He held a doll, her eyes poked out, her neck half-severed, her clothes splattered with a red liquid. “Where’d you find that?” Scott asked, grabbing his arm.
“Just over the fence,” Grable said, nodding toward his backyard. “What does it mean? Oh, God . . .” his voice trailed off in a stream of panic.
Scott took the doll. Around her neck hung a zippered plastic bag on a string, with a piece of paper inside.
Lightning split the sky and the heavens opened up as more and more rain fell. Male rain.
Scott turned to Crow. Rain plastered down his hair, streaked his face, and dripped off his nose. “You go with Kenzie,” he said. “I’ve got to handle this.”
“What about the kid?”
“I’ll have someone take him downtown and talk to him and his parents. We’ll get what we can from them.”
12
The note seemed straightforward:
Senator Grable:
You want your kid back? Do just as I say. You will never find me, so don’t bother calling the cops. You do not know who I am. But I’ve studied you, you and your family. You think Zoe’s your only vulnerable spot? I know about your other kids, too. How does Jillian like William & Mary? And James? Is he still having a little alcohol problem? You can’t hide from me, Senator.
I’ve been watching you. For years, you’ve been using people. You’ve sold out your constituents. Betrayed your office. Because you’re greedy.
Now, it’s payback time.
I want two million dollars.
Then I will tell you where to find Zoe. Then and only then.
You ever watch TV? The show called High Stakes.
No, I’m sure you’re too busy collecting payoffs. Monitor the Internet message board. Starting now.
Don’t think you can find me. You can’t imagine the lengths to which I will go to get what I want. I will not hesitate to kill Zoe.
I’m the dealer now, Senator. I’m calling the shots. I’m in control.
You will follow my instructions. Or you’ll never see Zoe again.
Scott’s stomach felt tight as he bent over the note, reading each word. The senator stood just over his shoulder, dripping rainwater on the kitchen floor. The agent looked up. Their eyes met, and Scott could see the fear filling Zoe’s father’s eyes.
“What’s High Stakes?” Grable asked, his voice tight.
“It’s one of those ‘the country’s under a terror attack’ shows, I think. I’ll have someone check it.”
“Two million? Where does he think I can get that kind of money?” Grable asked, fear adding a tremor to his voice.
“He was brazen to deliver this to the house,” Scott mused, “and smart to catch Kenzie off guard like that.”
“Bruce? What’s going on?” Beth Grable demanded, walking into the kitchen. She wore a long pink terrycloth robe and had her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. One strand hung in front of her face.
The senator swallowed and glanced toward the doll, lying on the island.
Then Beth began screaming. “That’s hers! That’s Zoe’s! Oh, God! Where is she? What did he do to her?” She moved toward the doll.
Scott grabbed Mrs. Grable’s wrist to keep her from snatching it.
Her eyes blazed into him. “You let me go! Let me go!” She spit the words at him.
“Mrs. Grable! Don’t touch that! It’s evidence.”
“You let me see . . .”
Scott forced her away from the island. “You may not touch the doll or the note.” She twisted against his grip. “Calm down, or I’ll have to take you out of this room.”
“Bruce! Did you hear him threaten me? Did you hear him?” Beth tried to pull away from Scott. “You are so out of here!” she hissed.
“Beth! Shut up! For once, just shut up!” the senator roared.
She looked at him, stunned. Her jaw jutted out. Her eyes bore into her husband’s, then she turned to Scott. “You let go of me,” she hissed again.
Scott’s heart raced. Slowly he released Mrs. Grable’s wrist. The woman pulled her arm to herself and rubbed the place where he’d held her with her other hand. Then she tossed her head and started to leave. “You’ll hear from my lawyer.”
“Beth!” her husband yelled.
She stopped and turned around, her face a mask of fury.
“This man is trying to help us. Furthermore, I know you called the director, and I want you to know they are not leaving,” he said. “They can do their job better if they’re here. If you’re uncomfortable, you can go to a friend’s house. Or home, to Atlanta. But they’re staying.”
