“You think someone set him up.”
“I’m wondering if, like the victims, he presented an opportunity. We still haven’t received anything from other cities. What if our perp started here? Wouldn’t you start with a pro, someone no one would miss or care much about?”
“A virgin killer?”
“But not for long. Once he got a taste of it—”
Cassidy’s cell phone rang. He looked at it. Few people had his number. He looked at Haynes, who nodded. He answered.
Manny’s voice was ragged. “Joey’s missing.”
Cassidy’s heart dropped. “How? When?”
“About forty minutes ago. She was staying with a friend of hers and apparently decided she had to see Marise. She left their house, and her friend didn’t tell her own mother that Joey hadn’t gone home until Janie called. Janie’s looked everywhere. Joey’s just disappeared.”
Cassidy didn’t even try to make him feel better or pretend there was another explanation. He knew Joey. If she said she was going to see Marise, then she would have gone straight there.
“I’ll put an all-points out on her,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”
As he hung up, he turned around and told Haynes the news in a clipped tone.
“I’ll have units converge on the area,” Haynes said.
“Tell them to look for a dark sedan. A white male and child.”
“That’s a quarter of Atlanta.”
“I know,” Cassidy said, “but it’s still worth a try. We might get lucky.”
“We’ll have to call in the FBI. It’s a kidnapping.”
“We’re not sure of that yet. She’s just been missing an hour. And if she has been taken by our killer, he might be using her to get to Merrick. To make the point that he’s powerful. There will be a call. Give us a few hours. If the feds take over, we might never see Joey again.”
Haynes knew Joey, too. They all knew each other’s families. They had been to weddings and births and funerals together.
“How would he have known about Manny’s daughter?”
“I don’t know. He might have a police radio, known that Manny and I were protecting Miss Merrick. It would be easy then to research his family.”
“But grabbing her in the neighborhood? He must know we had people there.”
“We had people looking after Marise, not Joey. I’ve got to get over there. Manny’s going to be crazy.”
“You have one hour before I call the feds,” the captain said. “In the meantime, I’m sending our tech people out there to wire the phones.”
Cassidy put the siren on top of the car and roared out of the parking lot.
It took Cassidy exactly twenty minutes to reach the house. Two other police cars were out front. He showed two officers in front his badge and entered the kitchen. An ashen Janie was sitting at the table, one hand held by Manny.
Marise looked every bit as stricken. “It’s my fault,” she said.
Manny shook his head. He was pale. He looked as if he’d aged twenty years. He said, “No, it’s not.”
“Go home,” Cassidy told them. “He might call.”
“Teddy Walford is there. He’ll let me know.” Walford, Cassidy knew, was a neighbor and commander with the fire department. “Uniforms are checking the neighborhood,” Manny added.
“Have you looked?”
“No, I thought it could be another…diversion. And I thought I should be here if Joey came. I keep thinking she stopped at someone else’s house. She knows everyone. Maybe she wanted one of her friends to meet Marise…”
“Anyone see anything?”
“That’s the thing. No one saw anything. If it is our man, he’s a phantom. And how would he know about Joey?”
“The police radio,” Cassidy said. “Joey’s been over before. Your name has been mentioned.”
Manny stared at him.
“And who else could lure Joey without creating a disturbance? No one would think twice about seeing a police car or one of our unmarked cars in the neighborhood, especially now with everything that has been going on.”
“One of ours?” Manny said.
“You always knew it was a possibility,” Cassidy said. “Or it could be someone with a police radio and who knows police procedure.”
Manny’s face crumpled. Cassidy knew Manny’s panic. He wasn’t like Cassidy. He didn’t live for his job. He lived for his wife and daughter. But the knowledge that one of their own could have done something like this twisted the knife.
Marise, he noticed, had retreated to a wall and was leaning against it as if it were the only thing holding her up.
Cassidy ached for Manny and Janie. Marise, too. Janie looked as if she were about to fall apart; Manny, as if his heart had just been ripped out; and Marise as if the world had just blown up and it was all her fault. And he ached for himself. Joey was as dear to him as his own child. She was, in fact, probably the closest thing to a daughter he would ever have.
“Manny, you should be with Janie, and Janie needs to be home in case Joey shows up. Maybe she was just diverted by a friend, and she’ll call,” Cassidy said. He was trying to tamp down his rage. Rage wouldn’t do any good. And if what he believed was happening was true, he needed to think rationally. “Dan and Britt are here, as well as uniformed officers.”
Manny shook his head. “You know—” He stopped, looked at Janie’s face, where there was a glimmer of hope. He nodded. “I’ll call you if I hear anything.” He fixed his gaze on Cassidy. “And you call me if you hear anything. Anything at all…”
“I will, buddy.”
Manny looked shattered. Cassidy knew his friend would be useless now. Hell, Cassidy probably was, too. It was his goddaughter.
