For nearly an hour, he drove aimlessly, letting thoughts and feelings about Eric’s case roll around in his head. He still had the feeling that the kidnapping had little to do with money. And that left only revenge as a motivation. The problem was, he didn’t know if the revenge was targeted at him or at Theresa.
As a prosecutor, Theresa worked in a job that made her a target for the unsavory, the unscrupulous. As an ex-cop, Sully had the same liability.
He wondered if the kidnapper had been watching Theresa’s house. The brick and the phone call had both occurred while the police were absent. Coincidence? Sully didn’t believe in coincidence.
The idea of some creep watching the house made his skin crawl, not for himself, but for Theresa. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and focused on where he was headed, what he intended to do.
He drove to Sam’s Pit and parked in the lot, surprised to find a big crowd at the bar. Didn’t these people have homes? Families? That was where he should be…at home with his family.
He turned off the engine and got out of the car. But, of course, that was impossible. He no longer had his wife…and his son had been kidnapped.
He was met at the door by Sam Walker, the bar’s owner. “Hey, Sully. Heard about your son.” The big man clapped Sully on the back, his meaty mug softened by sympathy. “Did they find him yet?”
Sully shook his head. “Can I use your phone, Sam?”
“Sure…sure, whatever you need.” Sam led Sully through the bar, the noise inside a raucous cacophony of chaos. Sully followed his boss through a doorway at the right of the wooden bar and into a small office, where the noise was muted and the desk lamp a pleasant glow.
Sam gestured to the telephone. “Take whatever time you need. I just wish there was something else I could do.”
“This is fine.” Sully shook the man’s hand. Sam was a decent than, and Sully knew he had a wife and three children of his own.
Moments later, alone in the office, Sully picked up the phone and dialed Kip’s number. Kip answered on the second ring.
“I need a favor,” Sully said without preamble.
“What?”
“I want Burt Neiman’s address.”
Sully’s words were met with a long pause. “Sully, that’s not a good idea. Holbrook already interviewed him, and he didn’t seem to know anything about Eric.”
“Yeah, well, I need to be certain of that”
“Sully…for God’s sakes, leave it to the cops on the case. Let them take care of things.”
“Like they took care of the investigation of the night I got shot?” Sully returned sharply. Kip was one of the few men who had a hint of what Sully suspected about that night so long ago. “I have to do something, Kip. It’s my son we’re talking about”
Kip sighed. “It will take me a few minutes to get the information.”
“You can call me at this number.” Sully gave him the number of the phone he was using.
“Where are you?” Kip asked.
“At the Pit. I couldn’t very well make this call from home. Donny would have me arrested if he knew I intended to talk to Burt.”
“You’d be safer in a jail cell,” Kip replied dryly. “I’ll call you when I’ve got what you want.”
“Thanks, Kip, you’re a good friend.”
“No, I’m crazy as a loon to be doing this.” Without another word, Kip hung up.
Sully sank into the chair behind the desk, the headache that had plagued him earlier back once again. Rubbing his forehead, he thought back to those moments when Theresa had been in his arms.
It had been heaven to hold her again, to smell the sweetness of her fragrance, to taste her mouth, her skin. It had been the first time in eighteen months that he felt right, as if he were finally home.
It had been a moment of peace in the eye of a storm. A brief respite from the loneliness, the isolation, that had become his life.
But he knew he couldn’t go back…couldn’t resume a life with Theresa. He wouldn’t put himself in a position where he might someday see disgust in her eyes, or pity. She was a strong woman who deserved a strong man, not a man tormented by nightmares, scarred from a bullet and afraid that eventually he’d lose himself in a bottle of booze.
Funny, that through all this, the greatest test he’d ever been through, he’d had no desire to drink. He wanted only one thing. His son back, safe from harm. And he knew that if he was going to help accomplish that, he had to remain clearheaded.
He had no doubt Kip would get him the information. Kip was a good cop, but his real talent was in accessing the Internet via his home computer. Kip had the skill of a magician when it came to getting into private areas, somehow maneuvering around password demands.
