Hatfield and McCoy

by Heather Graham

  There was no mistaking the house. As soon as they came around the corner, Julie saw the kidnapped little girl’s parents waiting. There were other people around them. Family, friends, perhaps. The Nicholsons, she thought quickly, remembering everything she had been told. Martin and Louisa. And their little girl’s name was Tracy. She would be eight next week.

  The lawn, the neighborhood looked so normal, so peaceful. It was spring, and Louisa Nicholson had planted all kinds of flowers along the walkway. The house was freshly painted a bright white with green trim around the windows and doors. It was a moderately affluent neighborhood, a working neighborhood, a place where Sesame Street and Disney movies would play for the children, where hope blossomed for the best of lives, where the American dream could be played out.

  But not today.

  Robert McCoy pulled his Lincoln to the side of the road. The engine was still revving down when Julie opened her door and hurried out. She smiled reassuringly as she walked up the steps to the cement pathway leading to the broad porch and the house. She knew the girl’s mother instantly—a small woman with dark curly hair and large brown eyes that kept filling with tears. She stood beside a lean man with thinning gray-black hair. “Mr. Nicholson?” She shook his hand, then turned quickly to his wife. “Mrs. Nicholson? I’m Julie Hatfield. Petty sent me from his office, and a Mr. McCoy, FBI, is right behind me. You mustn’t worry, really. I don’t know what Petty told you about me, but I am very good, and I’m certain that at this moment, Tracy is fine. Just fine.”

  Something in her words must have reached Mrs. Nicholson because some of the cloud seemed to disappear from her eyes. She smiled at Julie, then looked over Julie’s shoulder. McCoy was coming toward them.

  “Mrs. Nicholson, I’m—” he began.

  “Yes, yes, you’re the FBI man,” Louisa Nicholson said. “Julie, please come in. My husband and I will help you in any way we can. Oh, Mr.—did you say McCoy, Miss Hatfield?”

  They were going to go through a lot of this, Julie thought.

  She smiled. “Yes, he’s a McCoy. Isn’t it just disgraceful?”

  “Miss Hatfield—” McCoy began, that deep voice filled with all kinds of authority.

  It didn’t matter. Louisa Nicholson actually laughed, and her tall, balding husband at her side almost grinned.

  “We’re just so very worried,” Martin Nicholson said.

  “Naturally,” Julie said softly. “Shall we go in?”

  The Nicholsons excused themselves to the anxious friends and neighbors who had gathered around. Julie saw a few friends from church and waved, then hurriedly followed the Nicholsons into the parlor. Julie glanced around quickly. It was a warm house. A house, she thought, where a lot of love lived. There was a beautiful china cabinet to one side of the entry, filled with various collections of crystal and figurines. The two hutches that filled out the parlor were mahogany, rich and beautifully polished. But the sofa and chairs in the center of the room were overstuffed and very comfortable. A little girl could crawl all over them without worrying about being yelled at. She could curl into her father’s lap there, rest her head against her mother’s shoulder.

  Robert McCoy had begun an intense round of questioning. Julie could tell that the Nicholsons had already been through it all; their answers were becoming mechanical.

  The Nicholsons knew that Tracy hadn’t run away. She was a good girl, she loved them both, she was an only child, and they were a very close family. She had been right out front, and then suddenly she had been gone. All the wonderful people out in the yard had searched the house, the lawn and the streets beyond, and they had even organized block searches. The police had come by, and now Mr. McCoy and Julie Hatfield were here.

  Julie was surprised to find herself distracted momentarily as she watched McCoy. He had the ability to be kind, to be gentle. He spoke to the Nicholsons with a depth and understanding that startled Julie.

  She had thought him all business, cut and dried. But there was a heart pumping in that broad chest.

  He was a very handsome man. Those steel-gray eyes were direct and powerful in a handsome face that was strongly, ruggedly sculpted.

  He probably chews nails for dinner, Julie thought.

  He didn’t really look like a G-man, not in that black leather jacket of his. G-men were supposed to wear three-piece suits.