“He’ll be in contact,” he tried to reassure Manny who seemed unable to move. “Soon. He won’t be able to help himself.”
“What about the feds?” Dan asked.
“The captain gave us an hour. It’ll take them another hour to get here.”
Janie had been listening. She stood with Manny and grabbed his hand in a death grip. “Why a child?”
“It was the only way to get to me,” Marise broke in. Her voice was raw and her eyes were red.
Cassidy went over to her and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s not your fault,” he said, echoing Manny.
“If I hadn’t insisted on doing that press conference…”
“We’ll find her,” Cassidy said. “But I think it’s a good idea to alert the captain that a department car might be involved.”
He could do it, but he thought it might help Manny if he were the one to make the call. His friend needed to do something.
Manny phoned Haynes. “Cassidy thinks we should consider the use of a marked or unmarked police car. Joey…would never get into a car with a stranger. She might do it if she thought it was an officer.”
He mumbled something over the phone, then hung up.
“How could he know Joey would be here?” he asked.
“Perhaps another opportunity. He might well have been driving by and saw her leave the house. Or,” he said, “he might have gained access to the police radio. He would know about Joey and could have been waiting for her. No one’s been watching your house.”
They should have, he thought. He should have anticipated this. He’d never felt so useless. And he knew Marise’s guilt. Hers was undeserved. She had done what was asked of her.
If anything, he was responsible. He had urged her to stay. He had consistently underestimated the killer.
He had left his goddaughter exposed.
He followed Manny and Janie to the door and watched them leave. Manny’s shoulders were slumped, his head bowed. Janie was hanging on to his hand as if it were a lifeline.
He turned. Marise looked at him. Her eyes were shadowed and swollen.
Dan was across the room. Britt was in the other room with officers, coordinating the search.
Cassidy went over to Marise and brushed a strand of ha
ir from her face. His hand touched her cheek and felt the dampness.
It was a silent grief. He hadn’t seen her cry before. Not ever for herself. Now she cried for a child.
“Don’t even consider that it’s your fault. You haven’t done anything we didn’t ask you to do.”
“It should have been me. I must have said something—”
The phone rang. They both went silent.
Dan looked at them. “We don’t have the equipment installed.”
“Probably someone from headquarters,” he said. But he knew it wasn’t. They would have used his cell phone number.
He walked to the phone and picked it up. “MacKay,” he said.
Nothing. Except breathing. Then a child’s voice. “Uncle Hoppy—”
The connection went dead.
He swore. No voice. He looked at the caller ID that he used to foil solicitation calls. He called the number back. It rang and rang.
Then he called the department to find out who had the number. He held on as they looked and discovered it was a pay phone at a service station.
Maybe their killer had made a mistake. If he used a public phone, someone must have seen him.
So had Joey.
The killer couldn’t let her live.
Cassidy ran to his car. He might be able to reach the service station before a patrol car and he wanted to make sure no evidence was destroyed.
Marise had protection. But Joey. Dear God, Joey.
Marise watched Cassidy reach his car and drive off with tires squealing.
She felt superfluous. Manny was with his wife, Janie. Groups of officers were huddling together over the phones. She was the outsider. Even more than an outsider—the cause. If they didn’t think so, she did.
She carried her purse into the bedroom, away from the scene in which she felt so much the intruder, the onlooker. She tossed it on the chest and sat down on the bed. Then she heard her cell phone ring.
She took it from where it was charging, and viewed it as if it were a snake. As the ringing continued, she clicked it on and held it to her ear.
“Miss Merrick?” the voice asked.
It was a strange-sounding voice. Muffled. She knew immediately why.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry I missed your press conference this morning. I caught it on television, though.”
The disembodied voice sent shivers through her. It had been changed electronically. She knew that. She also knew she should go into the living room, signal to Dan Kelley. But something kept her here. She was afraid that if she moved, if he suspected she talked to anyone else, he would kill Joey.
“Where’s Joey?”
“Are you alone, Marise?” His use of her name increased the tremors. There was an insinuated intimacy about it.
“Yes. Where’s Joey?”
“She is such a pretty little girl.”
“I want to talk to her.” Marise knew that whoever was calling had the child. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have this number. The number she had given Joey.
“I don’t think so. She’s…speechless right now.” A mannish giggle.
“Then, I’ll hang up.” She didn’t know if what she was doing was right or wrong. She should go into the other room. Get professional help. Call Joey’s father. Yet she felt deep inside that she was the key to Joey’s life.
She had two deaths on her conscience. She couldn’t bear a third.
“I want to watch you skate,” the voice said. “For me.”
“Where?”
“Is anyone with you?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Which room are you in? I want to picture you there.”
She felt as if a snake were crawling up her back.
“The bedroom.”
“Are you dressed, Marise?”
“Yes.”
“They know young Joey is missing?”
“Yes.”
“I thought it would take longer. Too bad. It means you have to sneak out of there. If you want her to live.”
