Joe shoved him and Grayson fell down on the floor. He quickly scooted over to a wall, and tried to look inconspicuous. What were they going to do here?
Zoe cried. Billy started spanking her. “Shut up! Shut up!” he yelled and his blows grew so harsh, the little girl froze.
“Billy, stop! She’s just a kid,” the third thug said. Grayson thought Billy called him Fred. He didn’t know where the fourth guy was.
Zoe managed to stop crying. She stared at Billy, her face full of fear. Then he threw her down on the ground near Grayson.
She took one look at him and moved as far away as she could, until she was half-hidden by a couch.
“All right,” Billy said, “we come up here to think. Let the heat die down. Nobody knows about this place. We’ll be safe here for a while.”
“Let’s just take the reward and go,” Joe suggested.
“You’re forgetting something,” Billy sneered. “Sandy.”
“That were an accident!”
“Yeah, and you think the Feds are gonna believe that? Once they see my sheet?”
Fred paced back and forth. “I think he did it,” he said suddenly, pointing at Grayson. “I think HE killed your sister.”
Grayson felt his face grow red with anger. He thought, Don’t try to pin that on me, you scum! Don’t you even think about it.
But Billy did think about it. “He’s why she’s dead, for sure,” he snarled, and he walked over and kicked Grayson hard, right in the ribs. The tape over his mouth muffled Grayson’s scream. “It ain’t right I take the rap for something he brought on.”
His ribs hurt. He must have cracked one, Grayson thought. What a jerk! What right did he have . . . He blinked away tears.
“So let’s turn him and the kid in, take the twenty-five G, and cut our losses,” Joe suggested. “We all stand by the same story: He kidnapped the kid and killed Sandy. We saved the kid.”
Billy looked thoughtful. He had small dark eyes, like a snake, and when he got serious, his brow furrowed and his eyes got even more reptilian. “This guy is in line for eight hundred grand. You know how much that is?” he spit.
“I was just thinking.” Joe backed away.
Billy walked over to Grayson, and jerked the tape off his mouth. It hurt like crazy, and he had to blink away tears again. Billy grabbed his shirt. “You better be right about this! You better be right!”
“He’ll pay, I swear, he’ll pay,” Grayson said, trying to control his fear. This guy could kill me, he thought. He glanced toward Zoe. The kid had crawled even further behind the couch. He couldn’t blame her. He’d be there, too, if he could fit.
“What do we gotta do to get the money, slug?” Billy asked him, spit flying from his mouth.
Grayson rubbed his cheek on his shoulder to get the spit off. “I told you. We’ve got to finalize the deal. For that, we’ll need the Internet. And you need me.”
“Forget you! Forget you! I can do it myself.”
Panic rose in Grayson in a wave. If Billy didn’t think he needed him, he’d kill him. “You most certainly do need me. You don’t know the code words. You don’t know where the park is. You don’t even know the pass code for the bank account.” Grayson shook his head. “You need me, Billy, and I need the Internet. And my laptop.”
Billy looked hard into Grayson’s eyes, judging his sincerity.
“Let me help you get what’s coming to you, Billy. I tell you what. I’ll give you two-thirds. Because of Sandy and all.”
Billy’s eyes flickered. He grunted and strode away toward the other side of the room. Then he turned around. “I ain’t going nowhere for a while. It gets dark, we’ll go to town and get on the Internet. Till then, I’m staying here.” He turned to Fred. “Get me a beer.”
“We don’t have none.”
“What?” Billy roared. “No beer?” He cursed. “How can we have no beer? You get on your bike and get some. Hear me? And make sure nobody’s following you when you come back. You,” he said, gesturing toward his friends, “are a bunch of sorry losers.”
Scott, Kenzie, Crow, and the sheriff returned to the sheriff’s conference room to regroup once workers had removed Sandy’s body from her brother’s motorcycle shop. The FBI evidence teams would be at the shop for hours, doing grid searches, lifting fingerprints, taking photos and video, and vacuuming for hair and fiber evidence. Scott had seen enough to believe Zoe had been there. But where was she now?