He jumped as the phone rang, and snatched up the receiver. “Yeah.”
“Thirty-two-forty-nine Autumn Drive,” Kip said.
Sully frowned. He knew the area. Upper-class neighborhood. “Pretty fancy address for a street punk.”
“It’s the parents’ address. Both of them lived at home. A couple of slugs who apparently have more money than sense.”
“I owe you, Kip.”
“No, you don’t. This conversation never happened.” Once again, Kip disconnected.
Sully left the bar immediately. It was almost nine, and he hoped to catch the young man at home before he went out for the night.
When he reached the Neiman house, a souped-up Chevy sat in the driveway, along with a brand-new pickup and a BMW. Sully had a feeling the Chevy belonged to Burt…the other vehicles to his parents.
Playing a hunch, Sully remained in his car, parked across the street from the Neiman residence. He had a feeling that if he was patient, he wouldn’t have to disturb the elder Neimans. Burt would come out for a night of play, and Sully would be waiting.
As the minutes ticked by, becoming half an hour, then forty-five minutes, Sully wondered if he’d played the wrong hunch. Perhaps the car wasn’t Burt’s at all. Or maybe the young man, after spending several hours at the police station, didn’t feel like going out tonight.
An hour later, Sully’s hunch paid off as the quarry left the house. He carried a paper bag in one hand and whistled merrily as he got into the Chevy.
Sully’s initial impulse was to question Burt outside his home, but as the young man pulled out of the driveway, Sully waited a moment, then followed him.
They drove through the center of town, Sully keeping enough distance between the two cars that, hopefully, Burt wouldn’t realize he was being followed.
They left the city limits and drove another five miles or so before Burt turned off on a narrow dirt road that led to an abandoned shanty. Sully didn’t make the turn, but instead pulled his car to the side of the road and killed the engine and lights.
He grabbed his gun and shoved it into his waistband, then got out of his car and hid behind a stand of brush. The cold wind sliced through him, but he hardly felt it as he focused on the Chevy.
The car came to a halt in front of the shanty, and Burt got out and disappeared into the small wood structure. The small glow of some kind of light spilled out from the cracks and crevices.
What in the hell was going on? What was Burt doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Adrenaline swept through Sully. Was it possible Eric was in that shanty? Tied up…prone on the floor? Isolated and forgotten, it was a perfect place to stash a kidnap victim.
Pulling his gun from his waistband, Sully advanced on the dilapidated building, his heart pounding a thunderous rhythm in his chest.
The night was dark, the moon spilling down just enough light for Sully to advance cautiously. He crept from one stand of brush to another, approaching the shanty with the stealth of a wary animal.
Even though you have a gun in your hand, you won’t be able to use it, a small voice whispered in his head. You’ll freeze. Just like you did the night of your shooting. Just like you’ve done in every nightmare since then.
Sully swallowed hard, hi
s hand sweaty around the gun butt, despite the chill of the night air. He tried to shove the fear aside, the fear that had forced him to resign from the department. You’ll freeze. You’ll blow it…the internal voice taunted.
As he drew closer to the building, the night he’d been shot flashed in his mind. The dreadful premonition. The telltale metallic click. The deadly inertia that had kept him from moving.
He shook his head, dispelling the haunting images. He was close enough to the shanty now to hear Burt whistling a Grateful Dead song. No other sounds. No little boy cries. No scuffles.
Drawing a deep breath, Sully burst through the door, gun leveled in front of him. Burt Neiman sat on an old mattress, an array of drugs before him. “Hey…” He stumbled to his feet as Sully entered. “Ah, man…don’t tell me.” He raised his hands over his head. “I’m busted.”
Apart from the mattress, decorated with incriminating evidence, the shanty was empty. Hope fled swiftly, leaving Sully desolate. He’d stumbled on what looked to be a drug transaction. “Turn around and put your hands on the wall,” he commanded Burt, who complied like one well versed in the routine.
