by Baby Grand
"Jesus, another one?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I just filled out a report. Does she work at the Exotica Strip Club?"
"What? No, no..."
"Oh." The officer pulled out another sheet of paper. "For how long?" he asked, less interested than before.
"Since Tuesday. But I already filled out one of these things."
The policeman raised his eyebrows. "You did? Where?"
"In Manhattan."
"Manhattan? Do you live in Albany County?"
"No," Edward said.
"What county do you live in?"
"Nassau County."
The policeman stared. "Nassau County? As in Long Island?"
"Yes," Edward said. "I know... But I think she might be here. There was a post on her..."
"Does your sister live here, sir?" the man interrupted.
"No, she lives with me. I mean, in my house."
"On Long Island?"
"Yes."
"So she went missing on Long Island?"
"Yes, I mean... no, no, actually New York City. Manhattan."
"So your sister who lives on Long Island went missing two days ago in Manhattan, and you want to fill out a missing person's report in Albany?"
"Well, I guess," Edward said. "You see..."
"Hold on a minute." The policeman went to the back of the room and leaned his head inside a small office door. "Hey, Nurberg, can you take care of this?" He tossed the missing-persons file onto Nurberg's desk. "I gotta pee."
Edward saw the file sitting on the desk untouched until a pair of hands picked it up and a young, tired-looking plainclothes officer approached the front desk.
"I'm Detective Mark Nurberg." Nurberg stuck out his hand.
"Edward. Carter." Edward shook the detective's hand.
"Come into my office," Nurberg said politely, waving him inside the swinging gate.
"Thank you, Detective."
Once inside, Nurberg returned to his swivel chair as Edward sat in one of the chairs before his desk. "What can I do for you, Mr. Carter?" He looked at the form. "You want to report a missing person?"
"My sister is missing." Edward glanced at all the newspapers scattered on the desk and floor and the clippings that hung on a corkboard with tacks. There was a blanket and pillow strewn on the floor behind Nurberg's chair. "She's been missing for two days. I last heard from her when she was in Manhattan on Tuesday. She lives on Long Island. With me. Well, not with me, but downstairs from me. She's recently divorced, was married to a shit, but I don't think he has anything to do with it, but who the hell knows. She had seen him the day before at the lawyer's." Edward took a breath. "I've already filled out a missing-persons report downstate, and I've contacted everyone she knows, but no one has seen or heard from her."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Nurberg said, jotting down notes.
"Listen, I know how this looks, but I'm not a crackpot. I'm a levelheaded guy. I work in the Manhattan DA's office. Here, here's my business card." Edward reached into his pocket.
Nurberg shook his head. "No, that's not necessary," but Edward put his card on the desk anyway. Nurberg picked it up and studied it. "The Manhattan DA?"
Edward nodded.
"Do you know Sandra Conlon?"
"Sandy? Yeah, why, you know her?"
"She's my second cousin. On my mother's side. She's getting married next month."
"Yeah, I know. I'm going to the wedding."
"Really?"
"Yeah, why, are you?"
"I don't know. I haven't RSVP'd yet. If my mother has her wish, I will be there wearing a big, flashing neon sign that says, Single."
Edward smiled politely. "Wow, that's weird," he said. "If I hadn't met you today, I may have met you there."
"Yeah," Nurberg said. "How old is she? Your sister?"
"Thirty-two."
"And you're from Long Island?"
"Yes," Edward said, "but I saw something on her Facebook page, and I couldn't stay in the house anymore and do nothing. Before I knew it, I was driving upstate."
"Does she have relatives or friends living up here?"
"No," Edward shook his head. "Not that I know of."
Nurberg continued writing. "Did you say 'Facebook page'?" he asked.
"Yes," Edward said. "I don't know if it's her or what. So many scammers on that thing, or if it's a friend, but yesterday, under her profile, the word Albany was typed."
"And you thought that meant she was here?"
"I don't know what it means, but I just couldn't sit home."
"Mr. Carter, perhaps your sister decided to leave and not tell anyone..."