“I want every scrap of information we can get on Billy Foster, Joe Mitchell, and Sandra Sheffield,” Scott said when they got back to their command post. “Sheriff, can you send some deputies out to the bars?”
He looked at his watch. “It’s pretty early. But I will.”
“I want to know height, weight, marital status, hobbies, where they like to eat, what they like to drink. I want photos to pass around. I want to know what they drive and what kind of toothpaste they like. Everything.”
“Understood. Mary!” the sheriff called out. “I need some digital photos printed. And some copying done.”
“All right, what else?” Scott said.
“Landlords, banks, ATM withdrawals, and credit card usage,” Crow suggested.
Kenzie paced the floor. “I think we ought to watch Internet cafés, the library even.” She motioned toward the computer. “Chambers hasn’t posted again. But we clearly put the bait out there . . . that account posting. So either he’s away from Internet access or . . . or something has happened to him.”
“Right. Internet cafés. We can do that.”
“And ERs,” Crow continued, “in case somebody else got hurt.”
For the next two hours they sorted, coded, and compiled the scraps of information reported from agents and deputies working in the area. Billy had an ex-girlfriend and a little boy. He was supposed to take the kid to the park that day. The girlfriend complained about money and said she didn’t trust him. He used meth. But a court order gave him visitation rights and as long as he paid, she had to comply with that.
Would he hurt a child, the interviewer asked. He’ll do anything that suits him, the woman responded.
Someone else found out that Joe Mitchell had spent some time in Jessup, the notorious Maryland correctional facility. Nobody knew what he did for a living and he was three weeks late on his rent. His landlady said she intended to evict him. Pennsylvania had a warrant out for him for burglary and armed robbery.
Her former boss, the owner of a bar, called Sandra Sheffield “a sweetheart.” Heart of gold. Would do anything for anybody. Just not real bright. When the agent showed him a picture of Grayson Chambers and asked if the bar owner had ever seen him, he said sure. That was Sandy’s new boyfriend. They were running off together somewhere. “I’d never seen her happier,” he added.
Finally, they got their break. A deputy familiar with motor-cycles pulled over a guy on a rocket bike zipping through town. Sure enough, the bike was equipped with special order tires.
“He’s bringing him in for questioning,” the sheriff said, animated.
“Great. Crow, Kenzie, let’s go,” Scott replied.
30
Rocket Man, as they immediately dubbed him, was a wiry, brown-haired, brown-eyed, suntanned ex-con with an expired driver’s license. “Hey, I just forgot to renew it, you know?” he told the agents. “That never happens to you?”
Scott and Kenzie sat across the table from him, while Crow and Sheriff Hughes monitored the conversation, watching a video feed from an adjoining room. Kenzie had recommended a game plan with Scott. Now they were putting it into action.
“What’s your friend’s name?” Scott said, throwing an eight-by-ten picture of Billy Foster in front of Rocket Man, whose name, at least on the expired license, was Frederick Fisher.
Fisher glanced at it. “I don’t know him.”
“You don’t know him? You buy stuff from his shop, don’t you?” Scott said, bluffing.
Fisher shrugged. “So maybe I seen him once or twice. It ain’t
like he’s a friend of mine.”
“Who’s all the beer for?” Scott asked.
“So now it’s illegal to buy beer?” Fisher shook his head. “Me and some guys. We’re out enjoying the day, you know? Doing a little fishing. Can’t do much without beer.”
“So where do you fish around here?” Kenzie asked, feigning interest.
“Monocacy River. Or one of the lakes. Farm ponds sometimes.”
“You have a license?”
Fisher’s face darkened. “Look, not everybody does things by the book, OK? It just ain’t gonna happen all the time.”
“Who are these guys you’re out fishing with?” Kenzie asked.
“Just some friends, all right? A guy named Bob, and a guy named Junior.”
“Junior what? Is that his name, or the suffix to his name?”
“What?” Fisher seemed puzzled. He shook his head. “It don’t matter. I just call him Junior. Been calling him that for years.”
Scott rubbed his chin. “Fish biting today?”
“Yeah, man. We’re catching a lot. Sunnies. Bluegill. That’s why we needed the beer, we’re having so much fun, we’re going to stay longer.”
