“Look, the men who took your daughter say they have someone in the police department, and I have good reason to believe them. And if they were telling the truth about that, they might have been telling the truth about the FBI, too. True or not, we can’t take the chance on making a mistake. Trust me on that.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“Look,” Stokes continued, “Paul made that mistake and he regretted it. After that, he was trying to handle this by himself when he had his accident. That’s why I’ve got two hundred fifty thousand dollars in that backpack there, money I’m gonna exchange for Amanda.” He looked for the backpack where he’d left it and saw that Nancy had moved it around behind the chair before she opened the door for the police.
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars?” she said.
“That’s right. And I’m going to trade it for Amanda. So no cops, you got it?”
She hesitated.
“If we call the authorities,” he added, “Amanda’s as good as dead. I really believe that. And I need you to believe it, too, understand?”
Finally, she nodded.
“OK,” he said. “Now, I told you that I’m gonna get your little girl back, and I am. But I need some information. First, you didn’t know anything about this, did you?”
Her eyes were unfocused. She looked like she was having a tough time processing all this.
“Nancy, please. You gotta get with it here. You gotta help me out.” He shot a glance at the unconscious cop. “We’re running out of time.”
She blinked a couple of times, nodding a little to herself.
“Nancy?” he said. “You didn’t know anything about this, did you?”
She shook her head. “About the kidnapping? No. Paul didn’t tell me. He probably didn’t want to worry me.” She looked on the verge of tears again. “Oh, my little girl.” She lowered her face into her hands. Thankfully, it didn’t look like she was crying, just holding her face in her hands, struggling to keep it together.
“This seems like a silly question right now,” Stokes said, “but you don’t have a hundred thousand dollars lying around, do you?”
She looked up. “What?”
“Maybe hidden somewhere. A little nest egg. Emergency fund. Nothing like that?”
“A hundred thousand dollars?”
“Actually, a hundred and two. I’m a little short right now. Paul had the money but I gave a little away.”
“A hundred and two thousand dollars?”
“Well, maybe not so little. But look, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here right now, and Amanda would have no chance, OK? So I guess you don’t have that kind of money, huh?”
She shook her head again.
“You got anything here? Any money to speak of?”
“Maybe sixty dollars in my wallet.”
He sighed. It was what he expected, but he had to ask.
“OK, here’s the main reason I came. Did Paul say anything to you about having to be somewhere tonight at one thirty? Anything at all?”
“Tonight? No, nothing.”
“Think about it. Think hard. He didn’t tell you he had to be someplace specific tonight, someplace people should look for him if he, uh, didn’t make it home? Nothing like that?”
“No, I’m sorry. What does that have to do with getting Amanda back?”
Damn it. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Shouldn’t we be doing something?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you get going, get started doing whatever you’re going to do to bring her home?”
“Yeah, I should. I mean, I will.”
“When? You do have a plan, right? Please tell me you do.”
“I’ll figure it out, don’t worry about it. But listen, I need help with part of this. I don’t think I can come up with a hundred and two thousand dollars, and unless I do, Amanda’s gonna get hurt. Is there anyone you can call? Any friends who might loan you the money?”
“I don’t have any friends who have that kind of money. And you’re saying you have to meet with them tonight. Who has that kind of cash lying around their house?”
He’d struck out. Coming here had not only been a waste of time, a precious commodity at the moment, it was a disaster. He’d assaulted a cop, bound him with his own plastic ties. He’d face serious charges for that when this was all over, unless he was lucky enough that the cop hadn’t gotten a good look at him and Nancy here helped him out by saying he’d worn a mask or something so she didn’t see his face. Shit.
He shook his head to clear it. It didn’t work. He’d really hoped Paul had told Nancy where he’d be going tonight. Now, as suspicious as it would sound, especially after raising their suspicions earlier, he might have to ask the kidnappers where he needed to be at one thirty and take his chances. He’d wait as long as he could in case they mentioned it in passing, but if they didn’t, he would have no choice but to ask. It was a big risk. And if it turned out to be a mistake, little Amanda would pay the price.
Nancy was watching him.
He was about to ask another question but the kidnappers’ call stopped him.
“This is them,” he told her. “Their nine o’clock call. Don’t say a word.”
“But—”
“Ssssssh.”
He kept one eye on Officer Martinson, who was still unconscious, as he pulled the cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open.
“Hello,” he said.
“Answered on the second ring this time. I’m honored. Got the money?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“All of it?”
“Enough.”
Silence.
“Listen, Paul, don’t pull any shit with us. We know you have three hundred and fifty thousand. You think we don’t know where it came from? Did you think we wouldn’t want our money back? So don’t screw around with us. You try to save a few bucks in this, it’ll cost you something you can’t replace. We’re not kidding here.”
“I’ll have it all.”
“You better. We’re gonna count it, while you wait, and if you’re a dime short, we’ll kill her and maybe you, you got it?”
“Yeah. You’ll have all of it.”
“And your evidence, of course.”
