by Jayne, Chris
Garth peered over her shoulder, his massive bulk threatening. In spite of everything, Angela cringed. Like most Albanian men, Garth most definitely did not wear deodorant.
Driving back towards Saldata’s house, Angela noticed a strip mall that contained a drug store. It was open, brightly lit even though it was 10:30 at night. “Can we stop?” she asked. “I ran out of solution for my contacts.” Without a word, Garth piloted the Town Car into the lot. He made no move to follow Angela into the store.
Five minutes later, she walked out with soaking solution in a small paper bag and a disposable cellular phone in her purse. She didn’t know how she was going to get out of this situation alive, but she suspected, and had for a long time, that her cell phone was being monitored.
What was now in her purse gave her a small measure of peace of mind.
Chapter 31
Deacon
Saturday
9:00 PM Mountain Time
Hobson, Montana
* * *
“What were you thinking of? I told you to get a phone number for her.” Roger, Deacon and Louise sat around the kitchen table together. Roger’s voice was angry but pitched low. So far, Sandy, who was upstairs putting her children to bed, had been kept out of the drama and they were trying to keep it that way.
“She called me from a pay phone again, Roger. And what difference would it make?”
“I didn’t know they still even had pay phones,” Roger muttered.
“Because,” Deacon interrupted, furious, “I was going to fly to Denver as soon as we heard something, rent a car, and drive to where she was. If I’d known she was in Oklahoma City for three nights, I could have flown there. I was going to take her to a hotel and check her in under my name. So there would be no way anyone could find her. And then I was going to call my commanding officer in Virginia and have him help us sort this out. Whatever it is she saw, and why ever she can’t trust the cops or the FBI, he can get us in touch with someone safe. She might not know anyone she can trust, but I do.” Deacon crushed the beer can he had just drained with one angry squeeze, then chunked it in the general direction of the trashcan. Since the trashcan had a cover, it missed, of course, and clattered to the floor. “And now we lost that chance and she has to spend, what? Two more nights on the road?”
“Yeah.” Louise sniffed. “I guess. She was going to try to make Denver tonight, and then be here by tomorrow night. At least that’s what she said.”
“Damn it, Louise.” Roger’s jaw clenched furiously.
“You should have told me what you were thinking, what you were planning. I didn’t know,” she cried defensively.
Deacon hated the fact that their anger, his and Roger’s was making Louise cry, but this whole situation had gone from just crazy to insane. Had it not occurred to either of these women that if Lori was being tracked somehow, they simply could not afford any more delays? She had now been meandering across the country for five days, her picture on news websites, and, Deacon suspected, on television, though he hadn’t seen it. To his mind, Lori might think she was on the run, but she was treating it more like a vacation, one that, if what Louise had just said was true, was now going to last two more days.
The angry group around the table fell into a frustrated silence. Finally, Deacon spoke up. He raised his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Water under the bridge. Looks like all we can do now is wait,” Deacon said flatly. Then he reached out and caught his sister-in-law’s hand. “Louise, look at me. If she calls tomorrow, swear to me you’ll tell her to stay put.” He had a sudden horrified thought. “How are they checking into hotels? She’s not using her credit cards, is she?”
“No.” Louise sounded outraged. “Of course not. She got one of those prepaid debit cards at a Walmart, the ones that don’t have a name on it, and the au pair checks in using her student ID. Lori said she checked. They don’t put your name online or anything if you check in like that.”
Deacon wasn’t so sure about that, but the fact that they had apparently stayed at the same place in Oklahoma for three nights and they were still alive indicated that just possibly, that was actually correct. But just because one hotel had that policy didn’t mean they all did. It was a tremendous risk regardless. “If she calls again, do not let her hang up. As soon as one of us can talk to her and get her to stay in one place, I’ll drive to her right away. Or fly if she’s still in Denver.”
“I will.” Louise nodded, and dashed the tears off her face with the back of her hand. “I promise.” The silence at the table grew.