Kenzie opened the folder in front of him and took out an eight-by-ten picture of Zoe. “Mr. Fisher,” she said, rising to her feet and plopping the picture in front of him, “kidnapping is a federal offense. There’s no parole in federal cases, did you know that? And if this child dies, it could be a capital offense. Did you hear me, Fisher? You could be charged as an accomplice in a capital case. That’s the death penalty, Mr. Fisher. The Big Sleep.”
“What? What are you talking about? I never seen this kid!” Fisher’s face turned red. Sweat had formed on his brow.
“Mr. Fisher, it’s ninety-five degrees outside,” Kenzie continued, pressing him. “Fish don’t bite when it’s that hot, especially in midday. They go deep in the water, where it’s cooler. You haven’t been fishing. That beer isn’t for your fictitious friends. You’ve been lying to us, Mr. Fisher, and we don’t like it when people lie to us.”
A drop of sweat ran right down the side of Fisher’s face.
Scott jumped in. “Wait, wait,” he said, holding up his hand to stop Kenzie. “Relax. You know what I think? Mr. Fisher’s a victim, too, I think.”
Kenzie pretended to be disgusted.
“It’s true, isn’t it, Mr. Fisher?” Scott said, looking sympathetically at the man. “Sometimes we can get roped into things, can’t we? We’re with some friends, we go along with the crowd, and suddenly, we’re in trouble.” Scott furrowed his brow. “I don’t think you wanted to kidnap a little girl, did you, Fred? I don’t think that was your idea at all. Am I right?”
“He’s guilty, can’t you see that?” Kenzie exclaimed to her partner. “We’ve got his motorcycle tire treads at that house where they had Zoe!”
“Wait! Stop! He’s right!” Fisher yelled. “I didn’t want nothing to do with no kid! Nothing!”
“Then tell me,” Scott said, leaning forward. “Where is Billy Foster? And where is Zoe?”
Fisher looked up at Scott, then at Kenzie, then back to Scott.
“You tell us where we can find them,” Scott said, softly. “I’ll get you a deal. That’s the way it works. You know that. You’ve seen the TV shows.”
“Don’t let him off the hook!” Kenzie said.
But Scott continued. “There’s no reason you should go down for this, man. It wasn’t your idea! This little girl’s father is a powerful man in D.C., a very powerful man. I know he’d be grateful to anyone who helped get her back.”
Fisher swallowed hard. His eyes darted around the room, like he was looking for a way to escape. Then he dropped his head. “There’s a cabin, up in the mountains,” he mumbled. “I can show you on a map.”
“Where is Fisher?”
Grayson cringed at the sound of Billy’s voice. The man seemed restless, looking out of the window, stepping out on the front porch. Grayson figured he was listening in vain for the sound of Fred’s motorcycle making its way back up the rutted path to the cabin and growing angrier by the minute. And in the short period of time Grayson had known him, he’d learned that an angry Billy was a man to be avoided.
Once again, he tugged at the ropes binding him. Still tight. A motion caught his eye. He looked to his right. Zoe had progressively moved farther and farther along behind the couch until she’d gotten all the way to the far end. Now, she began creeping up the stairs.
The kid was smart. She’d been quiet for so long, everybody had forgotten about her. Now, she would wait for Billy to look the other way, then she’d move up a step. Gradually, she was making her way up to the second floor.
Grayson sighed. The kid had all the luck.
Scott’s eyes were bright as he checked his gun. “All right,” he said. “The SWAT team is suiting up. They’ll be here within the hour. Sheriff, is your emergency response team on deck?”
“Absolutely. They’ll deploy when I call them.”
“All right. We’re going to go scope out this cabin. If it’s what we think it is, we’ll bring them on.” He looked at Kenzie and Crow. “What do you think about asking Alicia to bring Senator Grable to Frederick? I promised him we’d bring him closer once we had a fix on Zoe’s location.”
Kenzie took a deep breath. “I think Fisher’s description of the child and of Chambers makes it pretty clear. At least up until about ninety minutes ago, Zoe was at this cabin.”