“Why should I trust you? Particularly when you won’t put her on the phone.”
“You know I have this number. How could I have it if I don’t have the young lady?”
Marise’s heart pounded so loudly that she thought he could hear it. Her throat was dry.
“If you tell them, your young friend will die.”
“How do you know—?”
“I know everything.”
“What do you want?”
“I told you. I want to see you skate.”
“Where?”
“I’ll tell you where. When I know you are alone.”
She was silent.
“There’s a pay telephone at a convenience store four blocks away. Take a right at the next block, then another right. You will run into it.”
“I don’t have a car.”
“Find one, Marise. Or you can run. You are very good at running. But you had better be there in fifteen minutes. Or Joey dies.”
The phone went dead. A number showed on her display.
She didn’t know what to do. Part of her knew she should march into the other room and tell the police gathered there. She should tell Manny.
If you tell them, your young friend will die. The words kept echoing in her mind.
You can’t let it happen again.
She checked the drawer of the table beside the bed where she’d seen Cassidy put a pistol after their trip to the cabin. It was locked, but she knew where he kept the key. She found it at the bottom of a chest drawer and opened it. She took the gun out, along with the ammunition box that lay next to it.
She held it in her hand.
After a second, she loaded the gun, then tucked it in the waistband of her slacks. At the back. Would her nemesis look there?
She wished she had a recorder of some kind, but she didn’t. It wouldn’t make any difference, anyway. If she lived through this, she could testify herself. She had to make sure that she did.
She looked down at her watch. Two minutes since he’d called. He’d said she had fifteen. She used her phone to call Cassidy. He didn’t answer his cell phone. She then called police headquarters and asked for him. No one knew where he was.
She quickly wrote a note explained that she was to be at a public telephone at a convenience store, but that the killer had said he wanted to see her skate. She added that the kidnapper said he would kill Joey if he saw anyone with her. She couldn’t take that chance. But she would call Cassidy as soon as she received the instructions. She taped the note to the bathroom mirror.
Marise looked down at her watch. Nine o’clock.
She went into the other room. Several other police cars had arrived—uniformed and plainclothes detectives. No one was paying attention to her. She walked into the kitchen and selected a knife from the cabinet. No one followed her. She slipped outside, looked in every direction. Someone should be watching from a window nearby. He would see her. Or maybe not—it was dark.
He couldn’t watch both the front and back of the house at the same time. A fifty-fifty chance. She purposely kept to the shadows, praying she wouldn’t be too late.
There was a sweater at the phone booth. Joey’s sweater.
Police cars had been sent to the location. Cassidy arrived just as they did. He got out and showed his badge, then carefully surveyed the scene. A sweater lay on the ledge. The receiver had not been replaced. It hung from the metal cord.
He asked one of the officers for a glove, then checked the sweater. A note was tucked inside. “Too late,” it said.
He swore. The killer was playing games with them.
He told the officers to guard the crime scene until the forensics people arrived. Then he remembered the explosion.
Was this another diversion?
He felt for his cell phone and realized it was in the car. He had to call the captain. He quickly strode over to it.
&
nbsp; A number blinked. He recognized it immediately. Marise’s cell number.
He punched the numbers, then waited. No one answered.
He called his own number.
Manny picked it up. “Yes?”
“Manny?”
“Cass, Marise is gone. Dan said she just disappeared. I came over here in case the…kidnapper called here. Janie’s at home to answer if anyone calls there.” Manny hesitated, then asked, “Did you find out anything about Joey?”
The pain and fear was thick in Manny’s voice.
“There was a note at the phone booth. It said, ‘Too late.’ I’m sorry, Manny.”
“Yeah.” Silence. Then Manny said roughly, “Find Marise, Cass.”
Cassidy heard another voice break in.
“She left a note,” Frank said. “Britt found it on the mirror.” He read it aloud.
Cassidy closed his eyes. So, the call to him had been a red herring.
And Marise had gone to meet a madman to try to save a child.
Chapter 17
She had bested the killer before. She could do it again. Marise kept telling herself that as she jogged toward the convenience store. She suspected the public phone location was in the opposite direction to the origin of the first call.
When would Cassidy return?
She wanted him. She wanted him the way she wanted air to breathe. She wanted his assurance and his experience and his warmth. He would take the fear away.
She clutched her purse. The kitchen knife was inside. If the killer got that close, he would think he had found her one weapon. She hoped he would, anyway.
She looked at her watch. Two more minutes. The convenience store came into sight. And the pay phone was outside.
Three cars in front. Was one of them the killer’s?
She heard the ringing just as she reached the booth. She picked up the phone as she glanced around.
“Very good, Marise,” said the same weird voice. “I didn’t see anyone with you, but I’m sure you have a shadow. Maybe even a tracer.”
“You want me, not a child,” she said, hating the plea in her voice.
“But the child is the key to you,” he said. “And she is very pretty. Maybe I have been missing something.”
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