There was something that Deacon had to know. “Lou. Did you tell her I was here?”
“No,” Louise said. “No.” She raised her face and looked at him, dead on. “Deacon…” Her voice trailed off.
“What?”
Louise pressed her mouth tight and shook her head. “Never mind. Let’s just get her here safe and then we’ll figure out what to do.”
Chapter 32
Angela
Sunday
10:00 AM Eastern Time
Miami, Florida
* * *
Angela and Nico Rossi sat, facing Raoul Saldata across his desk. An untraceable disposable cell phone sat in the middle of the desk on speaker. Saldata nodded curtly once, and Angela dialed the phone. A woman, older from the sound of her voice, answered, and when Angela asked for Sylvia Hensen, the woman responded, “This is her sister. I’ll get her.” Then, muffled, as if someone was holding her hand over the phone, “Syl. Syl! It’s for you.” Then, after a pause, “No. I don’t know who it is. Hurry!”
From the tone of voice, just this side of frantic, Angela surmised instantly that the woman knew something was up and they’d been hoping for a phone call. Within just a moment, another voice came on the phone. She introduced herself breathlessly, but before Angela could say any more, the question came in a quavering voice. “Is this about Lori? I’m so worried about her.”
Angela took a deep breath. “Excuse me, ma’am?” She swallowed hard and looked up at Saldata, suddenly feeling uncertain of how to proceed. She’d never anticipated that the first thing out of Hensen’s mouth would have to do with Dovner and she wasn’t sure where she should go now.
For a second Saldata appeared as surprised as Angela felt, then he mouthed, “Go on. Ask her.”
“You’re talking about Lori Dovner? What about her?”
“Is this the thing she told me about?”
“I don’t know what thing you’re talking about. Can you be more clear? Have you spoken to Ms. Dovner? To Lori?”
“Yes,” Sylvia responded, her voice just this side of irritated. “Well, no. We didn’t talk. She sent an email and said she had to leave Miami for a while. I’ve tried calling her phone over and over and no one answers. Then I called a friend and she said Lori has been on the news. That she kidnapped her children from the school, and that a senator was killed, and that she and the senator were,” Sylvia’s voice hesitated as she plainly stumbled over what she was thinking, “friends. Or more. That’s crazy. She didn’t know the senator.”
“No, ma’am, this is really about your car.”
Sylvia went on as if Angela had not spoken. “I would come home if she needs me but,” she repeated, “I can’t reach her.”
Again, Angela forced herself to control her tone. Both Raoul Saldata and Nico Rossi sat on the edge of their seats. Everyone in the room knew this was the moment of truth. “When did you talk to her, Mrs. Hensen?”
“I didn’t talk to her. That’s the problem.”
“Right, I’m sorry. When did you get the email?”
“I’m not sure. It was just a few days ago.”
Angela felt like she was pulling teeth. “And what did it say?”
There was a long pause, and suddenly Sylvia Hensen didn’t sound quite so old. “Who is this again?”
Angela repeated the prepared spiel. “My name is Angela Jenson, and I’m with the Miami Dade police department. Your car was involved in a hit
and run accident on Monday. This phone call has nothing to do with Lori Dovner.”
“It does have to do with Lori, then, because she had my car on Monday.” Sylvia sounded very distraught. “A hit and run? Lori wouldn’t do that. Was she hurt?”
“We’re not sure it was your car, Mrs. Hensen. We only got a partial license plate. But we noticed your car was not in your garage.” Angela held her breath, praying that Hensen was confused and worried enough that she would not think things through carefully. If she did, she would know that everything that had just come out of Angela’s mouth was complete nonsense. A call about a missing car, given the fact that Dovner had obviously contacted her aunt about taking the car and that Dovner was in the news, was far too great a coincidence. “Your neighbor,” she quickly checked her notes, “Mrs. Brown gave us your number.”
