Touch & Go

by Lisa Gardner

  He finished his inspection of the Denbe crew about the same time they finished their inspection of him. They didn’t seem impressed, but then, the first guy, Mr. Buzz Cut, already appeared more captivated by Nicole. Good luck with that, Wyatt wanted to tell him, but didn’t.

  Across the table, currently sitting alone, he got his first surprise.

  Female, heart-shaped face, flat blue eyes. Jolted him a second, because at first glance, the face seemed young, but then, those eyes… He met her gaze, and she returned it frankly.

  Definitely another former something. Not in uniform now, but had been. The face niggled at him. A sense of déjà vu, as if he should know her.

  “Tessa Leoni,” she spoke up. “Northledge Investigations. I’ve been retained by Denbe Construction to handle an independent assessment of the situation.”

  Ah, the independent investigator.

  He crossed over and pulled out a rolling leather chair next to her. Kevin took a seat beside Wyatt.

  Wyatt did the honors, holding out his hand. “Wyatt Foster, sergeant, criminal investigations. This is Detective Kevin Santos. We had jacket duty.”

  “You launched the hotline,” Tessa said.

  He nodded modestly. “Don’t tell anyone, but I like the public. More often than not, they have useful things to tell us. I mean, once you weed out the crazies. And given that we have few leads and very little information, I thought we could use some useful tips right about now.”

  “Have you received any?” Nicole Adams spoke up from across the table.

  “Nah. But we only have the description of the family, and I doubt the kidnappers are parading three abductees through public spaces. More useful would be a description of the vehicle.”

  Nicole nodded briskly. “We have agents still canvassing the neighborhood. So far, however, we have more theories on the subject than solid leads.”

  Wyatt was about to ask about the theories, when Anita Bennett returned.

  The hostess of the party, she carried a large stack of spiral-bound photocopies. Company financials, he realized quickly. She handed out the presentation on Denbe Construction, and they quickly got down to business.

  First, introductions. From Denbe Construction, they had Anita Bennett, COO and now acting president given Justin’s disappearance. (Wyatt made a mental note: first person to gain from the Denbes’ loss—Anita Bennett.) Next up, the stocky lothario, Chris Lopez, chief of construction, who made a point of emphasizing his title while gazing deeply into Special Agent Nicole Adams’s very cool, very unimpressed pale blue eyes. Next to him was a trio Wyatt immediately pegged as the three stooges: Jenkins, Paulie and a guy seriously called Bacon. The core building team, Lopez explained. They worked with Justin, they knew Justin, they had his back. Whatever happened, these were the go-to guys for knocking heads and taking names.

  Jenkins, who was former air force and current structural engineer, actually cracked his knuckles. And yet he was still more subtle than the Bacon character, who kept stroking a small, rough-hewn metal spoon he wore on a leather cord around his neck.

  Wyatt translated “core building team” to mean “posse.” Justin Denbe had a posse. Of apparently some of the most dangerous, crazily unbalanced former military types Wyatt had ever met. Meaning he and the other law enforcement types would have to manage information carefully, as guys like this would definitely go off on their own, violence being their best friend and primary coping mechanism.

  Mental note two: Isolate posse, interview each one alone and do deep background checks. These guys knew things, knew people. Probably including the type of people who could abduct a family of three, no problem.

  Missing in action was the fourth member of the build team, an architect who was currently on site in California. He’d be on a plane first thing in the morning, available for interviews by Sunday at five. Also, the chief financial officer, Ruth Chan, was on vacation in the Bahamas. They were still trying to get word to her of the “current situation,” as Anita Bennett put it.

  “Now then,” Bennett declared, “we are here for you. I understand you must have questions, and of course we will do everything in our power to make ourselves available to you. As you can see, I have already made a copy of last quarter’s financial statements. The head of HR is also on call, ready to line up whichever employee interviews you feel are most appropriate. Right here in this room, we are the ones who work with Justin most closely, and I think I can speak for all of us when I say assisting him is nothing short of a privilege and an honor. Of course our number one priority is his safety, as well as the safety of his family.”

  “And none of you have heard from Justin or any member of the Denbe family today?” Nicole spoke up briskly, assuming her role as lead agent.

  It seemed like a stupid question, except Wyatt had been in investigations before where right at this moment, someone raised his or her hand and went, wait, dude, did I mention he called me thirty minutes ago? Today, however, was not one of those cases. Each person around the table shook their head.

  “Has Mr. Denbe mentioned to anyone personal plans, a weekend away with his family?”

  “Justin generally made his own travel plans. I took the liberty of checking his computer here at work, and there’s nothing on his calendar,” Bennett supplied.

  “Has he expressed frustration with a current project, angst over the direction the company is going?”

  A larger pause this time, then one by one, each person of the Denbe crew shook his or her head. Wyatt didn’t get too excited yet. Group answers were always suspect. A starting point, sure, but what would be more interesting is what they got out of each person individually, when they didn’t have to worry about their fellow employees overhearing.

  “How are the financials?” Wyatt asked, earning a dirty look from Nicole for stealing her thunder. “Bottom line?”

