by Rachel Lee
"Agreed," Simpson said. "But you know it's going to happen, Sweeney. We can't keep a lid on this forever, and when it comes out…well, he's a national figure. I don't want to come off looking like I didn't put the best detectives I had on the case."
Everyone had an agenda, Karen thought. Even her. "My D.C. liaison is calling in the Feds. Everyone thinks they handle these things. As far as public consumption goes, we have a supporting role."
"And that's what will probably happen," he said. "No matter what your friend the senator wants."
"If it happens, it happens. All the more reason not to pull guys off the College Hill team. 'All politics is local' and all that. And Previn's competent to work a crime scene."
Simpson let out a slow sigh. "Okay, Sweeney, we'll go with Previn for now. Will you need an inter-agency memo from me?"
"Probably. I'll let you know."
"Do you want me to call Previn?"
"I'll do it," she said. "I need to brief him."
"Then get busy, Detective. Find those girls."
"Yes, sir."
As if she needed reminding.
She dialed Previn immediately. He sounded stressed and irritated when he answered. "What's wrong?" she asked immediately.
"If she gets the alimony she wants, I'm not going to be able to afford to live anywhere except under a bridge."
Karen paused. "Cripes."
"I just opened the mail. I ask you, did I do anything to deserve this?"
Karen didn't know how to answer; she hadn't been on the inside of Previn's marriage. "I'm sorry," she said.
"Fuck it. What do you need?"
"For you to get yourself and your wife into marriage counseling. Beyond that, I need you to get a search warrant." She gave him everything she knew, which wasn't much. "And keep your mouth shut," she added.
"It's an ongoing investigation. Of course I'll keep my mouth shut."
"Of course you will. You don't want to endanger those little girls." Why she felt it necessary to say that, she didn't know, but she trusted her instincts.
"I'll get right on it," he said.
"Don't be surprised if the FBI shows up."
"Great. That'll be like having my wife on the job."
"Previn…"
"Sorry." He sighed. "I'll talk to her tomorrow about counseling, and I'll get the damn warrant within the hour."
"Thanks. You know what needs to be done."
He was silent for a few seconds. "Thanks, Sweeney," he said. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."
She had the feeling that he really did.
She was just hanging up when Jerry arrived. He arrived alone, but he blew into the house as if he were at the head of the cavalry. Crisis management put him in his element, and it showed.
"Where's the FBI?" he asked.
"On their way," Terry said dryly. "Getting dressed takes them a few minutes longer." He extended his hand. "Detective Tyson, D.C. police."
Jerry shook his hand. "You're heading this up?"
Terry cocked his head toward Karen. "Detective Sweeney is. The crime happened in her jurisdiction."
Jerry looked at Karen and said something that stunned her. It was simple, but very much to the point. "I'm glad."
She managed a nod, wondering why his approval seemed to mean so much.
"Grant?"
"In the living room."
She watched him cross the foyer, heard voices from the living room.
"You ought to be in there," Terry remarked.
She swung her head around to look at him. "Why?"
"Because you're probably the most comforting thing in his life right now."
No, she thought, Jerry is.
21
Special Agent Miriam Anson arrived a few minutes later. She appeared to be about thirty-five, with dark hair, dark eyes and the confident stride of a man. She wore a dark slack suit that in lamplight could have been either blue or black.
"Terry," she said, shaking Tyson's hand. Then she turned to Karen. "You must be Detective Sweeney."
Karen shook her hand. "Yes."
She turned to Terry. "You point?"
Terry shook his head. "Detective Sweeney is. The kidnapping occurred in her jurisdiction."
Miriam Anson's gaze returned to Karen, measuring. "Good."
"Good?" Karen asked.
"Yeah." A surprising wink. "Women tend to think about the kids first and the collar second."
Under other circumstances, Karen would have laughed, but right now all she could manage was a smile, a sure indicator that this situation mattered more than it should, professionally speaking. Black humor was part of the way cops coped, and she wasn't coping right now. But Miriam didn't seem to be disturbed by that.