“I didn’t know Imelda Brown had my number. I certainly never gave it to her. I don’t think…”
The looks on Rossi and Saldata’s now-crimson faces would have been hysterically funny if this situation were not so serious. If either of them could have shot Sylvia Hensen through the phone line, they would have. Angela pressed her mouth tight and tried to ignore them. “Your car, Mrs. Hensen? We’re just trying to verify its whereabouts.”
“I already said. Lori has it.”
Angela counted slowly to three. “And do you know where Lori is?”
“Well, that’s just the thing. The thing I was telling you about. The reason I’m so worried. Why in the world would she take off out of the blue and drive to Montana? She and her sister don’t even get along.”
Saldata and Rossi exchanged triumphant glances. Angela closed her eyes and wanted to cry.
Three minutes later, the group sat in silence. Finally, Nico Rossi broke it. “What will you do?” he asked.
“We have people in Italy,” Saldata responded. “We’ll take care of this.” He looked at Garth. “Make the call.”
Angela always knew the day would come when something would be expected of her, but she had always assumed it would be behind the scenes. She would be asked to bury a report, reallocate resources from one investigation to another, maybe quietly change a name or a data record. She had never really acknowledged the level to which she might be expected to go. Unfortunately, that level was now standing right in front of her. She knew she had to do something, and she had to do it fast.
“No,” Angela burst out, surprising even herself. “You’re making a mistake.”
Rossi and Saldata turned, Rossi looking sickly fascinated, as if he were about to watch a particularly large bug get squashed to death. Saldata just looked furious, and Angela suspected very few people had said those words to the man in the past few decades. Even Garth’s face showed mild interest, even amusement.
Angela chose her words carefully trying to buy time. This was not only life-or-death for Sylvia Hensen - and probably Hensen’s sister as well - but if her argument was not good, Saldata could easily decide she herself was not a team player. And once that happened, she’d have the proverbial snowball’s chance. “Hear me out. We don’t have Dovner yet, and as we’ve seen, she’s got a few tricks up her sleeve for,” she remembered how Saldata had described her derisively, “a cook. It’s good information she went to her sister’s but what if she lied to her aunt? Or changed her mind once she started traveling?”
Rossi, obviously buoyed by Angela’s confidence, concurred. “When she left Miami, she had a good idea you were looking for her, but she couldn’t know anything else for sure. Then she sees her picture on the news? Who knows what she did after she saw that.”
Angela continued her line of thought. “Dovner easily could have changed her mind,” she repeated. “Decided it was way too dangerous to go to her sister’s. Went to Mexico instead. Canada. It’s been five days. She could be anywhere.”
Saldata was watching her, his eyes cold, but he wasn’t arguing. Angela knew his type: arrogant, cruel, and narcissistic, but he still had gotten to where he was by listening to others when he needed to and he was listening to her now.
“The last thing in the world we need right now is the owner of a car that is in any way connected to what happened here to turn up missing or dead in Italy. Every piece of a story that Dovner might tell the FBI or Homeland or whoever, she’s got no proof. But if this aunt goes missing too, people are going to pay attention to that.” Frantically, Angela cast about for something that would satisfy the man temporarily. “If you have someone in Italy, send them in at night and steal the cell phones. Hensen’s and her sister, anyone else in the house. Computers too. Make it about the electronics. No one gets hurt. Even take a couple pieces of jewelry if they have any, but make it look like a robbery. People get robbed overseas every day. They don’t get killed. If they get killed, the state department gets involved.”
At the phrase “state department,” Saldata started to nod.
Rossi tapped the phone number of the rental house, indicated with the smiley face. “What if Dovner wrote this number down and tries to call her?”
Saldata looked at Garth. “Tell them to cut the phone lines too.”
“Can’t they just fix them?” Rossi argued.
Even Angela knew the answer to that. “This is Italy. It’ll take two weeks just to get a repair order on the books.”