Her eyes widened. Then she cursed, turned, and walked away. “OK, Bruce. I’m leaving!”
Scott looked at Grable. “Will she be OK?”
Grable sighed. “We have Zoe to worry about.”
Scott walked back over to the note, adrenaline still pumping. “Anything about this strike you?”
“Nothing.”
“The amount: two million? That’s not significant?”
The senator shook his head. When he looked at Scott, he had tears in his eyes. “Where am I going to get that much money?” he asked softly.
Scott took digital pictures of the note and copied the words exactly into a document file. He then placed it and the doll in evidence bags and summoned another agent to drive them down to the FBI lab. He wished he had Kenzie to analyze the language.
Outside, other agents marked off the backyard and the area outside the fence for a grid search. They would cover every inch. Who knew? If Kenzie’s attacker had dropped something, if he had left some tiny piece of evidence there, it could be just what they needed to identify him.
“How did he get close to her? That’s what I want to know,” Scott said, standing at the edge of the search area. The rain had stopped and water dripped from the trees, but thunder still rumbled in the east, and lightning flashed periodically in the dark clouds.
“There’s a road down there,” the senator said, pointing toward Rock Creek Parkway. “He could have parked down there and come up the hill. He could have hidden in these bushes and surprised her.”
Scott crossed his arms and rubbed his chin. “How many people would know which house is yours from that angle? Or where to park down there?” He gestured toward the parkway.
The senator shrugged. Despair etched his worn face.
“Look,” Scott said, “this guy knows you, he knows your house, he had a pretty good idea he could avoid the cops. He delivered that doll to scare you. Now don’t let him throw you.” He called to another agent. “Jesse! I want motion sensor lights and cameras installed all along this fence. Pronto.”
“Yes, sir,” Jesse responded.
Scott said, “Let’s go inside, Senator. I’m going to have someone pick up your gardener. And I want to interview your neighbors again. See if anyone heard or saw anything. We are not going to let this man win.”
Special Agent Alicia Sheerling sat focused on the computer when Scott and the senator walked into the dining room and sat down. For a moment, the clicking of the keys was the only sound in the room. Grable rested his elbows on his knees, his head sagging as if weighted down with sorrow. He played with a small piece of paper, rolling it between his fingers, focusing on it as if it were the key to finding Zoe. Then he sighed, sat back, looked at Scott, and said, “How’d your daughter do, with the surgery and all?”
Scott looked at him, surprised at the odd question. He studied the senator’s face. Was it the lateness of the hour, or the fatigue, or the trauma they’d all just experienced? Why had Grable asked about Cara?
Scott told Grable about his conversation with his wife. Cara had come through the surgery fine. He showed the senator the picture on his cell phone his wife had sent: Cara, in the hospital, a bright pink cast on her left arm.
“I don’t usually tell my family about the cases I’m working on,” Scott said, “but I felt bad I couldn’t be with Cara. So I told her about Zoe
. And do you know what she said, Senator?”
Alicia looked up.
Grable shook his head.
“She said ‘Dad, they need you to find that little girl. I’ll be all right. And Dad, I’ll be praying for Zoe.’ ”
The tears in Senator Grable’s eyes matched Scott’s. “You love your daughter.”
“You bet.”
He sighed deeply, and then, in a low voice Grable began speaking about Zoe, about his utter frustration he couldn’t protect her, about his hopes for her, and the games they played together, and the terror now gripping him, his fear that he would never see Zoe again.
“Senator,” Scott said, focusing on Grable’s face, “we don’t know how all this is going to work out, but we’ve got the best team in the FBI on this case.” He hesitated. “Sir, I believe God knows where she is. I’m asking him to help us. I trust him to.” He was pushing the line, but he didn’t care. This man needed hope. And it’s what Scott was offering.
He waited for a response. None came. So he went on. “We need to know everything we can so we can pursue every possibility,” Scott said. Then, very gently, he began probing about other possible avenues of investigation . . . including the dealings the senator had negotiated under the table.