Miriam spoke. "Have we learned anything more?"
"Not yet," Karen answered. "I have my partner in Tampa getting a warrant to search the Wallace house, but at this point nothing more has happened."
Miriam nodded. "The kidnapper or kidnappers—you know, it has to be multiple kidnappers. The message said 'we.' Taking four children and an adult is biting off a rather large chunk, don't you think?"
"My feeling exactly," Karen agreed as Terry nodded. "And…I'm worried. If the senator is the target of this abduction, taking Art Wallace and his two daughters seems like raising the stakes unnecessarily, while enhancing the difficulty of the abduction."
Miriam's nod was approving. Not agreeing, but approving, as if she had judged Karen and liked what she heard. "My thoughts precisely."
"Which means," Karen said, "that Wallace and his daughters might already be…out of the picture."
"Maybe your partner will find them at the house. It's possible, and in this business we have to hope for the best. However…" She paused, frowning.
"However," Karen said, aware she was going out on a huge limb, "we also need to consider the possibility that Art Wallace is involved in this abduction."
Miriam's gaze fixed her. "Why do you say that?"
Karen shrugged. "Because it's possible. Because…I don't know. A feeling. He was the only one who heard anything the night the senator's nanny was killed."
"Ahh." Miriam nodded as if she found that significant. "Good point, Detective."
"Karen, please."
"My friends call me Miri," the other woman answered. "Okay, I'll get the tap on the lines. Meantime, I want that answering machine message checked every twenty minutes. It may take a while before we hear anything, because the kidnappers had no way of knowing when the senator might call. And with your permission, Karen, I'm going to get a colleague of mine involved in Tampa. Just let me know who to have him get in touch with."
Karen gave her the information on Previn, including his cell and pager, then announced, "I think I'm going to talk to the senator about Art Wallace."
She left Terry and Miriam together and returned to the living room. The scene was unbearably moving, Grant sitting in an armchair with his head down, Jerry behind and to one side, his hand resting on Grant's shoulder.
Grant looked up at the sound of Karen's footsteps. "They're not going to do anything stupid?"
She shook her head and sat facing him. "You'll like Special Agent Anson. She just said it's better for women to head up kidnapping cases because we care more about the kids than the collar."
The faintest of smiles lifted the sagging corners of Grant's mouth. "Does she want to talk to me?"
"Not yet. She's arranging for the taps on the phone lines and getting a colleague to help out in Tampa. But I want to talk to you."
Jerry spoke. "Need me to leave?"
"No. It's not private. I just need to know about Art Wallace. Everything you can tell me."
Grant nodded slowly. "Because it might help you find him and his daughters."
Karen didn't disillusion him. "Because every bit of information is critical right now. However unimportant it may seem."
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if focusing himself. When they opened again, they were g
ray-blue, a sad color. "The Wallaces have been our neighbors for ten years. They were in the neighborhood when Georgina and I moved in, just before Cathy Suzanne was born. Elizabeth, Art's wife, hit it off with Georgina, my wife, and we started getting together for backyard barbeques and things. When I was in town. I think Georgina knew them better than I did."
Karen nodded encouragingly. "Go on."
"Anyway, we both had kids, the kids grew up together pretty much, and it was like we were just one family, what with the girls running back and forth, taking turns sleeping over and all that. And Art and Elizabeth were always helpful when Georgie and I had to be out of town. Abby was getting older, and I was glad to have neighbors who were happy to keep an eye on things, just in case. Art and Elizabeth even picked my girls up from school in the afternoons, or took them in the mornings, to save Abby the trip."
"So Art and Elizabeth were allowed to pick up the girls from school?"
"Sure. And we were allowed to pick up their girls if necessary. I know Abby picked them all up any number of times until it started to get difficult for her to drive."
"Okay."
