Death Never Lies

by David Grace

  He entered a few seconds later. As ordered Kathryn’s back was toward him and he placed the bowl of cereal and a plastic spoon on the dresser.

  “After I leave you can turn around and eat your breakfast. If you’re thirsty fill the bowl with water from the bathroom tap.”

  “What are you going to do with me?”

  “That’s up to your father. If he does everything I want I might let you live.”

  “Please don’t hurt me. He’ll do whatever you say.”

  “We’ll see. I don’t trust him.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Your father’s a traitor to America. Men like him have to pay,” Donald snarled and backed out of the room. Once outside he allowed himself a little smile. If the woman wasn’t terrified before she was now which was exactly what he wanted.

  * * *

  Kane and the rest of the agents waited out the day but only accumulated more questions and no answers. Greg gave Senator Denning a progress report and then took a chance and asked him to transfer the call to Allison’s desk.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “I wish I could tell you.”

  “You don’t know or you can’t say?”

  “I meant that nothing about this makes any sense,” Kane replied.

  “Isn’t that to be expected? I mean terrorists aren’t the most rational people.”

  “This guy may be crazy but he’s not stupid. Everything he’s done up to now has been disciplined and professional. Suddenly he’s turning this into a for-ransom kidnapping? If he was just after money there are a lot of richer people out there who are much easier targets. I don’t know what his real plan is but I can tell you that the money is just a smokescreen. . . . Anyway, how are you?”

  “I’m in the midst of preparing a very exciting press release on the patent-reform bill Uncle Arthur is sponsoring.”

  “What kind of paintings do you like?” Kane asked after a second of two of silence.

  “Paintings?”

  “You know, impressionists, old masters, abstract.”

  Allison paused for a moment trying to figure out how Kane’s question fit into their conversation about kidnappings and high tech legislation.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I like impressionists. I know what you’re thinking – what’s a cop know about art?”

  “No, I’m wondering if you’re having a stroke.”

  “I’m going to need to clear my head once this kidnapping is over,” Greg said, ignoring her gibe. “There’s a new impressionist exhibition at the National Gallery.”

  “You’re not making any sense at all,” Allison told him.

  Kane sighed, frustrated by Allison’s confusion.

  “I’m asking if you would go with me to the National Gallery when this is all over.” Kane paused but she didn’t reply. “Don’t worry, it’s not anything romantic. Think of it as pre-fucking exercise.”

  “I don’t appreciate your snotty attitude, Greg.”

  “I figure looking at the nudes ought to get our libidos nicely revved up for the main event.”

  “You’re on thin ice, Kane.”

  “So, you’ll do it?”

  The silence stretched for several seconds.

  “Ask me again when you catch the guy,” Allison finally told him and then hung up.

  * * *

  At three minutes after six an email appeared in Hopper’s inbox: “Send money as instructed before six p.m. tomorrow. It will be used to defend Americans’ constitutional rights. Sign the attached statement and release it to the press no later than six p.m. tomorrow.” Two DOC files were attached to the email. The first contained the details for the transfer of one-million dollars in bitcoins. The second was a one-page text file titled “My Confession – My Pledge.”

  The tech printed out three copies then tore into the file’s guts looking for user names, the Microsoft Word serial number, earlier versions of the text and anything else he could find buried in the file or the email. Kane grabbed one of the hard copies and began reading aloud.

  “I have been planning on betraying the American People,” he read, “by disarming them so that they will be easy prey for the secret police and the totalitarian government they keep in power. But now I realize that I must do the right thing. The so-called Lyla’s Law is an unconstitutional scheme to turn a free and strong people into a mob of victims to be ground under the government’s heel. I hereby promise that I will vote my conscience and do everything in my power to see that it is struck down and that I will vote to affirm the decision of the Court of Appeals in the case of Hoffkemper v. California. – George Hopper, Justice of the United States Supreme Court.”

  “Finally, it’s starting to make some sense,” Dohenny said when Kane finished reading.

  “Not to me,” Kane grumbled, skimming the sheet in the general direction of the coffee table. Dohenny stared at him and waited. “He’s giving us too much time,” Kane complained. “Why would he give us a full day to try to find him? He could have demanded that we do this tonight in time for the ten o’clock news or by nine tomorrow morning. Why is he stalling?”

  “I’m grateful for small favors. Every extra minute is that much more time to track him down. – Anything?” Dohenny asked the tech.

  “Nothing. He got into the file with an editor and stripped out all the identifying info in the headers. Even if I could tease out a serial number it’s going to be a dead end.”

  Dohenny looked at Handleman but the FBI agent just shrugged. Hopper seemed frozen, his eyes locked on the page. Finally, he looked up.

  “I can’t sign this,” Hopper said his expression somewhere between terror and tears.

  “We’re not there yet, Judge,” Dohenny told him. “We’ve got almost a full day before we have to make that decision.”

  “This country can’t work if people can blackmail the Court into deciding cases the way they want. A day or a year, it doesn’t make any difference. I won’t, I can’t sign this.” Hopper crumpled the page and tossed it halfway across the room. “I’ll have to recuse myself,” he said a moment later.

