by Rick Mofina
“You know more than us.”
Kate needed someone who could give her a sense of the family, an idea of what the real story was. She couldn’t get to the cat lady in the back of the squad car, which had now moved to a distant stretch of the street.
Something’s going on with her.
Kate noticed two uniformed officers were talking to the woman. She’d have to hold off approaching her. Besides, Kate was certain no other press people had seen her so far.
Kate’s phone rang and she answered.
“Who told you to go to Queens?” Reeka asked.
“This story was breaking. Didn’t Thane tell you?”
“Thane Dolan’s not your supervisor. What you have is a local bank robbery, not a national story. I want you to do what I assigned you to do.”
“Reeka, the elements here are significant. A bank manager has robbed his own bank and there’re indications his family was taken hostage.”
A tense silence passed.
“Do you have it confirmed on the record? Is this just another case of someone passing an exaggerated note at a run-of-the-mill robbery?”
“No, I don’t have it confirmed yet, but I have a gut feeling—”
“A gut feeling?”
“Reeka, this one’s different. Why don’t you let me check this out? Unless you want AP or Reuters to break the story?”
Reeka let another few seconds pass.
“All right, you’ve got a few hours to nail this down. Otherwise you’ll be at the Hyatt covering the conference. Is that clear, Kate?”
“Crystalline.”
After hanging up, Kate nudged Gabe.
A man and woman had emerged from the curved end of the street, far down where the command post had been. They looked as though they were in their late sixties or early seventies. They went to the driveway of the house directly across from the one the SWAT team had stormed.
“Excuse me,” Kate said before anyone else saw them. “Kate Page and Gabe Atwater, we’re with Newslead.” Kate held up her press ID. “Will you talk to us a minute about what’s happened?”
The two people exchanged looks before the woman, bothered by the faint ammonia-like traces of tear gas lingering in the air, fanned her face and said: “Yes, but let’s go in the back.”
Their backyard had a glorious flower garden with mature oak trees that shaded the lush manicured lawn. A dog emerged to give Kate and Gabe a friendly greeting.
“May I get your names?” Kate asked, starting her recorder and holding her pen over a clean page in her notebook.
The man looked at the notebook and rubbed his chin, adding to the worry etched deeply in his face. Kate couldn’t tell if it was the gas, emotion or both, but the woman was fighting tears.
“Do you really need our names?” he asked. “Things are a little unsettling.”
“I understand, but in situations like this, people often accuse reporters of making things up. They don’t believe we actually talk to real people, like you.”
The man looked at the woman. “I don’t suppose giving our names could be any worse than what’s going on?”
“That’s true. I don’t care, it’s all so horrible.” The woman turned to Kate. “I’m Violet Selway and this is my husband, Ward.”
After Kate got her to spell their names, she asked: “Do you know the people next door?”
“Dan and Lori Fulton,” Ward said. “They have a son, Billy.”
“Any chance you’d know their ages?”
“Well, Billy’s nine,” Ward said.
“Dan just turned thirty-six,” Violet said. “We went to a backyard party for him, and Lori’s thirty-four.”
“Thanks. What do you think happened?”
Violet shook her head.
“Police asked us the same thing,” Ward said. “We don’t know anything. Whatever happened must’ve happened in the night. We didn’t see or hear anything. I woke up this morning, and Sam, here, Billy’s dog, was in our backyard. I thought it was strange, that he must’ve got out in the night. I took him with me and went to ring their bell this morning. No one was home. We’ll keep Sam with us until we know what’s going on.”
“How well do you know the Fultons?”
“They’re dear friends.” Violet’s voice quivered. “I drew the inside of their house for police.”
“Where do the Fultons work?”
“Dan’s the manager of the SkyNational Trust branch, and Lori’s a claims adjuster at Dixon Donlevy Mutual Life Insurance.”
“What kind of people are they, how would you characterize them?”
“The salt of the earth,” Ward said.
“Dan’s a family man,” Violet said. “Lori’s a devoted mom, and young Billy’s just a joy.”
“Any idea of trouble, stress? Or if anyone would want to harm them?”
“Absolutely not,” Ward said.
“What do you think happened?”
“We wish we knew, so we could help,” Violet said. “All we know is what police told us.”
Kate’s radar locked on that as Ward shot his wife a cautionary glance. But Kate remained casual. She was skilled at extracting information.
“That Dan robbed his own bank this morning,” Kate said, “and that there was supposedly a hostage situation at his home,” she added, inviting the Selways to elaborate. “It’s so troubling, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Violet said. “Especially since they all had bombs strapped to them.”
Kate shot a look to Violet then Ward.
“Really?”
“According to police,” Ward said.
“Did they give any indication of who’s behind it?”
“No. And now they can’t find Dan, or Lori, or Billy!” Violet sobbed into her hands and Ward put his arms around her. “I pray they’re okay!”
“I’m sorry,” Ward said. “This is too upsetting. We’ll have to end it there.”