"Anyway, a little over a year ago, Elizabeth left Art. I don't really know why. I know it ripped him up that she took his daughters with her. It seemed to make him even more attached to Belle and Cathy Suzanne, from what I saw." His face darkened. "Not that I saw much. Not enough."
"It's not your fault, Grant."
He looked up at her. "No? Then whose fault is it? Abby's dead. Stacy's dead. My girls and my neighbor and his daughters are missing. You got smeared all over the tabloids. All of it seems to be about hurting me. So…whose fault is it?"
"The man who killed Abby and Stacy. The people who took your kids. That's whose fault it is. Blaming yourself isn't going to bring your girls home, or bring Abby or Stacy back. I need you focused, Grant."
Jerry nodded approval. "She's right. Someone's beating up on you. They're enough. Don't do it to yourself, too."
Karen smiled. It was the type of thing she wished she'd said, and she was glad Grant had Jerry to say those things. He needed all the support he could get.
For now, though, it was time to get back on topic. "You said you and Art disagreed on politics?"
He nodded. "Sometimes. But you ask that as if it's relevant. You have to understand, Karen, I spend most of my time dealing with people who disagree with me. It's part of the price of admission when you're in politics. I don't take it personally unless it gets personal. It never got personal with Art."
"And, of course, he took good care of your girls."
"Like they were his own," he said. "He once said they were the rest of his children. And he not only said it, he acted on it, especially when I couldn't be there to do it."
"Sounds like a good friend," Karen said, although her mind was spinning a mile a minute. Perhaps it was the cynic in her, but she was distrustful of altruism. In most cases, in her experience, there was an ulterior motive. She'd seen too many kids molested by "good friends." It was a sad commentary on society, or her view of it. "So there was no animosity? No arguments?"
Grant cocked his head. "You sound like he's a suspect."
"I have to keep all possibilities in mind," she said with a shrug. Pieces of the puzzle were tumbling together in her mind, but she wasn't willing to say more yet.
"I see," Grant said. "Well, no. Not that I saw. He never…I mean…no. No. Nothing."
Which meant either Art Wallace was an innocent victim or a hell of an actor. She'd seen both. And the latter possibility worried her. The history of crime was riddled with charming, neighborly sociopaths. And, all too often, their crimes were horrific.
She turned to make sure the door was closed, then looked at Jerry. "Soon enough, the lab's going to tell me they found Stacy Wiggins' blood at Grant's house. In the meantime, I'm going to say I have a suspicion that she was killed there and her body moved. We've been told that someone from Stacy's…past…had contacted her. And that it was bothering her. If someone wants to draw the conclusion that the killer moved the body because he could be linked to her, well, that's a reasonable conclusion."
"That would be a lie," Grant said.
She nodded. "Yes, it would be. And if Jerry's having moved her body ever becomes relevant, I can defend it. Right now, the focus has to be on finding your girls. Arresting Jerry isn't going to help that, and what's more, the killer knows he didn't move that body. Maybe he'll want to correct the record. I've elicited confessions on less. I'm the lead detective, and it's a tactical decision." There was more to it, she knew. A lot more. But that was enough. She could deal with her own feelings later. She turned to Jerry. "In other words, a public confession isn't going to help anyone, and it could hurt the investigation."
He nodded. "I understand. Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just help Grant."
"I'm trying."
"Keep trying. And if he gets any wild-haired ideas about trying to do something on his own, try even harder. Do you get me, Grant?"
"Yes. Jerry's my watchdog."
"Exactly. Don't make his life harder. These cases are all about managing the information and the actors. If you get heroic, it makes everyone else's job harder."
"They're my girls, Karen."
His face was firm. It was a pleasant change. But hers was equally firm.
"Until we get them back for you, they're my girls, Grant. You wanted me to run this. That's how it's going to be."
"Has anyone ever told you you're a tough cookie?" he asked.
"More than once," she said. "And right now, I'm HBIC."
"HBIC?"
"Head Bitch in Charge. The speaker of this house, if you prefer."
"HBIC works," he said. "I'll behave."
"And I'll make sure he does," Jerry added.