"She wouldn't do that, Detective," Edward interrupted.
"Mr. Carter, you'd be surprised at the things I've been told that people never do that they end up doing."
Edward was quiet.
"But if your sister, who just got a divorce, wanted to get away from it all and not tell anyone, it's a bit odd that she'd write where she was on her Facebook page. Unless it was a code for someone else?"
Edward shook his head. "I don't think so," he said, relieved that someone else besides him was finding all this strange. "Who? She knows I'd see it."
"Or maybe from someone else," Nurberg said. "Did anyone else know the password to her Facebook profile?"
"Not likely." Edward slumped back in his chair. "Bob, her ex-husband, maybe? I doubt it, though."
"Mr. Carter, a sizable percentage of reported missing persons end up not being missing persons at all." Nurberg sucked on the pen cap at the end of his ballpoint pen. "There is a very strong possibility that your sister doesn't want to be found."
The ceiling lights dimmed across the police station, and Nurberg's computer screen blinked. "Here we go," Nurberg said. "We're supposed to get a whopper of a storm this afternoon. Looks like it's rolling in early."
Edward put his head in his hands. "Detective, I don't know what to do. It was either drive here or drive to North Carolina."
"North Carolina?"
"Yes, the Facebook post said, 'Help Albany Charlotte.'"
Nurberg's pen fell out of his mouth. "What did you say?"
"I said Charlotte."
Nurberg swung his computer monitor toward Edward. "Do you mind logging into your Facebook profile for me?"
"Sure. What's the matter?"
"I just want to see for myself."
Edward brought up his news feed, and Nurberg studied the screen.
"What is it?" Edward asked.
"I'm just wondering if it's a coincidence."
"If what's a coincidence?"
"Well, what does your sister do for a living?"
"She's a writer," Edward said. "Why? What are you thinking?"
"Has she had any dealings with Governor Grand?"
"Governor Grand? I don't understand. What does he...?" Just behind Nurberg's head, tacked to the corkboard, was the early edition of the Albany Times featuring a large photo of Charlotte Grand. The headline read: "Day 3: Charlotte Grand Still Missing."
"Oh my God..."
"Mr. Carter, does your sister have any dealings with the governor?"
Edward sat forward in his seat. "Are you implying that my sister has anything to do with the disappearance of the governor's daughter?"
Nurberg checked the missing-persons report. "They've both been missing for the same amount of time, correct?"
"My sister was in Manhattan on Tuesday for a job interview. How could she be involved?"
"Do you know that for sure?"
"Why is everyone asking me that?" Edward stood up. "Why would she lie to me?"
"Where was the interview? What company?"
"I don't know." For someone who was accused of being on top of his sister's every move, Edward seemed to be missing a lot of important information.
"Does your sister have any children?"
The question forced Edward to sit back down. "No," he said quietly.
Nurberg saw something dark come over Edwa
rd Carter. "What is it?"
Edward shook his head. "This can't be."
"Mr. Carter..."
"My sister can't have children, Detective." Edward paused. "But I'm telling you that she would never, ever, have anything to do with hurting a child in any way."
"Mr. Carter, I'd love to believe you, but my experience tells me otherwise."
Nurberg pulled out the Executive Mansion visitors' list from Tuesday and scanned it. No Jamie Carter. But she surely would have used an alias.
"How would she even get up here?" Edward said, mostly to himself. "Her car is parked in front of my house."
"By train, plane, who knows?" Nurberg was feeling an adrenaline rush. Could this be the break he was looking for? But this wasn't his case anymore. The Feds had taken over, and all new information had to be given to Grohl to pass over.
"But if she wanted to abduct Charlotte Grand, why would see put clues on Facebook?"
"A cry for help, maybe?" Nurberg asked. He was about to ask Edward for his sister's cell phone number so that he could track it, but then hesitated. He had gotten reprimanded last year for using a cell phone number to track a man whose wife accused him of abducting their daughter. Turned out the woman lied to get back at her husband for cheating on her with her sister, which meant that Nurberg had invaded the privacy of an innocent man. Since then, the cell phone industry and privacy advocates were calling for clear, standardized rules to stem the widespread police practice of using cell phones to track suspects without probable cause. Did this constitute probable cause? Probably not.