“Yeah, yeah, that, too.”
More silence.
“Let me talk to Amanda,” Stokes said.
A moment later, the little girl’s voice came down the line. “Daddy?”
“Good girl,” he said. “You OK?”
“My hand still really hurts . . . Daddy.”
“Is that Amanda?” Nancy asked.
“Ssssh,” Stokes hissed at her.
“My hand’s all wrapped up in a bandage,” the little girl said, “and they gave me medicine but it still hurts.”
“I know, Amanda. We’ll get you to a doctor soon. He’ll make it stop hurting. And Amanda, remember, don’t—”
“Don’t what?” It was the kidnapper again.
A sudden inspiration struck him. It was a long shot, but he’d hit a long shot once before. At the track. Blew the money on a new stereo system, which was stolen a month later, but it showed him that long shots sometimes come in. “Let me talk to Amanda again.”
“No.”
“Put her on.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, pal, fuck you. Now let me talk to my daughter one more time.”
The silence on the phone was cold. Stokes felt a tension crackling down the line, like the moment just after lightning has struck and you’re waiting for the next ear-splitting crack of thunder.
“Not the right time to grow a pair, Jenkins,” the kidnapper said. “Want me to cut off her whole fucking hand?”
Stokes took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I really am. I’m just tired, I’m under a lot of stress, an
d I’m worried about my daughter. Can I talk to her one more time? Please? I just want to tell her that everything’s going to be OK. She sounds scared.” Nothing. “Please?”
After a long pause, Amanda came back on.
“Daddy?”
“Listen, Amanda, you’ve been in the room with those men when they’ve called me, right?”
“Huh?”
“Every hour they’ve been calling me, thinking I’m your daddy. You’ve been in the room with them. So listen, OK? This is important. Do you remember anything about a pay phone? Did you hear where your daddy was supposed to be tonight to get a phone call later?”
“A phone call?”
The kidnapper was going to grab the phone back any second.
“At a pay phone. Did you hear them say anything about a pay phone? Please, Amanda, think. And hurry.”
“Ummmm . . .”
Shit. She didn’t know. He heard the kidnapper say, “Gimme that,” at the same moment he thought he heard Amanda blurt, “Laundro—” At least he thought she said that. He wasn’t sure.
“What the hell was that all about?” the kidnapper asked.
“Just making sure Amanda’s OK, telling her I’ll see her soon.”
“Didn’t sound like that.”
“Look, this is almost over, right? I’ll take care of the money. You take care of my daughter. Everybody will get what they want. OK?”
After a moment of silence, the kidnapper said, “Talk to you in an hour,” and ended the call.
A Laundromat. Shady Cross had a few that Stokes knew of, but only one had a faded billboard he’d seen somewhere around town declaring it to be the only twenty-four-hour Laundromat in Shady Cross. So Laund-R-Rama was where he needed to be at one-thirty. He hoped. If he’d heard Amanda right, and if Amanda had been correct, that’s where he had to be to get the kidnapper’s phone call.
Stokes looked at Martinson. Still napping.
“Is Amanda all right?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Is she OK?”
“Yeah, I talked to her. She sounded fine.”
“You said something about getting her to a doctor.”
“She’s fine, Nancy, really. She bumped her knee and she’s crying about that. I told her a doctor would make it better to give her something else to think about other than her situation.” She seemed to buy that so Stokes continued. “Now listen, did you know your ex-husband had three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in an account for your daughter?”
“What? Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Are you sure?”
“Trust me.”
“My God, no, I didn’t. I had no idea he had that kind of money. He’s an accountant. Makes eighty thousand a year.”
An accountant? Stokes nodded, thinking. It was starting to make sense.
“Did Paul ever talk about his clients?”
“His clients? Which ones?”
“Did he ever give you the idea that he was keeping the books for questionable people?”
She was thinking. “Like criminals?”
“Exactly.”
“Yeah, maybe he hinted that he had at least one client like that. He wasn’t very happy about it, but it’s hard to turn down paying clients, you know?”
“He say who it was?”
She shook her head. Stokes frowned. Jenkins was probably into something illegal. Either he helped out with some creative accounting and was rewarded well for it, or he stupidly cooked the books and tried to hide a hell of a lot of money from the wrong people. They were certain he had $350,000, so he must have stolen at least that much from the kidnappers. Paul simply got his hand caught in the cookie jar, and they wanted their cookies back. Every last crumb.
“Paul ever tell you about important files he kept somewhere, somewhere other than his house?”
Nancy shook her head. “Anything not at his house would be at his office.”
“That’s what I figured. Where’s that?”
“The Emerson Building downtown.”
“I don’t suppose you have a key to his office there?” Stokes asked without much hope. Why would Paul’s ex-wife have that?
“No, sorry. Besides, you couldn’t get in there, even with a key, unless you also had the accounting firm’s office security code. Without that you can’t get past the reception area on the firm’s floor.”