There was a knock at the door. Terry poked his head in. "Karen, we've got a new message."
* * *
It was the same flat, disembodied voice, no hint of inflection, difficult even to tell whether the speaker was male or female.
By now you know we have your children. This will be the only means of contact. The ransom is three hundred ninety-six thousand dollars. Non-sequential, tens and twenties. You have twenty-four hours to raise the money. Payment instructions will be here tomorrow evening. Be smart. Do it.
"We've recorded it," Miri said, after pressing the hang-up button. "It sounds like a synthesized voice, but I'll have forensics try to pull something out of it. And I'll have a profiler listen to it. But I have some early impressions."
"I'm listening," Karen said. She had her own, as well, but wanted to hear the agent's first.
Miri nodded and glanced at a yellow legal pad before speaking. "The caller is male, probably thirty to fifty-five years of age. He's well-educated. And he has some other motive, besides the money."
"Because of the amount," Karen said. "Someone who simply wanted money would have named a round figure, in the millions. This amount is low, and very specific."
"Bingo," Miri said. She glanced over Karen's shoulder. "Senator?"
Karen turned. Of course. Grant and Jerry had followed her. Grant's face was lifeless. Jerry's was not. He was angry.
"You're the special agent?" Grant asked.
She stepped over to him and extended her hand. "Miriam Anson. I'm sorry to meet you under these circumstances."
Grant took her hand. "I was about to say the same thing."
"Everyone does," she replied, with a sympathetic but businesslike smile.
"And this is Jerry Connally, my senior aide."
Jerry shook her hand briefly and nodded silently, the fire still flashing in his eyes. Miri nodded a greeting, then returned her attention to Grant.
"Do you have any idea why this amount? Does the number ring any bells?"
He shook his head. "None."
"What's your annual income?" she asked. "I know it's an intrusive question, but…"
"My Senate salary is one-hundred-fifty thousand."
>
"And your personal income?"
His eyes almost found focus. "It goes into a trust. The trustee pays the bills on my home here and the one in Tampa. The rest is invested."
"What's the balance in the trust account?" Miri asked.
"I don't see where the details of the senator's finances are relevant," Jerry said, interrupting.
"They are," Karen said, meeting his angry gaze, hoping her face was the image of calm amidst the storm, because she certainly didn't feel that. "The ransom demand is strange. The kidnappers had a reason for choosing that number. We're fishing for numbers that might match up. Knowing how the kidnappers chose that amount might give us a clue as to their identity."
"Of course," Jerry said. "I'm sorry. We're all tense."
"Grant?" Karen asked. "Do you know the balance in the trust?"
He met her eyes for an instant. "No. Not offhand. I'd have to call the trustee. But it's been growing for ten, twelve years."
"So more than four hundred thousand dollars?" Miri asked.
"Considerably more," he said.
"Grant can get that information in the morning," Karen said. "In the meantime, let's talk about the rest of the message. I agree the caller is male. The clipped diction sounds male. As for the age, I think you're right. I also think, despite the pronoun, we're dealing with a single perp."
"Because the amount is too low to split among a gang?" Miri asked.
"Exactly. One guy in a gang of kidnappers might have a personal motive, but the others would be there for the money, and they'd demand enough to make it worth the risk. And it's no secret that Grant's family has money."
"Even if they didn't know about Grant's family money," Terry cut in, "people assume that senators and congressmen are rich. And this is a high-risk crime. Anyone involved would have to know we're going to throw everything we have at the kidnapping of a senator's kids. They'd want a big payday. Bigger than three hundred ninety-six grand split however many ways."
Miri nodded. "And the wording of the ransom demand, it's inconsistent with an experienced, professional perp. 'Non-sequential tens and twenties' is a cliché. A pro would know more about how we track ransom money and make a more sophisticated demand."
"They may get more sophisticated with the next call," Jerry said. He looked at Karen. "Just trying to keep an open mind, I guess. Both messages did say 'we,' after all."