Crow nodded. “I agree.”
“All right then.” Scott said. “Check your weapons and your radios. Make sure SWAT is up on A-One. I’ll be ready in a minute.”
The twenty-minute ride up into the mountains would have been beautiful had they been going for any other reason. Kenzie’s mind raced with possibilities and contingencies. Scott would call the shots, but she still wanted to think things out, to test her developing field skills, at least in her own mind.
Scott drove quickly up the curvy mountain road. He followed the sheriff, allowing the man more familiar with the terrain to take the lead.
“What did Grable say?” Kenzie asked Scott.
“He seemed very excited.”
Kenzie looked at the passing trees. The hardwood forest had been uncut for at least half a century; the trees were sixty to eighty feet tall and the forest was dense with underbrush and outcroppings of rock. “Isn’t Camp David around here somewhere?” she asked.
“Yes. For the president, it’s a short hop on a helicopter but a world away from the White House.”
“You’re not kidding.” She looked at Scott. He stayed quiet for a while, concentrating on the road and probably praying, she figured. Suddenly, she remembered Scott giving her a piece of paper the night they’d driven up from Washington. She shoved her hand in her pocket and retrieved it. He’d written a Scripture verse on it: “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through the fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. Isaiah 43:2”
Scott glanced over at her. Their eyes met. “That’s what I’ve been praying for you, Kenzie. I don’t know why. He’s with you, Kenz. He loves you. Don’t ever forget that.”
Silently, she refolded the paper and put it back in her pocket. It seemed they were nearing the top of the mountain. “So, tell me the drill,” she said.
“The sheriff says that the cabin is in a small clearing in the woods. There’s no real road leading to it. It’s been abandoned for years. We’re going to park near the paved road and hike in through the woods. Then we’re going to watch the place for a while, while the SWAT team gets assembled. When I hear they’re set, if I haven’t seen any reason to wave them off, we’ll do it.”
Despite the fatigue, despite the frustrations, they could be close to ending this thing. Recovering Zoe. Beating the bad guys. “Are you going to be first in?” she said.
“After SWAT. And you can be right behind me. Well, behind Cr
ow. I think he’ll want to be in front of you.” He shifted in his seat. His eyes, fixed on the road, were squinted in tension. “When you were at the Academy, did you see that training video about the Miami shootout? ‘Firefight’?”
“Sure.”
“Do you remember what that agent said?”
She looked at him quizzically.
“ ‘If you lie down to die, you will die.’ Whatever happens, Kenz, don’t lie down. Don’t quit.”
“Why are you saying that?” she asked, alarmed. “Do you know something I don’t know?” But he wouldn’t respond.
The sheriff had pulled into a fire trail, moving far enough from the paved road to hide their cars. Scott’s SUV bounced over the ruts. When Sheriff Hughes parked his car behind a stand of trees, Scott pulled up next to him. “It’s go time,” he said, turning to Kenzie.
She nodded. Her mouth felt dry. Scott was freaking her out.
The heat seemed particularly oppressive this August day. Thunderstorms were in the forecast. Kenzie looked around. A couple of leaves on the poplar trees had already turned golden yellow, foretelling the coming of fall, but it would be another six weeks before the cool weather would arrive.
Poplars, oaks, pines, and dogwoods covered the mountainside. Half a century before, to create the Catoctin National Forest, the federal government seized land owned by families for generations. They paid them well, but some people had never gotten over the loss of the homesteads, the hunting cabins, and the mountain farms.
The cabin where they were going was a two-story rural retreat once owned by a wealthy Maryland political family. They had used it as a summer respite from the heat in Washington. The government had never bothered to tear the old place down. The locals, knowing it had been abandoned, sometimes appropriated it for themselves for short-term use. The locks were long gone.
To get to the place without detection, the agents had to walk a good twenty minutes up a steep mountain incline. The ballistic vests the four were wearing were heavy and hot, and it wasn’t long before all of them were sweating. Kenzie’s head ached and a couple of times as they went over some of the more precipitous rock outcroppings Crow turned around and gave her a hand up.
Words of Conviction Page 26