Stokes shook his head. The Emerson Building was one of the newer buildings in Shady Cross. It had alarm systems and security guards. That was a dead end. If Jenkins kept the evidence there and had planned to pick it up later, Stokes wasn’t going to get his hands on it.
“Nancy, do you own a computer?”
“Sure.”
“Go get me a computer disk, OK? I don’t care if it’s blank.”
She hurried off down the hall. Stokes looked over at the unconscious cop. He was going to have to do something about the guy. But what? He couldn’t leave him here with Nancy. She might be inclined to free him, perhaps worrying that she might get into trouble herself if she kept him bound, which she would. And even if she didn’t free him, he’d certainly have radioed in his location before he came to the door. Other cops would be coming when they didn’t hear from him. No, Stokes couldn’t leave him here. Which meant he had to take him with him. Which meant he’d be kidnapping an officer of the law. Kidnapping is a serious goddamn crime. Kidnapping a cop is probably ten times worse. Oh, man, things were spinning out of control.
Who the hell was he kidding? He’d never had a single thing under control tonight.
Still seated on the coffee table, he leaned over, grabbed his backpack off the floor, and slung it over his shoulder. He’d take it out to Bobby’s pickup, pull the vehicle into the driveway, right up to the house, and dump Martinson in back. As soon as this was all over, he’d let the cop go and pray the guy had never gotten a decent look at his face.
Nancy returned and handed him a silver object, the length of his little finger.
“This OK?” she asked.
“What is it?”
“A thumb drive.” He stared at her blankly. “It’s like a computer disk.”
“Oh.” He stuck the drive into a pocket of the backpack. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he started toward the door.
“Wait . . .” She looked worried.
“I’ll be right back. I promise.”
He pushed the cop away from the door and hurried outside. When he came back after stowing the bag in the truck and moving the vehicle into the driveway, Nancy was standing in the living room in a tight pair of jeans and a sweatshirt the same shade as her baby blue eyes.
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
“The hell you are.”
“The hell I’m not. How do I know you’re not going to decide to just take off with the money?”
“I could have done that hours ago and saved myself a shitload of trouble.”
“Yeah, but how do I know you’re not going to change your mind? No offense, but there’s too much at stake for me to trust you. Amanda’s my daughter, not yours.”
Letting her come along would be a bad idea. But she was right. Why should she trust him? And even if she did at first, she might start to get antsy and call the cops after all. She didn’t know how serious the kidnappers were, and he wasn’t about to show her the videos of Amanda being maimed to prove it.
“All right,” he said. “But you have to listen to me. And do what I say. If I tell you to stay out of the way, you do it. Got it?”
She nodded. “I just want to get her back safe.”
He was starting to get a headache.
“Help me carry this guy to the garage.”
Stokes took the cop’s arms and Nancy took his legs and they half carried, half dragged him down the hall, then down three concrete steps into the garage. Nancy hit a button and the gar
age door cranked open. Stokes had backed the truck right up to the door. He grabbed a canvas tarp he spotted on a shelf and folded it under the cop’s head. No reason to give the guy a concussion if the drive got a little rough. Finally, he pulled the cop’s car keys from his pocket and slipped them into his own. He didn’t want Martinson to try to use them as a weapon or to slice through his bonds.
They hurried back inside. Stokes grabbed the bag of money and the cop’s utility belt—complete with gun, baton, pepper spray, and the like—and headed for the garage again. Nancy went down the hall.
“I’ll be right back,” she said. “Just grabbing a few things.”
Stokes walked through the garage, slid behind the wheel of the truck, and dropped the bag of money and the cop’s belt on the floor of the cab. He briefly considered taking off before Nancy returned, hoping he could trust her not to do anything to jeopardize Amanda’s life. He didn’t want to put her in danger, too, by bringing her along. But Amanda was her daughter. The choice was hers. Besides, she might even help out somehow. You never know. Plus, she was nice to look at.
A minute later, she appeared at the passenger-side window, a small duffel bag hanging on her shoulder.
“What’s in there?” he asked.
“A few things. Extra clothes for Amanda, my wallet, a flashlight. I even grabbed a first aid kit.”
“You must have been a Girl Scout.” He had a mental flash of her in the uniform, but filling it out as she would now.
“I didn’t know what we might need,” she said, “so I just grabbed whatever I thought might be useful.”
“Good thinking. Listen, it won’t be fun for you, but I think you should ride in the back. If he wakes up, bang on my window.”
“What will you do?”
“Beats the hell out of me. But I’ll have to do something, right?”
She threw her bag into the bed and climbed in after it. When she was settled, Stokes pulled out of the driveway. Again, the irony in this situation was evident to him. To get one kidnapping victim back, he’d kidnapped someone else. A cop, no less. The poor guy was just doing his job and didn’t really deserve a knot on the back of his skull, the headache he was going to wake up with, or, when he did wake up, having to do so in the bed of a pickup truck, bound and gagged. On the other hand, the guy was a cop, so Stokes’s sympathy didn’t run too deep.
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