by Juno Rushdan
“Whoever it is saw him plead on TV,” David said.
Nick nodded. “And he screamed at the camera on the drone. I’m sure that made for lovely footage someone could watch and revel in over and over again.”
“The televised speech was tempered,” Madeline said. “The drone didn’t provide audio. Neither showcased his suffering. More importantly, the kidnapper hasn’t bragged.”
“‘Behold the demonstration of my resolve,’” Dash said, reading the first line of the transcript from the last text sent by the kidnapper.
“Resolve. Not power. That’s not boasting.” Sitting forward, Madeline rested her forearms on the table. “That was persuasion. Someone doing their best to convince Jackson what kind of devastation they’re capable of inflicting, but without actually hurting anyone by having the building evacuated and using three drones to ensure no one went back inside. Three. Quite clever.” She drummed her fingers on the table. “The passive form of communication, the great care with the specific wording in the texts, using the promise of a puppy as the lure, not boasting—instead seeking validation. My gut tells me it’s a woman. Not a man. Caucasian. Educated. Midtwenties to midthirties. I wish I could say I was a hundred percent on that, but not yet.”
“Why not?” Miguel’s gaze narrowed, and she stiffened under the tangible weight of his scrutiny. “What’s holding you back?”
“Two things. First, I don’t know why the kidnapper wanted Jackson to resign. Second, who are our top suspects?”
“Andrew Phillips and Charles Albrecht,” Dash said.
Madeline nodded. “Exactly. Both men.” Regardless, she couldn’t shake that gut feeling, which had never led her astray. Then again, maybe Dash was right and there was a first time for everything. This could be the first time her instincts were wrong. Too many elements about this case were throwing her off. The texts. The unusual ransom demand. The wild card father with those piercing blue eyes. But when all else failed, the one thing she could rely on was her training. “We need to check the nanny and Jackson’s assistant.” Rivka Molnar also fit the profile. “The IT supervisor, too.”
“I spoke to Ms. Molnar in depth,” Dash said. “She was with her own nine-year-old when Emma was taken. She didn’t leave the premises until after the police arrived and it was to take her kid to school. Then she came straight back. We also have a brief statement from Brittany Hall, the assistant. Sounds like she was either doing something with the catering staff, the magician or the band at the time. But I went ahead and ran preliminary background checks on both as well as the nanny. No red flags.”
Doubt churned through Madeline. What if she was wrong? Or she was off track with the kidnapper’s profile?
Whittling down the list of suspects was a good thing, not bad, she reminded herself.
“We’re looking at too many people right now for me to run a more extensive background check on everyone,” Dash said.
“I did call the nanny like you wanted.” David closed his food container. “Liane Strothe is coming in tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” Madeline said.
“Also, I noticed there wasn’t a statement from Phillips. Should I schedule interviews for him and Albrecht?” David asked.
“There were numerous reports of no one seeing Phillips around the time Emma was taken,” Miguel said. “He wasn’t at ETC headquarters when we arrived. According to his administrative assistant, Natascha Campbell, she was with him all day up until the time he departed for Spokane for a meeting to acquire a smaller company.”
“His assistant is his alibi?” Nick asked. “Do you buy her story?”
Miguel shrugged. “I’m not sure. She was a little too cagey. A gatekeeper of the first order. Fiercely loyal to Phillips, very protective. But the chairman confirmed the meeting in Spokane has been on the books for weeks. Phillips will be back tomorrow and available for an interview. With his lawyer. I’m going to speak to him first thing in the morning at nine.”
Any attorney worth his salt wouldn’t allow his client to say anything incriminating. Good thing Miguel was going to question Phillips. He was one of the best at reading people and had the strongest interrogation tactics on the team. Even with a lawyer, Miguel would be able tell if Phillips had anything to hide.
“Don’t bother calling Albrecht,” Madeline said. “Too easy for him to take the precaution of lawyering up, too. I’d prefer to surprise him, catch him off guard. Make him feel as though he’s doing a great service by answering a few questions.”
“Sounds like a smart way to handle it,” Miguel said. “In the meantime, I want them under surveillance ASAP. Reach out to the field office in Spokane. I want eyes on Phillips.”
Nick nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Have we considered the prospect of an angry ex-girlfriend behind this?” Dash asked.
Of course she had. “I asked Jackson if he had any romantic entanglements lately. He claims there hasn’t been anyone. Not even a one-night stand.”
Dash gave a low chuckle. “I guess his whole world revolves around his kid.”
“And his job,” Miguel pointed out.
The unsub had just taken away both in one day. A devastating blow.
“An unrequited crush could also be a possibility,” Nick suggested.
That was a tougher angle to explore. Jackson might be oblivious. Men sometimes were.
Miguel smirked. “‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.’”
Madeline rolled her eyes. “Have I ever mentioned how much I despise that saying?”
“Yes,” the guys said in unison.
Shaking her head, Madeline smiled, refusing to give any of them the satisfaction of seeing her annoyance.