And the man spoke. He opened up. For Scott, it felt like being in a confessional. The weight of the information fell on his shoulders like a vestment. He listened quietly. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Alicia taking notes like mad, her eyes wide. The senator leaned forward, his arms resting on his legs, and stared at the floor. And in the end, when he had outlined all of his illegal deals over the last four years, the senator dropped his head even further, and Scott saw a tear drip onto his shoe.
Scott touched his shoulder. “You did the right thing, Senator. You’ve given us a lot of help.”
The senator nodded, then got up and walked slowly out of the room.
And Scott looked at Alicia, who stared at him in utter amazement.
“Incredible,” she said.
When Crow got back to the Grables’ house around midnight he felt prickly, unnerved. His jaw felt taut as a bowstring, and his head ached. Out of hohzo, balance, his grandfather would say.
“How’s Kenzie?” Scott asked, standing up.
“She has a possible concussion.” He fought to keep his voice neutral, business-like. “They’re keeping her to do a CT and the machine’s backed up.” Crow rubbed the back of his neck, trying to diffuse the tension gripping him, wishing the churning inside would stop.
“You left her alone?”
“I got the D.C. police to supply a guard. And I had the office call her next of kin. Her mother should be there by now.” Truth was, he couldn’t stay there, couldn’t stand to be in that hospital.
“Her mother?”
“Something wrong with that?” Crow realized immediately he sounded defensive.
Scott eyed him narrowly. Then he said, “They have problems, that’s all. You had no way of knowing.” His head tilted. “What are you so uptight about?”
Crow shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away. Why did he feel so stressed? “She shouldn’t have been working this case.”
“Why?”
“She’s green! You know it and I know it. She should never have gone off alone like that, without backup. She’s an academic, fine for the classroom, but out here . . .”
“That’s not fair.”
“Anybody her age with a PhD can’t have a lot of street smarts. She’s spent her life with books!”
“So somebody hit her from behind. It could happen to anybody.” Scott waved his hand dismissively. “What did she say? Did she see him?”
Crow paced away. “She doesn’t remember a thing.” He looked back at Scott. “Where has she worked, anyway?”
“Her first office was New York, then she got transferred to WFO. Quantico pulled her to fill in there. They needed her to cover the classes of another agent.”
“So she’s never really been tested as a street agent, right? Day after day, month after month.” Crow had his hands on his hips.
Scott tightened his jaw. “Even you started somewhere, Crow.”
Crow scowled. “I had been well tested before I ever walked into the Bureau. She’s a hazard, Scott, to herself and everyone else.”
When Scott walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, Crow found himself staring out of the window, into the dark backyard, memories pulsing and exploding in his soul in a macabre display. He didn’t want them, he didn’t need them, and yet they were there, rising up from the deep well inside, undesired, untamed, unnerving.
He sensed Scott behind him and forced himself back into the present. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning around.
“It’s all right. You need a break?”
Crow grimaced. “I need to get back to work. What’s with the doll?”
Scott told him about the doll and the note, and about the new information Grable had given him.
“Remarkable,” Crow said, shaking his head.
“I have Alicia and Jesse and their teams following those leads.” Scott stood up and paced, shoving his hands in his pockets. He stopped and looked at Crow. “Can you refocus? Because I need some help thinking this out.”
Crow took a deep breath and nodded. He crossed his arms as if guarding himself against further intrusive thoughts. He had worked with a lot of women. He would not let this one get under his skin. “Go on,” he said to Scott.
“So let’s play this out,” Scott continued. “Let’s say I’m the unsub. I want to harass Grable. And I want money. I decide to kidnap his kid. So I come to his house when I know he’s out, ring the bell . . .” Scott said, role-playing.
“Wait, how do you know Grable’s not home?” Crow asked, forcing himself to play along.