"C'mon, you're reaching, Detective."
Nurberg knew Carter was right. This was a shot in the dark, and he couldn't risk another blemish on his record. Still, this was the only shot he had. He picked up his phone.
"Who are you calling?"
Nurberg shook his head and spoke into the phone. "Yeah, hey, Chris, it's Mark... No, nothing yet... But I need a favor... A location on a Facebook IP address." Nurberg gave Jamie's information, including the date and time of her post. "When you get it, call me on my cell. I'll be in the car. Thanks." Nurberg grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. He wasn't sure where he was going—for all he know, Jamie Carter's Facebook post was made from Timbuktu, but in his mind this was still his case, and this was the closest he had to anything resembling a lead, and he was going to investigate it himself.
"Where are you going?" Edward said, standing up.
"Mr. Carter, maybe it's better if you let me check this one out. Give me your cell number, and I'll call you as soon as I hear anything."
"Call me Edward, and I'm coming with you."
Chapter 46
The rain pounded the windows, streaking the glass and blurring the only view of the world Jamie had had for three days. A never-ending parade of storm clouds, billows of thick, gray cotton, sped eastward as the trees flapped frantically. A bolt of lightning lit up the bedroom like a flash of a camera, followed by loud claps of thunder, the kind that Jamie hadn't heard since she was a little girl.
The storm had awoken Charlotte, who snuggled next to Jamie on the bed. The two of them stared out the window as Bailino sat on the other side, putting on his shoes. The light of the lamp blinked with each streak of lightning.
Pressed against Jamie's chest, Charlotte was still, her tiny hand holding onto Jamie's. What a strong little girl, Jamie thought. How proud the governor and Mrs. Grand must be of this beautiful child. She thought of her own mother and of Edward, who seemed so far away.
There was a knock on the bedroom door. Tony and Joey stood in the doorway.
"Don, we need to talk," Tony said.
"There's nothing to talk about." Bailino stood up. "Nothing changes. We continue on as planned."
"But what about Gino? Shouldn't he know?"
"Know what? That his sick fuck of a son tried to kill me? He's got enough on his mind. I'll tell him tomorrow. Let's just get through tonight." Bailino looked at Joey. "Give us a minute, Ton." Tony nodded and left the room.
"You, okay, Joe?"
"Yeah."
"Do you have anything you need to talk to me about? Anything you want to know? About Leo?"
Joey shook his head.
"Okay." Bailino took a breath. "There's something I need to tell you. Can you sit down?"
"I know already," Joey said. "Ma told me a long time ago."
Bailino was surprised. "She did? Why didn't you ever say anything?"
"She told me not to."
"Why?"
"She said when the time was right you'd come to me."
Bailino rubbed his chin. "I didn't mean for it to happen this way."
"I know."
"So... what do you think about that?" Bailino asked. It was the first time he could remember feeling nervous in a very long time.
"You know how I feel about you, Uncle D... I mean..."
"You can call me whatever you like, son." Joey's eyes crinkled with tears. "What's the matter?"
"I feel responsible for what happened this morning."
"You? Why?"
Joey took a breath. "Uncle Leo was asking me questions yesterday about you when he got back from dinner. When you were... up here."
"What'd he say?"
"He'd say things like 'Don't you think you guys look a lot alike?' or 'You think that's a coincidence.' I told him that I couldn't ask for a better father figure than you. And I think that got him mad."
"Don't worry about it. It's not your fault. What do I always tell you?"
"That the people who die are supposed to die," Joey said.
"That's right." Bailino put his arm around Joey. "I'm going to get you out of here. You're going to MIT, you hear me? You're a smart kid, and you've got great things ahead of you."
Joey smiled. "You think so?"
"Yeah."
Joey glanced at Jamie. "Is she okay?"
"I don't know," Bailino said.