After thanking them, Kate and Gabe returned to the street. Kate exhaled, stopped to check her notes and her recording.
Gabe, who’d stepped back during Kate’s interview, angled his camera to her, displaying the pictures he’d taken, favoring one of Violet Selway, anguished face buried in her hands, Ward’s arm around her, Sam at their feet looking up at them with big eyes.
“Distraught neighbors and the Fultons’ dog,” Gabe said.
“It’s good,” Kate said, noticing that down the block the situation had changed with the cat lady. “Let’s talk to her.”
The woman was now out of the patrol car, leaning against it, holding her cat. The officers with her had moved off to consult other cops at a van nearby.
Kate approached, smiling once the woman noticed her.
“That’s a pretty cat,” she said. “What’s her name?”
“Lacey Lou.”
“Very cute.” Kate, bearing in mind the officers were near, kept her voice soft. “I’m Kate Page, and this is Gabe Atwater. We’re with Newslead. Some neighbors of the Fultons’ have been sharing their thoughts with us. Can we talk to you briefly?”
The woman looked around as if seeking permission.
“It’ll only take a second.” Kate opened her notebook and shrugged. “You could summarize what you told police, like the other neighbors did.”
“Well, I guess it would be all right.”
“What’s your name?”
“Charlene Biddle.”
Kate took down the spelling.
“Charlene, do you know the Fultons?”
“No, I don’t. I live around the block.”
“What did you tell police?”
“Well, last night Lacey didn’t come home at her usual time. I waited and waited until I got worried. So I got up and looked for her ar
ound the block because I thought that’s where she’d gone.”
“What time was this?”
“Oh, about two or two-thirty, I’m not sure.”
“You went alone?”
“This is a good neighborhood. I wasn’t afraid.”
Gabe nudged Kate. Two men in suits had left the Selway house and were heading up the street, staring directly at Kate and Charlene Biddle.
“What happened when you went looking for Lacey?” Kate asked.
“When we got near the house there, Lacey was in the yard beside it. I called her, and she wouldn’t come—this stubborn cat has a mind of her own. I tiptoed into the yard to get her. When I did, I saw a van parked in the driveway.” Charlene nodded to the Fultons’ house. “And people were getting into it. It looked like two men were sort of...pushing a woman and smaller person into the van. It was all quiet and quick and then they drove off.”
“Do you recall—” Kate glanced at the approaching men “—do you recall any details, like a license plate?”
“I didn’t see anything clearly. It was dark. I know it was odd, but I thought it was people going home from a party, and a few of them were drunk, kidding around. I got Lacey and went home. Then this morning police came knocking on everyone’s door to move us out because of something happening, and so I told them what I saw. They wanted me to wait right here so I could talk to the detectives.”
“Okay, thanks, Charlene.” Kate closed her notebook, turned to leave.
“Hold up there!” A big-chested man, the older of the two, stepped into Kate’s space. “Who’re you?”
“Kate Page, Newslead.” She held up her ID. “This is Gabe Atwater, Newslead.” Kate tried to read the badge hanging from the older man’s chain. “Who’re you guys?”
“Detective Tilden, NYPD.”
Kate glanced at the younger man, who had a Brad Pitt thing going.
“Nick Varner, FBI. Over here, please.”
The two men took Kate and Gabe aside to talk privately.
“What’ve you got?” Kate opened her notebook, pen poised.
“We’ve got a problem,” Tilden said.
“What problem?”
“Well, for one, we don’t want you talking to our witnesses before we do,” Tilden said.
“What’d you mean? I’m exercising my right, freedom of the press.”
“Exercise it carefully,” Tilden said.
“Excuse me?”
“We’ve got a very dangerous situation here, Ms. Page,” Varner said.
“I kinda figured that, what with the SWAT team and the street sealed.”
The grim-faced men said nothing.
“Can you elaborate on dangerous?” Kate asked.
“We’ll put out a release later,” Varner said.
“Can you confirm that bombs were strapped to the Fultons?”
“I told you, we’ll put out a press release.”
“But you’re not denying that bombs were strapped to the family?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Agent Varner, can we stop this ‘can’t confirm or deny’ game?”
“Is this a game to you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Maybe before you go ahead and print anything, you should run it by us,” Tilden said.
“You’re kidding, right?”
The two men said nothing.
“Look.” Kate stared at both of them. “Why don’t you guys do your job, and I’ll do mine,” she said, closing her notebook.
15
Somewhere in New York
Lori Fulton opened her eyes.
Her ears were pounding in time with her heart.
The van had stopped hours ago and since then sleep had come in tortured snatches. Each time Lori woke, she realized that she was a prisoner in a nightmare.
Billy was asleep, his head on her lap.
They were sitting on the floor of the windowless van, backs against the reinforced wall that divided the cab from the rear. She could feel him trembling. They were still wearing the bomb vests. The tiny red light on each of their battery packs continued to blink.
How much time do we have?