  “Judge, we’re not there yet,” Dohenny told him.

  “Don’t you see? No matter what I do, I’m tainted. If he lets Kathryn go and I vote to affirm the Court of Appeals people will think that my vote was coerced. If Kathryn is . . . if we don’t get her back and I vote to reverse the Court of Appeals then people will think that I did that to get revenge.”

  “Recusing yourself is what he wants,” Kane broke in. “Everyone figures you’re the swing vote. With you out of the way it’s four to four and the decision of the Court of Appeals stands, which is exactly what he’s been after from day one.”

  “How can I not recuse myself? No matter what I do my vote will be tainted.”

  “Not if we get her back before the deadline,” Kane said.

  “But–”

  “Look, if we rescue her then no one can say that you voted against the law as a ransom payment and no one can say you voted in favor of the law for revenge. Once she’s safe and sound everything goes back to where it was, the scheme didn’t work and the kidnapper didn’t get what he wanted.”

  “They kidnapped my daughter! No matter what I do people will think I voted out of personal prejudice or emotion,” Hopper argued.

  “Like you said, Judge, this is bigger than just you. There are only two choices here: one, you vote your conscience and some people maybe suspect you acted out of personal motives or, two, you don’t vote at all and you send the country the message that the Supreme Court’s decisions can be rigged by coercing a justice on the wrong side not to vote. It’s pretty clear which of those two options is the most dangerous.”

  Hopper seemed frozen for a moment then looked up at Kane. “Do you really think that you can save her?” he asked, more a plea than a question.

  “That depends on whether or not we can discover what he’s really planning because this,” Kane waved at t
he wrinkled page, “is all a scam, a misdirect. If we can figure out why he was stalling then maybe we’d have a chance.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  “Your father’s not cooperating,” Donald told Kathryn late that night, his voice muffled by his mask. “Maybe he thinks I won’t kill you, but I will.”

  “No! Please,” Kathryn pleaded. “I can convince him. Please, just let me talk to him.”

  “So you can give him some clue where you are? I don’t think so. Maybe if I cut off one of your fingers and send it to him he’d change his tune.” Donald waved a pair of garden shears in front of her face.

  “No! Please don’t! Please,” Kathryn begged and burst into tears.

  “He better come across by this time tomorrow night or he’s going to find out that I mean business.” Donald stomped out of the room, slammed the door and tore off his mask. That ought to motivate her to escape, he thought. For a moment he considered driving past what he called “Point B” but decided against it. Either the occupants had left on their little trip or they hadn’t.

  Weeks earlier Donald had searched the tax assessor’s records for the names of the owners of any houses that might work as Point B. Further investigation had narrowed the list. He identified the remaining targets on a Google map then hacked into the owners’ Facebook pages. He was fully prepared to take over an occupied structure if necessary – a knock on the door, a jab with the stun gun, a pocket full of plastic bags, and in a few minutes the house would be his. But that turned out to be unnecessary. Mr. and Mrs. Irwin Wedemeyer were kind enough to post their plans for a week’s visit with their daughter and new grandchild so he knew that their house was going to be empty. The day before he grabbed Kathryn it only took him ten minutes to defeat their bargain-basement alarm system.

  Point B was on a street parallel to and one block north of Hopper’s home. The last thing he did after disabling the alarm was to remove the nails from three of the boards on Point B’s back fence substituting a couple of strips of strapping tape to hold them in place.

  The day passed uneventfully. Donald kept Kathryn hungry and thirsty and scared out of her mind with threats of murder and amputation. Finally, the six p.m. deadline arrived. Donald turned on the news and quickly confirmed that Hopper had not signed the whacko “pledge” he had written up. Good, Donald thought, pleased that the target had reacted as expected. Time to move.

  Kathryn was curled up on the bed, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

  His mask back in place, Donald stormed into the room and half-shouted, “Time to show your father what happens to traitors! Put on your coat and shoes.”

  Kathryn stared at him dumbly and Donald took a threatening step closer. Whimpering, she hurried to comply.

  “Where are we going?”

  “The Gestapo thinks that they’re real smart but they’re not. They think they know where we are but we’re going to fool them.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to take you right under their noses. They’re going to find your body only two hundred yards from your daddy’s house. That’ll teach them that they’re not so smart after all,” Donald told her, playing the crazed terrorist for all he was worth. Kathryn’s whimpers turned into a flood of tears. I should have been an actor, Donald thought. Half an hour later he pulled the Chevy he had rented to replace the compromised Fusion into the Wedemeyer’s garage, put on his mask and released Kathryn from the trunk. Crying and stumbling, he led her to the guest bathroom on the first floor and locked her in. It took only a minute to release the packing tape and remove the loose boards from the back fence. Using a flashlight to make his way through the darkened house he dragged Kathryn from the bathroom to the kitchen.

  “I think it’s time to send your father a little present,” he told her and pulled out the pruning shears.

  “No! No! Please!” Kathryn cried and tried to pull away.

  Donald drew her closer then froze as if listening to a distant sound.