“The unsub could contact Rhodes again at any time,” Miguel said. “We’ll be monitoring his communications, but I think one of us should be on hand, spend the night at his house just in case. Since he went rogue once, he’s capable of doing it again.”
Miguel didn’t ask for volunteers because he didn’t have to. Someone on the team was always able, willing and ready. This was her case. Her responsibility.
“It makes sense for me to do it,” she said. “I’ll eat, sleep and breathe nothing but this case until we bring Emma home.” Though she doubted she would do much eating or sleeping.
“I’ll have Caitlyn tell him to expect you and smooth things over if he has a problem with the Bureau maintaining a presence in his home.”
Raised voices from the hall penetrated through the glass door of the small conference room, drawing everyone’s attention.
Madeline leaned to the side of her chair, giving her a partial view of the hall.
“I’m only asking for two minutes.” Worry was plastered all over Lorelai’s face as she chased after her fiancé down the hall.
Liam huffed a breath, stopped walking toward the conference room and faced her. “Two minutes turns into five and then ten. The next thing I know I’ve wasted twenty minutes on wedding nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” Lorelai rocked back on her heels, clearly offended.
Trouble in paradise again. Ever since those two lovebirds got engaged, it had been one fight after another. Lorelai had shared with Madeline and Caitlyn every wedding detail and inevitable problem that came along with it. Maybe the arguments were due to jitters, stress from planning the event of the year.
Or maybe it was proof that romance and happily-ever-after only worked in fairy tales.
Liam hung his head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. It’s just that there are more important things for me to focus on right now. This case is—”
“There’s always a case.” Lorelai crossed her arms. “But our wedding is once in a lifetime.”
“Tell that to my parents, each headed for a third divorce.”
“You and I are not them. I just wanted to know if you got fitted
for your tux. They need time to make any alterations. The wedding is in two months.”
“I know when it is and no, I haven’t had a chance to get fitted. I’ll get around to it.”
“This is important, too, you know. I want everything to be perfect, for it to be the most spectacular day of both our lives when you seem like you could care less.”
“I don’t care whether there are roses or tulips in the place settings, notched lapel or peaked lapel on my tux, the style of the invitation or the endless list of things you want me to weigh in on. That’s the kind of stuff you could ask my mom about to include her more. Listen, I looked at a gazillion venues, tasted food until I was stuffed and sampled more cake than I’ve ever eaten in my life. Why can’t that be good enough?”
“Good enough?” The hurt resonating in Lorelai’s voice had Madeline tensing in her seat. “I didn’t realize you were doing me such a huge favor by helping to plan our wedding. Do you have any idea how many decisions I’ve made without bothering you about any of them?”
“No. Thank God for that small mercy.”
David snickered.
Madeline was about to shoot him a warning glare when Nick prodded him in the side with an elbow.
“Can I get back to work now?” Liam asked.
Lorelai spun on her heel and stalked down the hall.
Not a good sign. Lorelai was never at a loss for words when it came to Liam.
True love was probably rubbish people clung to for hope, but Madeline wished those two, who seemed like a perfect match, every happiness together.
Liam strode into the conference without making eye contact with anyone. Holding a folder under his arm, he closed the door behind him and took a seat on the other side of David. His cheeks were a bright red from emotion. A normally vibrant thirty-year-old, he looked completely sapped of energy. “The last text couldn’t be traced. I think the unsub was bouncing the signal around between cell towers. But I dug deeper into Mr. Rhodes to see if there was anyone who might target him for any reason, and I found this.” He opened the folder and passed the contents around. “A couple of years ago, the Red Right Hand set their sights on him.”
“I’ve heard of them,” Madeline said. “Domestic extremists who take their name from Milton’s poem Paradise Lost. View themselves as the embodiment of divine wrath.”
“A pleasant bunch, spreading joy and cheer wherever they go,” Liam said. “They’ve protested against ETC business practices outside of their headquarters while holding up signs that called Mr. Rhodes ‘the Butcher of the American Dream’ and even threw acid on the hood of his parked car after he was named CEO, but no one was inside the vehicle, so no injuries.”
Madeline scanned the sheets of information. That seemed to be the worst of it, but there was a list of harassing incidents a page long, from sneaking into a cocktail party at a hotel and throwing a drink in Jackson’s face to posting flyers around his daughter’s school of him depicted as the Grinch, complete with photoshopped green-tinted skin.
“Apparently getting children involved isn’t off-limits,” she said.
“They don’t officially claim to have a leader,” Liam said, “but in fact, they do, and I found out who it is. Samantha Dickson.”
Madeline turned to the last page. She stared at a picture of Dickson standing on a hill, waving her fist in the air, holding a bullhorn and firing up a crowd. The woman’s eyes were filled with pure rage.
Ethnicity: White
Age: 26
Education: Bachelor’s Degree from the University of Southern California
Parents: Sylvie and Donald Dickson, owners of Dickson Chemical Company
“She’s that Dickson?” Madeline asked. “Heiress to billions?”