  Maybe he did wear suits on occasion. He would be just as tall in a suit. His shoulders would be every bit as broad. Maybe he’d be even more intimidating.

  He wasn’t intimidating. Yes, he was. But he did have a heart in that rock-hard chest, she had determined. Either that, or he was just so professional that he could make his voice sound as if he were caring.

  Something suddenly flashed briefly through her mind.

  He cared too much. That was it. He cared too much. He took every case right to his heart …

  Julie turned toward the window and started. They were still talking behind her. Suddenly, she could see what had happened. She could see it all.

  There was Tracy Nicholson. She was a tall girl for seven, maybe four feet three inches. And she didn’t look a thing like her parents. She had bright red hair and a cute spattering of freckles across her nose. She was wearing nearly brand new blue jeans and a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar and a pretty navy sweater. She had been rolling a ball down the steps. The ball had rolled out into the street. It was then that the car …

  The car. She couldn’t quite see the car. All Julie knew was that it was some kind of a sedan, and not a compact car. And it seemed to be a darkish color. It drew near the curb.

  The driver was calling to Tracy.

  Julie inhaled and exhaled slowly. She could feel her heart thundering, just as Tracy had felt her little heart pound ferociously.

  Tracy had been taught by her parents never to get into a car with a stranger. She had been taught to be polite, but careful.

  And now there was this someone …

  Julie tried to see into the mist surrounding the car and driver. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

  Not even when the driver swore because Tracy would come no closer. Swore, and leaped quickly out of the seat, rushing for Tracy.

  Tracy tried to scream, tried to run. She could do neither. Julie could feel the little girl’s terror. Her feet had felt like cement. She couldn’t budge them. And her scream … her scream had caught in her throat. And just when it might have burst out, something was clamped tightly over her mouth. Something with an awful, strong odor. Tracy tried to fight then. She tried very hard, and her shoes dug into the dirt. But that stuff on the cloth made it harder and harder to move. She couldn’t even think anymore. It was something awful. Something that stole the light …

  It was gone. A flash of blackness appeared before Julie’s eyes, and she knew. The little girl had lost consciousness then.

  “… white shirt, and jeans,” Louisa Nicholson was saying. “And her high-top sneakers.”

  “And her navy blue sweater,” Julie said softly.

  “What?” Louisa said.

  Julie turned around. “She was wearing her navy sweater,” she said.

  Martin Nicholson gasped softly. “That’s right, Louisa, she was. She told me she was going to get her sweater while I was fixing the pipe out back. She ran in and put it on. I’d clear forgotten until now. We gave the other officers the wrong description of her clothing—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Julie said quickly. “What matters now is that we get her back.” She glanced at Robert. He was watching her carefully, his eyes narrowed. But he didn’t try to shut her up. He was unimpressed with her knowledge about the sweater, certainly, but he didn’t seem to mind her presence so much anymore.

  “There were originally scuff marks in the dirt on the shoulder of the road?” McCoy asked quietly. He didn’t say it reproachfully, and he didn’t let on that valuable clues might have been gained had the dirt and grass and the shoulder not been so trampled. It was a foolish waste, but it wouldn�
�t do any good to tell the Nicholsons now.

  Louisa nodded and sniffed, then suddenly the tears she had been trying to hold back came streaming down her cheeks. “She fought him. My baby fought him. He must have hurt her, oh, how he must have hurt her—”

  “No, no, Louisa!” Julie said quickly. She sat beside Louisa on the plush old comfortable couch, taking the woman into her arms. “No, please, trust me, believe in me. Yes, Tracy was frightened, and she did fight. She’s a wonderfully tough little girl, and the two of you have taught her to be so resourceful. But he hasn’t hurt her. He’s going to ask for a ransom. He wants money, not to hurt anyone. You wait and see. It’s all going to come out all right.”

  “The phone line has been tapped?” McCoy said.

  Martin Nicholson nodded. “The police did that right away. Petty told us there would be a man listening in every time our phone rings and that if a ransom demand came, they’d try to trace the line immediately.”