Patting down Burt, Sully found a knife in the young man’s pocket. He threw it across the room. “Turn around, I’ve got some questions to ask you.”
“Aren’t you going to read me my rights?” Burt turned and looked at Sully intently. “Hey…I know you. You’re the father of that kid. I saw you and your old lady on TV.” Burt frowned. “Look, the police already talked to me about that. I don’t know nothing about it.”
“Maybe your memory is a little faulty. I’m here to help you refresh it” But Sully already knew this was a dead end.
“Hey, man, I’m telling you the truth,” Burt said frantically. “I might sell a little dope now and then, but I’d never kidnap no kid. That’s low, man.”
“Your brother made a lot of threats when he was convicted.”
Burt snorted. “My brother also tells me on a regular basis he’s gonna kill me. The man is all talk.” He eyed Sully’s gun, which had never wavered from its target. “I swear, we had nothing to do with your kid.”
Sully lowered the gun so that it pointed to Burt’s knee. He smiled thinly, knowing his eyes radiated the cold his body had been absorbing since the moment he heard of Eric’s disappearance. “Maybe I should shoot you in the leg to see if that helps you tell the truth.” He cocked the hammer—a direct threat.
“I swear. I swear I’m telling the truth.” Tears filled Burt’s eyes, along with abject terror. “Even if you shoot me, I won’t be able to tell you anything different.”
Sully uncocked the gun and lowered it to his side. “This is your lucky day, Burt. I believe you.” Sully started to leave, then turned back. “But if I find out later that you lied to me…you’ll never know what hit you.”
Sully walked back to his car, disappointment weighing heavily on his shoulders. He was convinced Burt had been telling the truth. Burt Neiman was nothing but a sniveling punk, and Sully doubted that between him and his brother they’d have the brains to pull off a kidnapping and ransom demand.
What now? Sully got into the car and leaned his head against the steering wheel. When he got back to the house, he’d let Donny know about this shanty and the fact that it was probably a popular place for deals to go down.
But what about Eric? What was left for Sully to do? Should he wait until tomorrow? Hope that the kidnapping was for real, that the kidnapper was a man of honor and would be satisfied with the payment of his ransom?
He rubbed his eyes tiredly, his thoughts confused and fragmented by weariness. He couldn’t help but feel as if they had missed something…but what?
For years, the newspapers had lauded him as a hero. He’d received dozens of community honors and tributes. But ultimately, in the end, what kind of a hero was he if he couldn’t save his own son?
THERESA WOKE UP as Sully eased himself into bed beside her. “Where have you been?” she asked softly. She pushed her hair away from her face. “I woke up a while ago and you were gone.”
“It doesn’t matter.” The dullness in his voice worried her. She couldn’t let Sully lose hope. It was important that they believe that Eric would be all right, important that they stay united in that faith.
She leaned over him, stroked his forehead with her fingers. He closed his eyes, as if finding her touch both painful and comforting. She continued to gently rub his forehead until the pattern of his breathing rhythm deepened and she knew he was asleep.
“Don’t you give up, Sullivan Mathews,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare give up on Eric.” Like you did on yourself.
She got out of bed, troubled by that thought. Was that what had happened? Had Sully given up on himself? What would make him do such a thing? And was it that loss of faith in himself that had made him resign from the force…begin to drink…leave her?
She went into the bathroom and started the water in the tub. Crazy thoughts, that was what they were. Sully had left her because he was so unhappy. He’d drunk to escape from his unhappiness. She was crazy to think it was anything else. She was grasping at straws, trying to turn things back into the way they had once been. But there was no going back, and nothing would ever be the same again.
Easing herself into the hot bath, she thought perhaps she was crazy. Crazy with fear…crazy with worry. It was no wonder she sought to explain Sully’s leaving her by placing the blame anywhere but on herself. If it wasn’t her that had made him leave…then there was a chance for a reconciliation. And the only reason she was thinking about a reconciliation was that Eric was gone and she was so alone. The thought of a life without Sully…and without Eric…was terrifying.