"Do you want anything, Jamie?"
Without turning around, Jamie shook her head no.
"Okay, I'll see you later then," Joey said and left the bedroom.
Bailino sat down on the bed and put his hand on Jamie's side. "You sure you don't want anything, hon?"
"I want to go home," Jamie said into Charlotte's hair.
Bailino pursed his lips. "To what?"
"To my life."
"No offense, sweetie, but your life doesn't seem all that great. Can you please..."
Jamie turned around before he could finish asking her to. Charlotte was still on her side facing the window.
"Thank you."
The swelling around Jamie's eyes had gone down, but the skin on her face felt tight, like a drum. Bailino leaned over and brushed the hair out of her eyes.
"You just got divorced, from an asshole, I might add. You have no job. You're living in the downstairs apartment of your dead mother. Did you ever think that maybe things could be different for you? Someplace else?" Bailino paused. "With someone else? A change?"
Jamie was quiet.
"When this is over, and it'll be over very soon, I'll leave the kid somewhere safe for them to find. That's a promise, understand?"
Jamie watched Bailino's face closely, as lightning lit up the room once more.
"You stay here with me. We can start again." Bailino leaned down. "I know how this sounds... but it's really not all that crazy. People start again all the time... Think about it. Okay?"
Jamie nodded. "Okay," she said.
"I have to run out, but I'm going to be stopping at the supermarket to pick up a few things. Do you want anything?"
Jamie thought for a moment. "Maybe some chocolate milk?" she said. There were still crease marks on the side of her face from the pillowcase as it pressed against her skin overnight, and they made her look like a little girl.
"Chocolate milk, it is." He bent down, and Jamie braced herself for another firm kiss. Instead, Bailino whispered in her ear: "I'll take care of you."
Chapter 47
T
o Katherine's delight, federal agents coursed through the mansion like a factory assembly line. There were at least three agents in every room of the main level, and groups scattered throughout the grounds—on the porch, at the security gate, and in the parking lot.
"Now, this is what I'm talking about," she said to Phillip, who was facing her, seated in one of the visitor chairs in the main hall. Empty folding chairs surrounded him on all sides, making him look like the sole patron in a movie theater. He was holding a stack of papers. "That schlub Nurberg is back where he belongs, getting cats out of trees," Katherine said. "Maybe now we'll see some results. For Christ's sake, it's been more than two days."
Phillip lifted his head up and gave a cursory look around. "Well, it certainly is busier around here," he said distantly.
Katherine was worried about her husband. She had spent the better part of the morning getting the agents—who had arrived at 6:30 a.m.—up to speed on what had transpired since Tuesday and going over Nurberg's reports, which, she had to admit, had been pretty thorough. Phillip had been little help, keeping to himself. She looked at him, slumped on his chair, and was about to sit with him when Marla, the mansion's tour guide, took one of the empty seats next to him.
"How are you, Governor Grand?" Marla said, with an air of concern.
In the last forty-eight hours, not one person—even from the press—had asked Katherine how she was coping.
Phillip nodded, but said nothing.
"I'm sure they'll find her." Marla stood up, but not before Katherine detected a slight squeeze on Phillip's arm. She nodded at Katherine as she left.
Katherine sat down next to Phillip, who didn't seem to notice she was even there. She leaned over and looked at his paperwork. Phillip shook his head. "I made the mistake of trying to keep my early afternoon meeting with the Division of the Budget," he said. "I scheduled it last Thursday, before, you know... to discuss the revenue and expenditure plan for the state, but I think I'm going to cancel it." Phillip looked up at the clock. Thirteen hours and three minutes to go until the execution of Gino Cataldi.
Anti–capital-punishment picketers, undeterred by the rain, had already started congregating outside the Executive Mansion, jockeying for position with the media, who, disillusioned with the governor's lack of face time, had turned their cameras on the protesters in order to have something to report. Phillip and Katherine listened to the muffled cacophony of voices outside. She wasn't sure what to say and reached out and held Phillip's hand. He squeezed hers in return.