  “That’s good. That’s real good,” McCoy said. “Well, I think we’d better get started on what we have.”

  “Officer Smith is still out searching the woods around the house with some volunteers,” Martin Nicholson said.

  “Fine,” McCoy said. “Have you got a picture of Tracy for me?” he asked.

  Louisa leaped to her feet and hurried out of the room. She returned quickly with an eight-by-ten photograph in a bronze frame, handing it to McCoy.

  “May I keep this for now?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Stand by your phone,” McCoy said, shaking Louisa’s hand, then her husband’s. “We’ll do everything in our power.”

  He started out. Julie lingered, shaking Martin’s hand, too, and impulsively giving Louisa a hug. “We’ll find her,” she promised. Hope sprang into Louisa Nicholson’s big brown eyes. Hope, and belief. Julie could have kicked herself. She’d had no right to make such a promise. Things could go wrong. Things did go wrong. Petty was convinced that the kidnapper was the same one who had taken the two young women. And one of them had been okay …

  And one was still missing.

  She’d had no right! No right to give that woman so much hope for her child. A beautiful little child with red hair and hazel eyes and those few adorable little freckles over her nose.

  “Miss Hatfield!”

  It was McCoy. He was at the door, waiting for her.

  She offered Louisa a rueful smile. “Now I know why the feud began!” she whispered softly. She was rewarded with another half smile before she and McCoy left.

  McCoy waited until they started down the walk before muttering darkly, “I wish to hell the ground hadn’t been trampled to mush! We could have learned if she really was grabbed—”

  “She was. Right here,” Julie said.

  He stopped dead still, his hands on his hips, his head at an angle, his silver eyes seeming to blaze out his ridicule.

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yes,” Julie said flatly. She walked to the spot where Julie had been. “She was playing with her ball. A small ball, with little stars on it, kind of like a circus motif. Then it rolled out into the street and she came out. She looked both ways. She’s really a very good little girl. It’s a loving household. Of course, you don’t have to be a psychic to have ascertained that.”

  McCoy shrugged and put on his sunglasses. “You’d be surprised,” he said softly. “I’ve seen some awful things in some homes that looked like paradise on the outside.”

  Julie shook her head. “This is a good home, and Tracy loves it.”

  “If you say so.”

  Julie indicated the picture he was holding. “Look at her face!”

  “All children have trusting faces,” he said.

  “That’s not true, and you know it.”

  He was studying Tracy Nicholson’s face. Julie leaned over his shoulder and looked at the smiling girl in the photograph. “Her hair is longer now,” Julie said. “Oh, and she’s had her braces off since this was taken.”

  “Has she?” McCoy opened the car door and gently tossed the picture inside. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait, please.”

  “For what?”

  “Just give me a minute, please? I want to show you what happened.”

  “Oh, come on—”

  “Two minutes, Mr. McCoy.”

  He didn’t dispute her again. He leaned against his car, watching her.

  Julie started to follow Tracy’s steps. “She caught her ball here. Then she saw the car come toward her and stop. The driver asked her to come closer. I think he said that he wanted directions. But Tracy was too smart. She wouldn’t go to him. So he jumped out of the car and raced to her. He had something with him. A cloth. With some kind of dope on it. I don’t know what. He came down this street with the intention of taking someone. He probably even watched Tracy before.” She hesitated, then walked a bit. “This is where he took her from. He clamped the cloth over her mouth. And she fought until she lost consciousness.”

  She watched McCoy inhale and exhale. “Get in the car, Miss Hatfield. You can sit here and play charades. I have work to do.”

  “You are an arrogant buffoon! I only want to help you, and I can. And Petty says—”

  “Yes, yes, Petty says. Okay, so Petty wants you in on this. And your friends inside want you in on this—”

  “I’ve never met the Nicholsons before, McCoy, so they aren’t my ‘friends inside.’”

  She couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses, but she could sense them narrowing. Speculatively. Maybe he was just beginning to believe …

  “Get in the car, Miss Hatfield.”

  “Then—”

  He stopped, glaring at her. “What kind of car, Miss Hatfield?”