  “We are profitable.” Bennett said this a bit stiffly, paused. “But cash-flow challenged.”

  Wyatt got that tingling feeling. As Anita Bennett explained it, Denbe’s last major build had had some cost overruns and Denbe had gotten pinged pretty hard. They’d covered the project’s net loss out of cash reserves, but that meant they’d entered their current build, some hospital down in Virginia, with no cushion and, of course, encountered their first cash-flow crisis right out of the gate.

  Big picture good, Bennett went out of her way to emphasize. The hospital was still on track to generate five million in profit. Last quarter, however, looked dreadful, and, yes, things were tight. But Justin liked tight, she added quickly. For him, money management, which really meant finessing banks and suppliers and subs, was all part of the fun of a major build. If there was one thing he loved even more than negotiating terms, it was renegotiating terms. Definitely not the kind of guy to run from a fight.

  Wyatt thought that was a very interesting story. He jotted down: Embezzlement? Money laundering? Because from what he could tell, with these kinds of dollars flying around, this industry had to be rife with such opportunities. Meaning if Justin was a numbers guy, maybe he’d started to figure it out, or was at least sniffing close enough to someone else’s cash-skimming trail. Making his imminent departure necessary.

  Bennett had one last piece of what she considered to be good news. Denbe Construction carried insurance on Justin. Boatloads of it. Ten million in life, but also a two-million-dollar kidnapping policy. Better yet, the kidnapping rider also covered members of his family. One million for his spouse. One million for each kid.

  Nicole did the honors: “Are you saying this policy guarantees up to four million dollars in possible ransom money?”

  “Yes.” Bennett beamed.

  “Have you notified the company?”

  “Not yet. We haven’t received any ransom demands.”

  “How long would it take for the insurance company to procure such funds?” Nicole asked.

  Bennett appeared a little less excited. “I don’t know. We’ve never used it.”

 
; Wyatt thought that was missing the point: “Excuse me, but how many people are aware of this policy? You know, that kidnapping the Denbe family is worth at least four mil? Because it sounds to me like the company doesn’t have the cash to ransom Justin back, but this policy sure as hell does.”

  Silence in the room. The Denbe employees looked at one another, then glanced away. “Well, most of us, I believe,” Bennett supplied warily.

  “Justin liked to joke about it,” Lopez, the construction manager, spoke up. “That we should remember he was worth money alive, not just dead. But, for the record, I didn’t know about the family clause. I just knew Justin was insured. I mean, he’s the owner, this is a pretty serious firm that handles mega–financial deals. Seems to me, if you know Denbe Construction at all, then you assume the owner, Justin Denbe, is loaded to the hilt, whether it’s insurance money, his money, firm money. Either way, kidnapping a guy like Justin Denbe should equal easy money.”

  The other members of the posse nodded.

  “Except, of course,” Lopez continued, “nothing about Justin is easy. And we’re the ones who know that, too. So don’t go staring all flinty-eyed at us.” He shook his finger at Nicole in particular. “We shot with Justin at least once a week. The guy could take care of himself. Not to mention, most of us were around for his wedding, plus we helped change Ashlyn’s diapers. He’s one of us, his family is our family. We’re not the fucking problem here. You’re gonna have to sniff somewhere else for that.”

  Lopez appeared to have said his piece. He sat back, crossed his arms over his chest. His guys nodded beside him.

  Score one for the hood, Wyatt thought.

  “I think we can all agree,” Bennett interjected diplomatically, “that we are deeply concerned about Justin, Libby and Ashlyn. Please, you’re handling this investigation. What can you tell us?”

  “We do have some initial leads,” Nicole supplied. “For starters, Taser confetti was recovered at the scene, which we can use to trace the weapon used in the attack.”

  “Won’t help,” the Bacon guy spoke up.

  All eyes turned to him. “Illegal in Mass.” He shrugged, apparently not a big talker. “Meaning Taser’s probably not registered, meaning serial number on confetti won’t tie back to a listed weapon.”

  Nicole thinned her lips, and Wyatt could tell by her expression that she’d already known that. Still, knowing you had no leads didn’t necessarily mean admitting you had no leads.

  “Neighbors didn’t see or hear anything?” Wyatt asked.

  “No. But sometimes a negative can be a positive.”

  Good line. Which was why Nicole had a real career with the FBI, while Wyatt was still a semi-carpenter.

  “For example,” she continued, “to transport a family of three, as well as multiple kidnappers in a single vehicle, would require at least a van or SUV. Presumably, for the kidnappers to remove three bound-and-gagged individuals from a home without arousing suspicion means such a vehicle would have to be parked in the immediate vicinity. Inside the Denbes’ garage would be one option, but none of the neighbors saw the garage opening and closing that night, let alone Libby’s vehicle being moved onto the street. How, then, did the kidnappers manage to illegally park a large vehicle right near the house without arousing suspicion?”

  “Delivery van.” Tessa Leoni spoke up for the first time. Her tone wasn’t cool, just matter-of-fact. Wyatt’s first guess: She had yet to hear anything at this table she didn’t already know.