She leaned her head back against the cool porcelain of the tub. By this time tomorrow night, would Eric be home safe and sound, snug in his bed? Tomorrow night…Christmas Eve.
She caught a sob with the back of her hand against her mouth, knowing that if she allowed one to release itself, others would follow. She didn’t want to cry, had already cried too many tears.
She didn’t know how long she remained in the tub, but when she finally got out, the water was tepid. In the darkness of the bedroom, while Sully slept, she tugged on a pair of slacks and an oversize sweatshirt, then went out into the kitchen, where Donny half dozed in a chair at the table. He sat up straighter as she entered the room.
“You should go stretch out on the sofa,” she said sympathetically. He’d put in a lot of hours over the past two days.
“Nah, I’m all right. I’m going to head home in another hour or so. We’ll need to get started early in the morning, preparing for the drop tomorrow afternoon.”
Theresa shivered, a phantom cold hand stroking up her back, as she thought of delivering the ransom money. Her fear was not for herself, but for Eric.
“Did you see the evening paper?” Donny asked.
“No.”
He shoved the paper across the table toward her. “You and Sully made the front page.”
Theresa sat and looked at the headline. “’Family Prays for Christmas Miracle.’” She laughed without humor. “The press sure knows how to play up a story, don’t they.” She traced a finger over the photo. She looked like a shell-shock victim, while Sully looked strong and vital.
“He’s always been a photogenic cuss,” Donny said, as if reading her thoughts.
Theresa smiled. “There was a time when it seemed like Sully’s picture was in the paper every other day.”
Donny grinned wryly. “Tell me about it. It was sometimes tough working in his shadow.”
Theresa looked at him in surprise. She’d never thought about how difficult it might be working as Sully’s partner. Sully had been the star of the department, the golden boy of law enforcement. “Sully never cared about his publicity. He just wanted to do his job.”
“Yeah, that’s what made it okay,” Donny agreed. “Sully never let the attention go to his head.” He grinned again. “If he had, he would have
caught hell from all us guys at the station.”
Theresa pushed the paper aside and stood once again, too restless to sit, too tired to think. She walked over to the window and stared out. Ebony night, broken by her own version of a candle in the window…the Christmas lights that would remain burning bright until Eric was returned.
“Are they going to let him go when they get the money?” she asked, still looking into the night.
“I can’t answer that,” Donny said softly. “I wish I could say an unequivocal yes, but you’d know it was a lie.” He was silent for a moment. “We can only hope,” he finally added. “I’m letting the feds in on this…. I’ll talk to them in the morning and tell them we think we have a potential kidnapping.”
Theresa nodded, then frowned as she eyed the dark house next door. “I don’t understand why I haven’t heard from Rose and Vincent,” she said more to herself than to Donny.
“Rose and Vincent?”
She turned away from the window. “My next door neighbors. Rose and Vincent Caltino. I can’t figure out why they haven’t been over to see me. They adore Eric, and certainly can’t have missed the activity going on here.”
Donny sat up straighter. “When was the last time you saw them?” He flipped open his notebook.
Theresa stared at him in shock. “Oh, no, surely you don’t think…”
“Theresa…when was the last time you saw either of these people?” Donny’s voice snapped with a trace of impatience.
Once again Theresa sank down in the chair across from him, this time because she feared her legs would no longer hold her up. “Yesterday.” God, had it only been yesterday when she stood at the oven, making cookies for Eric to decorate? It felt like a lifetime ago. “Rose came by yesterday to bring Eric a Christmas present.”
“What time did she come by?”
Theresa rubbed her forehead thoughtfully. “Right around time for Eric to come home from school…three-thirty or so.” Horror battled with disbelief. “Oh, but Donny, they’re a nice older couple. They have no children of their own, so they sort of adopted Eric as an unofficial grandson.”
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