“Yep.” Liam nodded. “Not that I’m sure if Mommy and Daddy are still leaving her their fortune considering she turned whistleblower on them. She reported the petrochemical company for dumping toxic waste that polluted a town’s water source. The town filed a nasty lawsuit and Dickson Chemical lost millions in a hefty settlement.”
“Bingo,” Dash said. “Rich kid turned radical with a pattern of escalating aggression toward Rhodes. Her group made their unhappiness over him being named CEO unmistakably clear when they threw acid on his car.”
The question was why. What on earth could Jackson have done to draw their ire? More importantly, why hadn’t he mentioned it to her?
Miguel put the information sheet down. “She does fit the profile and has a motive to want the Butcher of the American Dream to resign.”
“We need to bring her in for questioning,” Madeline said. “Now.”
Liam closed the folder. “That’s where we run into a bit of a problem. We have to find her first. There’s no known address for her. No utility bills in her name.”
“What about the rest of her merry little band?” Madeline asked.
Liam shrugged. “I haven’t had time to look into them yet, but I will.”
This case was going to need everyone to work flat out.
“The group is still active?” Nick asked, stealing the next question from her lips. “Targeting others and fighting the good fight?”
“Yeah.” Liam nodded. “In the past ten days, they’ve protested a restaurant for not paying their undocumented workers a reasonable wage and a cosmetics company for testing on animals. At the latter, they fired red paintballs at the CEO as he left the building.”
Even if her entire crew lived off the grid, which was a highly doubtful if, there was a way to track them down or flush them out. “Then we can find the Red Right Hand,” Madeline said, “and Samantha Dickson.”
Chapter Five
Caitlyn Yang inwardly cringed as Miguel rattled off her marching orders over the phone.
“It’s imperative we stay close and keep an eye on him. His emotions are running high and justifiably so. The kidnapper will make contact again. When that happens, we need to be there. Hopefully he won’t have an issue with Madeline staying the night,” Miguel said in her ear.
Wishful thinking.
Rhodes had had a problem with everything else thus far. From how long it took the tech team to set up to the endless round of questions he hammered her with, demanding answers about the case that either she didn’t have or wasn’t her place to provide.
His frustration was normal. His anger understandable.
His entire world was hanging in the balance.
He was a guarded man who valued his privacy and was used to being in charge. Sitting around doing nothing while surrounded by strangers was probably the hardest part for him.
Now she had to be the one to drop the bombshell that he wouldn’t even have his home to himself tonight.
“I’ll take care of it,” Caitlyn said, standing in the foyer, where she’d excused herself to take the call.
“As always,” Miguel said. “I know I can count on you. Madeline should be there within the hour. She needed to grab some things from home first.”
What did Caitlyn have to complain about? Madeline was the one who would be stuck here, dealing with Rhodes all night. No break to decompress and hit the ground running fresh tomorrow.
Caitlyn’s heart went out to her. Madeline avoided taking on the role of family support during kidnapping cases. Not that she wasn’t capable. Staying laser focused on finding an abducted child alive—always the burning goal—took precedence over the impact to the parents. Her job exacted a heavy emotional toll. Required a cool detachment to see things objectively and stay in control. Mix in handling the relatives and friends of victims, an already tough task which often pushed Caitlyn to her limits, and anyone could get overwhelmed.
It was a lot to manage. A lot for someone to be.
At times, Caitlyn suspected there might be a deeper reason, one more personal, that kept Madeline at a distance from the families. Perhaps she was haunted b
y ghosts from her past. Had lost someone close to her.
In the five years they had worked together at BAU, they’d become friends, though not close enough for Madeline to share her history or reveal what had motivated her to join the FBI.
Whatever tormented Madeline also drove her to find and rescue victims, even at the expense of having a personal life of her own. As though her job was her reason for living.
“Okay,” Caitlyn said to Miguel. “I’ll hang here until Madeline arrives.” She disconnected the call.
Her specialty was smoothing over ruffled feathers, whether civilian, media or local law enforcement, and Rhodes was testing her skills today.
Taking on the role of family support was usually effortless for her. Comforting the victims’ loved ones gave her a sense of professional satisfaction that no other aspect of her job provided. The trick was figuring out what kind of support a person needed.
Everyone was different. No one-size-fits-all technique worked.
Her initial approach with the doting father had been way off base. The more she offered to do for him, the more anxious and snappish he became. She had to go against her natural instincts, dial down her efforts to console him while minimizing the sense of intrusion when the tech team had been in the house.
Once they had cleared out, it had been touch and go with Rhodes.
The one thing that she had found worked no matter age, gender or personality was distraction.
She stuffed her phone in her pocket and followed the music.
Sad and familiar, the melody being played from the piano rose and fell gently, reaching deeper inside her until her heart ached. She slipped into the living room, not wanting to disturb him as his fingers glided over the keys of the baby grand in the corner.