  “The gestapo’s getting cute,” he said, and pulled out a burner phone. Anxiously, he looked around the kitchen then dragged Kathryn to the stove. He quickly wrapped a length of nylon cord around her wrists then tied the end to the sink. “I’ve got to make a call,” Donald said. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” He raised the pruning shears and smiled, then hurried from the room.

  The words Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! screamed through Kathryn’s brain.

  Relaxed on the living room couch Donald opened an app on his smart phone that triggered a call to Hopper’s number from a burner phone two blocks in the opposite direction. The pre-paid cell played a pre-recorded message as soon as Hopper picked up.

  “Hello?” the Justice answered, glancing nervously at the tech hunched over his computer.

  “You didn’t do what I told you,” a computer-generated voice shouted. “Do you think I wasn’t serious? Do you think I didn’t mean what I said?” The tech tapped furiously on his keys. “I’m going to kill her if you don’t sign the pledge. You think you’re smart but you’re stupid. You have no idea of what I can do. You’ll never catch me and even if you did it wouldn’t matter because she’d still be dead.”

  The tech looked up and anxiously waved at Dohenny.

  “I’ve got a hit,” he whispered. “He’s close! It looks like he’s half a mile or less south of us.”

  Kane glanced at the Judge, frozen, holding his phone as if it were toxic. Over the speaker the computer voice continued its rant.

  “I’m going to start sending you pieces of her just to prove that I mean what I say. Maybe then you’ll do the right thing. I’m going to give you until ten tomorrow morning and then I’m going to start cutting. Don’t think you can get away with anything. I’m watching you.” The line went dead.

  Everyone turned back to the tech.

  “I’ve got him narrowed down to a couple of city blocks where two cell towers overlap,” he said in an excited voice then began to highlight the target zone on a paper map.

  Dohenny hit his speed dial and began assigning teams to the marked area. “We could use some more manpower if you’re willing,” Dohenny told Kane but Greg wasn’t paying attention to him or anyone else in the room. “Kane? Kane?”

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Greg muttered.

  “This is the break we’ve been hoping for.”

  “This is all wrong.”

  “What–”

  “This isn’t simply a mistake,” Kane broke in. “This is a monumental blunder. He moves to within a few blocks of the judge’s home and then he goes on a minute-long rant? He has to know that we would track that call. He has to.”

  “He’s a fanatic and he’s lost it. That’s what people do when they get upset. They make mistakes.”

  “He’s not that stupid,” Kane insisted. “What was the point of the call anyway? Just to yell at us? Just to make threats and then give us another fifteen hours to track him down?”

  “You’re over-estimating this guy. You need to remember that criminals aren’t geniuses.”

  “Our guy is a pro and he’s smarter than this. We’re missing something.”

  “Yeah, well when you figure out what that is you let me know. Until then we’re going to tear that two-block target area apart.”

  A delay until six o’clock. Then an unnecessary and compromising phone call. Then another delay until ten tomorrow morning. What’s he really after? Kane asked himself.

  * * *

  Kathryn strained her ears but heard nothing. Was he still in the living room? Had he fled? She tried to pick at the knots with her teeth but they were too tight. There was a knife block next to the stove but that was too far away. To the right of the sink was a tiled counter with three drawers underneath. If she stretched the cord as far as it would go she was just able to reach the top one. Praying that it wouldn’t make any noise she wiggled the drawer open an inch at a time. Inside she spotted a silverware tray. One of the slots held four cheap steak knives with
plastic handles. She pulled the tray to her side of the drawer and the tips of her fingers were just barely able to touch the closest knife. It took her almost two minutes of straining and struggling but eventually she was able to work it between her two palms and then twist the edge of the blade against the nylon cord.

  Donald had quietly slipped into the garage and now was sitting behind the Chevy’s wheel. An iPad rested on the passenger seat. Its screen displayed a wide-angle picture from the camera inside the middle button on Kathryn’s coat. If he had had the choice he wouldn’t still be here but the transmitter had a limited range and he didn’t want the woman to hear the car starting up. He needed her to escape through the backyard and she was only going to do that if she thought he was still in the front of the house.

  Donald peered into the screen. Yes, she had almost sawn through the line. A moment later her hands were free. She turned toward the living room and he held his breath. No, she was too afraid. Still gripping the knife she spun around and tiptoed toward the back door. He had made sure that it was unlocked and she slipped through it in a flash. There were no lights in the backyard but the moon was almost full and a couple of the windows on the house on the other side of the fence were aglow.

  The picture jiggled as Kathryn ran across the lawn. She slowed for a moment then spotted the opening in the fence. Would she knock on the neighbor’s back door or keep running? Terrified as she was Donald didn’t think she was going to stop until she felt safe. As if she could read his mind she skirted the left side of the house and ran up the driveway toward the street. She was almost there.

  Donald picked up the Push-To-Talk phone that was linked to its mate sewn into the hem of Kathryn’s overcoat. The two units would function like a pair of walkie-talkies and would connect less than one second after Donald pushed the button. The call would last, of course, only for the instant between the time Kathryn’s phone received the signal and the moment that the blasting cap and C4 it was connected to detonated, but for Donald’s purposes that was plenty long enough.