  Nicole frowned slightly, clearly not thrilled to have had an outsider beat her to the punch. “That is our current theory, correct. We’re assuming the vehicle was disguised as a caterer’s van, which is the kind of thing few people would notice in such a neighborhood. The Denbes have rights to an aboveground parking space, located next to the garage entrance at the rear of the town house. It would’ve been easy enough to park a van there, and quickly remove the family members from the house under the cover of night.”

  “How’d they enter the house?” Wyatt asked, as he knew the least about the Boston scene.

  “Overrode the security.”

  “No.” One of the posse, Paulie, spoke up. “I installed that system myself. Can’t be overridden.”

  Paulie rattled off about double this and reinforced that. Nicole let him talk, her expression more patient than surprised.

  “Then it wasn’t overridden,” she stated calmly, when he was finished. “It was disarmed.”

  “You’d have to know the code,” Paulie began.

  “Exactly.”

  “Meaning…”

  “Exactly.”

  Around the room, the various members of the management team all stared at one another, the message loud and clear.

  An inside job. The Denbes had been abducted by people who knew them, their security code and, most likely, the ransom insurance policy. Definitely a friend had masterminded the kidnapping, not a foe. And most likely, given that it was a Denbe employee who’d installed their security system, and the Denbe management team that had approved Justin’s insurance policy, it was someone sitting right at this table.

  Tessa Leoni leaned forward, taking the initiative for the first time all meeting: “In the event of a divorce between Justin and Libby, what would happen to Denbe Construction?”

  Absolute, immediate uproar from the Denbe contingency. Never, couldn’t happen, how dare she…

  Wyatt leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest and took it all in. No doubt about it, 9:00 P.M. Saturday night, they were finally getting down to business.

  Yep, his job was never boring.

  Chapter 20

  DINNER DIDN’T MAKE IT. I threw up within the first few minutes of returning to the cell. Ashlyn held back my hair as I leaned over the stainless steel toilet. Afterward, I rinsed my mouth with water from the sink, then, given that there were no towels, patted my face dry with the sleeve of my orange jumpsuit.

  “Are you okay?” Ashlyn whispered, my fifteen-year-old daughter who hadn’t spoken to me in months, now the epitome of motherly concern.

  “Just need to rest,” I said. “I’ll be better by morning.”

  She nodded, though morning seemed a strange concept, locked up in an overbright prison cell. What time was it, anyway? I peered out the far window, the one overlooking the barren dirt outside. The sky was pitch-black. Meaning, this time of year, it could be anytime after 5:00 P.M. I felt the hour was probably around eight, maybe nine, but was mostly guessing.

  The three of us stared at one another, stuck together in a tiny cell, unsure of what to do next. Justin was gazing at me with open concern. Then he caught me staring, and quickly smoothed his expression.

  “We should compare notes, assess what we know,” he said briskly. He moved away from the door, toward the left-hand bunk. He winced as he sat down.

  I couldn’t help myself: “How are you feeling?”

  He waved a hand. “Fine, fine.”

  Watching him closer, I detected the tight set of his jaw, the fine lines creasing the corners of his eyes. He was in pain, definitely. How many hits had he taken with the Taser? Six, eight, twelve? Enough to cause permanent damage? Maybe Z and his cohorts had fried my husband’s spinal cord. God knows, Ashlyn and I were sporting decent-size burns from the Taser’s contact points. Justin must have nearly a dozen of those, not to mention one extremely overstimulated central nervous system. Of course he hurt.

  “The front door was locked.” Ashlyn spoke up earnestly. I sat down next to her on the lower right-hand bunk. She took my hand, her face pleading with me. “Honest, Mom, I told Dad on the way to dinner. I never touched the system after you two left. I was in my room the whole time, playing games on my iPad and texting Lindsay.”

  I looked at Justin. He’d armed the system when we left. He always did, Mr. Safety and Security. If I thought back hard enough, I could even picture him doing it. His fingers moving quick and sure over the keypad.

  “Did you hear anything?” I asked softly.
My head still throbbed, but if Justin could will his pain away, I could do the same. He was right, after all. We needed to figure out what we were up against.

  “No.” Ashlyn flushed. “I was, um…going to the bathroom, and this guy, he just…appeared in the doorway. It was the larger one, Mick, I guess. And I, I got scared and I grabbed hair spray and went after him—”

  “Good girl,” Justin said.

  She flashed a look at him. “I ran for your room. But you weren’t there, of course, and I…”

  Her voice drifted off. She didn’t look at either of us, and I realized that, all of a sudden, my daughter was near tears. Because she’d needed us, run to our room, and we hadn’t been there. Said a lot about our family these days.

  I squeezed my daughter’s hand in silent apology, but wasn’t surprised when she pulled back, tucking once more into herself.

  “The younger guy, Radar, showed up,” she whispered. “And between him and Mick…” She glanced up at Justin. “I heard you downstairs, the front door opening. I wanted to scream or yell or something, but Mick put his hand over my mouth. I tried…but there wasn’t anything…” She shrugged, shoulders rounding inside her oversize jumpsuit as she fell quiet.

  “It’s all right,” Justin reassured her. “Nothing you could do. These guys, they’re trained. Professionals. And they had a plan we never saw coming.”