tossed Hannah a disdainful look. “Gee, I’d never have thought of that myself.” This time the sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife.
While Hannah wavered between Can’t we be friends? and Fuck off, Carla pulled over to the side of the road and parked. From the passenger side, Hannah stepped out into a thicket of foxtails and burrs.
Nice move, Hannah thought. Ten feet ahead, the shoulder was clear.
“You’re really good at this,” Hannah told her.
“At what?”
“At whatever silly game it is you’re playing.”
Carla tucked the keys into her pocket and started across the road. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
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