Rossi licked his lips nervously. “And there’s no way on earth anyone will ever connect a stolen cell phone in Italy with Miami.”
“Yes.” Saldata nodded. “This is reasonable.”
Angela lowered her eyes and felt a flash of triumph. She still did not know what she was going to do, how she was going to save herself at the end of this, but at least she’d managed to keep the monster in front of her from killing two old women - at least for a few more days.
Five minutes later, Angela was studying a map with the two men. Rossi shook his head. “Even if we could put out some sort of all-points bulletin on the car, she’s probably already in Montana.”
“I agree,” Angela added. “They left Monday. We know that by 11:00 Monday night, she was in Gainesville. That leaves about 2,200 miles to go, and here we are five days later.” She double-checked some math on a piece of scratch paper. “Even if they just made 400 miles a day, this is the fifth day.”
“It’s better this way,” Saldata said. “On the road, too many variables. At a house, we can control it all.”
“I don’t want to hear another word.” Nico Rossi threw his hands up. “What you do in Italy is one thing, but on American soil? I’m out of here. I can’t hear any more.” Without saying another thing, he strode to the office door.
Angela kept her head down and pretended to be studying the map further, but out of the corner of her eye she caught the glance that was exchanged between Saldata and Garth. Nico Rossi was a dead man walking.
Later, Angela walked onto Saldata’s pool deck, where he and Garth sat at a table. She’d waited in her room since Rossi left, uncertain what her next move was.
“Am I done here? I’m expected at work in the morning,” she stated flatly. Both men stared at her coldly; neither answered. Angela knew she had no choice but to push. “Is there anything you need me to be doing?”
“Yes. You need to pack.”
Angela froze. “Am I going home?” she asked. She hated that her voice sounded uncertain, childish even, but she could not help it.
Saldata smiled at her, showing his perfect very non-Albanian teeth. “No, kotelje ime.” No, my kitten. “You’re going to Montana.”
Chapter 33
Lori
Sunday
5:00 PM Mountain Time
I25 - Outside of Sheridan, Wyoming
* * *
Lori sat on the grass embankment by the side of the interstate, frustrated beyond belief. This should have been their final day of driving. With drill sergeant efficiency, she’d gotten everyone out of bed and into the car by 6:00 AM; even Simone had been crying. Over breakfast at an IHOP, the first time Lori had dared go int
o a restaurant in days, she’d promised her two children and Simone that there was light at the end of the tunnel. By bedtime this very night they’d be at Auntie Lou and Uncle Roger’s. Lori needed to psych the group up because at nearly 700 miles, this was going to be their longest day of driving yet, as hard as that was to believe.
As she’d sat there watching her children eat their pancakes, the surreal nature of the whole thing had hit her. She’d known it was a long trip before she left Miami, but this was so long, it almost felt like the woman who had decided to leave Miami was a different person in another lifetime.
The IHOP had been decorated with Western art, and one painting had shown a line of covered Conestoga wagons. Lori had spared a thought for those women, traveling for months, making, what? 15, 20 miles a day tops? And they sure as hell didn’t have IHOPs to stop at. So maybe she shouldn’t complain. On the other hand, Lori reminded herself, those women didn’t have killers in bloodstained shirts chasing them, with their pictures on television.
But now this. Lori took a deep breath and looked at the line of stopped cars, stretching as far as she could see both ahead and behind. They’d done almost 400 miles by 3:00 in the afternoon, and Simone had actually managed to drive well over a 100 of that, when they’d come up to traffic stopped on the interstate in northern Wyoming, just south of Sheridan. After ten or fifteen minutes of no movement whatsoever, Lori had noticed that people were turning their cars off and getting out. She did the same. Within a few more minutes, word had been passed back through the people standing around. There was a terrible wreck about two miles ahead involving a tractor-trailer carrying hazardous chemicals. Two people were dead. The road had already been closed for nearly an hour, and clean up would take several hours more.