Ever since they’d stopped, she hadn’t seen their captors. She had no idea where they were—she heard no sounds of the city. No traffic, no construction, no noise other than a few chirping birds.
Did they abandon us?
She didn’t know what time it was. Daylight seeped in through the van’s door frame, so she knew it was no longer night. Tape still sealed their mouths and their hands. Suddenly Lori chided herself—should’ve thought of this sooner—and raised her hands, working her fingers to pull the tape from her mouth. She drank in the cool air, welcomed it on her skin as she stretched her jaw.
Her movements had awakened Billy and he sat up, blinking.
“Shh.”
She kissed his forehead, then slowly pulled the tape from his mouth. He took a deep breath.
“Better?” she whispered.
He nodded.
Lori pulled off the tape around his wrists. His hands were still restrained with plastic handcuffs. Lori held out her wrists so Billy could pull off her tape. Plastic cuffs were locked on her, as well.
She began gnawing on the cuffs, but it was futile, the plastic was too thick. She searched the van’s metal frame for a sharp edge to cut the plastic, but found none. She was afraid to try anything more—there was no telling what might set off the bomb vest—but she couldn’t give up.
She cocked her ears, listening for anyone outside the van, and then very carefully moved to the van’s side door, took hold of the handle and pulled. It refused to move. She turned to the cab. The dividing wall was solid, floor to ceiling. Taking great care, Lori crawled to the van’s rear and tried that door, pulling on the handle with every ounce of strength she had.
No use.
They were locked inside.
She tried to think of a way to take off the vest. She could slide it over her head. Or over her shoulder, shimmy it down and step out of it. The problem was she couldn’t open the front. It was zippered, Velcroed and had wires running across the opening.
It was definitely too risky to start pulling and twisting at it. Besides, she’d overlooked the fact her wrists were locked together.
Then, for a brief moment, she wondered if the vests were real. It was obviously dangerous to drive around in a van with someone wearing a bomb, but maybe they were confident that the vests wouldn’t detonate unless they dialed the programmed cell phone. Still...convincing someone you’d strapped a suicide vest on them was a good way to get them to do whatever you wanted—even if the bombs weren’t real.
Then Lori remembered how Thorne and the others were careful to place the snow tires near them, creating a makeshift blast mat, and that was enough to convince her the vests were real. She rejected any idea of tampering with them. She wasn’t going to gamble with her son’s life.
“Mom?” Billy whispered.
“Shh, honey.”
“Maybe we should yell and scream for help?”
Lori considered it as she shifted next to him.
“That could bring the men right back to us.” Lori brushed his hair.
“Mom, I couldn’t see Sam. What happened to Sam?”
“Shh. I bet he got out through his door. I think I forgot to lock it. You know he’s a big baby around strangers, so he probably ran over to Ward and Violet’s house.”
“Do you think Dad’s going to bring help?”
“We can pray he does. Don’t worry, sweetie. Someone will help us, or we’ll help ourselves. We’ll think of something.”
But what?
A new wave of panic began rippling in the pit of
Lori’s stomach. As her eyes swept the van’s interior, she thought of the man named Thorne and what he’d spat at her.
“You deserve what’s going to happen.”
Lori didn’t understand what he’d meant. She hadn’t recognized any of their voices, their mannerisms, their body types. Nothing. So who were they, and why did they talk as if they knew her?
They seemed young, and she wondered if they were military types—experts in explosives, maybe?
But why us?
There were plenty of other, bigger banks in the city they could have chosen. What made them choose Dan’s? The thought of Dan had her stomach roiling again—shouldn’t he have gotten them their money by now? Lori held back her tears, remembering how they’d been arguing for the past few days. All because she’d had a glass of wine at the Coopers’ party because she thought she could handle it.
Dan hadn’t said anything; it was just a look that he’d given her. One that had told her she’d let him down. She’d been hurt by it and lashed back at him when they were alone.
“Get off my back! I don’t need you to babysit me anymore!”
But the truth of it was, she knew he was watching out for her, taking care of her. After all she’d put him through, after Tim, after everything. Dan always stood by her. Always had her back.
The last thing he’d said to her before they’d been separated: “Lori, did they hurt you?”
Oh, God, Dan, I’m so sorry. What if I never see you again, never have the chance to tell you that I love you?
Lori searched the ceiling, trying not to lose control in front of her son.
What did they do with you, Dan?
Lori brushed Billy’s hair, thinking back to having been driven around in the night. They’d been on the road for hours—it must have been hundreds of miles—but how would she know if they’d only gone in circles to confuse her?
She tried to remember if she heard the hum of expressways, the rhythmic clicking of a bridge or the echoing of a tunnel. But it was useless. She had no idea where they might be.
Holding Billy next to her, Lori watched the red lights blinking on the bomb vests. She’d seen videos on news reports of suicide bombers—“We caution you, the images you are about to see are graphic and disturbing”—she’d seen how they obliterated a human being, and those images pushed her back through time to when she was...sitting in the street covered with Tim’s blood, helpless to do anything...