“His car’s gone. Or, I know his schedule. Mrs. Grable is at her weekly mah-jongg game. I know that.” Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “I ring the bell and talk my way into the house. How? What do I tell the nanny to make her let me in and let me go upstairs?”
Crow shook his head. “She opens the door, you throw the pillowcase with the chloroform rag over her head. She’s out, and you are in.”
“No, she lay at the bottom of the stairs, remember? That’s a good ten feet from the front door.”
“So you talk your way in that far . . .”
Scott continued. “Yes. I get in. I grab Zoe and then, when I want to deliver the ransom note, instead of calling or e-mailing or sending it through the mail . . .”
“. . . or a delivery service, like you did the hair . . .”
“. . . yeah, instead of that, I bring it here myself. Why?”
Crow’s brow furrowed. “You can’t stand to be away from the scene. You’ve got to know what’s going on,” he said, gesturing. A thin sheen of sweat lay on his neck. “Are you scaring Grable? Is your plan working?”
“I’m so arrogant, I’m sure I won’t get caught.” Scott rubbed his chin. “I know about the fence and the way the property adjoins the park. I come up through the woods, intending to throw the doll over the fence. But I see Kenzie instead and I can’t resist—I hit her with something. Knock her out. It makes me really powerful.”
“Now you’ve delivered the note.” Crow nodded thoughtfully. “And you’ve assaulted a Fed. It’s going to either make you a little nervous—or a little more arrogant.” He paced away. Who was this jerk? “Any other similar crimes recently?”
Scott shook his head. “There’s nothing in the database.”
Suddenly, Crow’s eyes grew bright. “The hundred-dollar bill! Scott, the kid had a hundred-dollar bill. I looked at it and with all the stuff with Kenzie, it didn’t register until just now!” He felt a rush of emotion.
“What are you saying?”
“Maybe the kidnapper paid that kid to distract the agents in the back, just like he paid the kid in Chambersburg to ship the package. They both had hundred-dollar bills!”
Scott jerked h
is phone off his belt. “We need to talk to that kid again.”
The dreams crept in like a stain, seeping into her mind, dark with pain. Why did her head hurt so much? And her mouth? She heard herself groan, a lonely, sad sound. She struggled to open her eyes.
She saw bright lights. Where was she? In a hospital? She smelled antiseptic. Yes, a hospital. She turned her head. Her mother sat on a chair across from her. Clarice Graham, staring at her with her mouth in a prim, straight line. Kenzie groaned again. She drifted back to sleep and then the dreams came again, bright and focused this time, horrifying in their detail.
She was a little girl, just five years old. She was painting a picture in her room, her pink room, which she was not supposed to be doing. Suddenly, her mother pushed open her door. Startled, Kenzie jumped and bright red paint spilled all over the white carpet.
Her mother’s face twisted with rage. She grabbed Kenzie and shook her, screaming at her, spit flying into her face. “You are so clumsy!” her mother screamed, while Kenzie, terrified, tried to breathe. Her mother, so beautiful. So frightening.
Kenzie heard herself groan.
“Are you awake?” her mother demanded.
She retreated again, into the dreams. Her mother grabbed her arm, opened the bedroom closet, and threw her in. Then she slammed the door. Kenzie screamed. Her father had killed a spider in the closet just the day before. It was pitch black in there, and soon her skin was crawling. She had to get out! She begged, crying loudly, but the sound of a heavy piece of furniture—her dresser she would discover later—being pushed in front of the door told her it was no use. Eventually she lay down on the floor with her cheek on the carpet and her nose near the crack under the door.
It was late afternoon—just before her father was due home—before the door opened.
“Mama?”
“What? What is it you want?”
Her mother’s sharp response snapped Kenzie back to reality. She tried to sit up. The pain in her head made her drop back down immediately, and tears formed in her eyes. She put her hand on her forehead. “What happened?”
“You were mugged, that’s what happened, so you’re in the hospital,” Clarice Graham said, remaining seated, her purse on her lap. “Someone clunked you on the head. And they called me and I had to come over here.”
Words of Conviction Page 10