  “I don’t know! I can’t quite—”

  “And is it a man driving? What does he look like? Is he alone? Is he tall, is he short?”

  “I can’t quite—”

  “You’re right. You can’t. You can’t give me a damn thing except that a little girl was kidnapped. Well, we all have that one figured out, Miss Hatfield.”

  “I’ve just told you—”

  “Nothing! You haven’t seen a thing.”

  “I’ve seen a lot! But no, I can’t see everything, I’m not God! I’ve given you a good picture—”

  “You’ve made some pretty good guesses. Now, let’s go. I need to make phone calls. Set up a more organized search. I want to get out in the field myself. I—”

  He broke off as the front door to the Nicholsons’ house burst open, and Martin Nicholson was hurrying toward them.

  “It came! A ransom call came. It wasn’t long enough—they couldn’t trace it. You’ve got to come in quickly. Petty is on the phone for you now.”

  McCoy could move faster than lightning. He was already on the phone with Petty by the time she came inside. Sunglasses pushed back on his head, he watched her as he grunted to Petty. Then finally he hung up the phone.

  “The kidnapper has called. He wants a hundred thousand by tonight, small, unmarked bills, et cetera.”

  Julie nodded, feeling a tightening in her stomach. They had all suspected that this might be the same criminal.

  Now they knew.

  “You two seem to know something!” Louisa Nicholson said, fear rising in her voice.

  McCoy exhaled softly. He shook his head. “Not really. Petty played the recording for me. Our manor woman—is disguising his voice. But …”

  “But what?” Julie said.

  “Don’t you know?” he taunted.

  She stared at him, gritting her teeth. McCoy, to his credit, changed his tone quickly. Neither wanted the Nicholsons to realize that he didn’t have faith in Julie.

  “Our kidnapper seems to have eyes in the back of his head.”

  “He knows that the police are in on it already?” Julie asked softly.

  “Oh, yes, he knows.” McCoy watched her curiously. “He asked specifically for me to be the one to deliver the money.”<
br />
  “Where?” Julie asked.

  He shrugged. “There’s a phone booth by a gas station near the highway. I’ll get the first call there.”

  Martin Nicholson stepped forward. “You will do it, Mr. McCoy, won’t you?” he asked anxiously. “I’ll get the money, I’ll get it within an hour. There won’t be any problem. I’ll put the house up for what I don’t have. The banks here will help out. They’ll get the money for me by tonight. I don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Mr. Nicholson—” McCoy began.

  “It doesn’t matter. The money doesn’t matter at all. The house, none of it matters. Not without Tracy,” he said.

  Julie felt his pain so intensely, she could scarcely breathe.

  “Mr. Nicholson,” McCoy said quietly. “Of course, I’ll take the money. Please, don’t worry. The FBI likes to arrest kidnappers, too, especially the kind that travel over state lines. We don’t like them to go on kidnapping other people. But please, I swear to you, we have a policy, and I have a personal commitment here, too. I swear that I’ll not endanger your daughter’s life in any way. Do you trust me?”

  After a moment, Martin Nicholson nodded.

  “Especially with Miss Hatfield along,” Louisa Nicholson said.

  McCoy looked at her, startled. “I should go alone. This might be dangerous—”

  “Oh, Miss Hatfield!” Louisa’s eyes were starting to fill with tears again. “You have to go along, please!”

  “It isn’t FBI policy—” McCoy began.

  “On this case, it is,” Julie reminded him pleasantly. Damn him, he still didn’t quite seem to understand. The kidnapper could run them on a wild-goose chase. He could take the money, and fail to return Tracy Nicholson.

  Maybe McCoy did understand. Maybe he just didn’t believe she could do anything about it.

  “I’ve got to get down to the bank right away,” Mr. Nicholson said. “And get things in motion for the money.”

  There was a knock at the door. Tense, pale, Martin Nicholson threw open his front door. He seemed relieved. There were two uniformed officers there, a pretty young woman and a slender young man. “Is Lieutenant McCoy here?” the young man inquired.