by Jack Rogan
Jane reached up and slammed the trunk. No way was he getting her in there. He grabbed both her arms and drove her against the rear of the car. Pain shot through her back. She tore her right hand free, curled her fingers into a fist, and punched him with all her strength. Blood spurted from his nose, but he hit her back so hard she thought something cracked in her jaw.
She screamed as loud as she could, in both fury and alarm. As he grabbed her hands again, she pushed off from the car and started kicking him. He shielded his balls but she got him in the shin several times—all the while wishing she’d worn anything but sandals.
Leyla had started to cry, then wail, and then scream, face turning red. As she did, a man got out of the driver’s side of the black sedan. Dark-skinned, hair clipped down to stubble, with a scar on his left cheek, he looked like a killer or a lawyer; it was hard to tell which.
“Stop fucking around and get the goddamn baby!” he snapped.
Jane turned to ice inside. She’d thought rape, murder—thought that the scruffy, blue-eyed man wanted to do terrible things to her—but they wanted Leyla.
“Not a chance,” she hissed, reaching toward the open car door, and the baby.
That was her mistake. The guy twisted her hair in his hand and yanked back hard, hauled her around and drove her face into the back of the car. He lifted her by the hair, ready to do it again, but she stomped her heel down on his foot and drove her elbow back into his gut, and then she started to scream again.
“Help me! They’re trying to steal the baby! Please, someone—”
Jane heard the other guy shouting in alarm, heard the roar of another engine approaching, and she had a flicker of hope that her cries would be answered. But then the son of a bitch renewed his grip and drove her face-first into the back of the Accord, and she collapsed to the driveway.
She tried to rise, but the world tilted around her. She saw her attackers jump into the sedan, got a last glimpse of the African-American guy behind the wheel, and heard the tires squeal as it tore away. For an instant she wondered if she had blacked out long enough for them to take Leyla. But then a police car skidded to the curb and an officer jumped out, barking something into his radio as he came toward her, even as the bastards got away.
“Are you all right?” the cop called.
Jane tried to answer, but she had held on to consciousness as long as she could, and now darkness crowded at the edges of her vision.
Even unconscious, she could hear the baby scream.
Cait’s cell phone had beeped twice while she was on the phone with Sergeant Bryce, but when she checked it before leaving the office, she found that it had died. In the car, she searched around for her car charger before realizing it was in the trunk, zipped inside her gym bag. She debated retrieving it, but decided that by the time she found a convenient spot to pull over, she’d be nearly back at her aunt and uncle’s house. It gave her an odd feeling to be disconnected from the world, but Leyla was in good hands and, after all, people had managed to survive thousands of years before the invention of the cell phone.
Still, she hurried back to Medford, driving just a little faster than she had on the way in. Despite her rationalizations, she did not like being cut off, and a certain amount of trepidation had settled into her heart.
When she turned onto Badger Road and saw the police cars parked in front of her aunt and uncle’s house, she felt all the blood drain from her face. Dread seized her, and yet somehow she found herself slowing down, letting the car coast, staring at the pair of police cars—one in the driveway and one at the curb. Despite the heat of the day, gooseflesh rose on her arms and the small hairs stood up on the back of her neck as she pulled to the curb behind a police car.
Trying not to panic, she thought back to her conversation with Sergeant Bryce. He’d get the Medford Police to send a patrol car by to see if the Audi had returned to Badger Road. Maybe they had stopped in to confirm her story with Auntie Jane and Uncle George. That made sense. Sergeant Bryce had been so nice—Nice Bryce, she thought crazily—that she could see them doing that, going the extra mile.
Or something awful had happened.
Cait slammed the door and bolted across the lawn and then the driveway, racing up the front steps. She yanked open the screen door and stepped inside.
An enormous bear of a man in a police uniform stood by the fireplace, holding Leyla in his arms. He had lifted her up so that she could see herself in the mirror, and both of them were smiling, the pudgy cop waggling his eyebrows at his own reflection, trying to make Leyla laugh.
Relief flooded Cait when she saw her daughter safe and smiling. But then she took in the rest of the tableau on display in the living room, and a knot formed in her gut. Jane sat on the sofa, her face swollen and bruised and her lip split. A bloody bandage covered most of her left cheek and a small butterfly bandage tugged closed a cut on her forehead. Her left eye had gone bloodshot red.
George sat next to her, holding her hand, even as he chatted with an auburn-haired woman in a dark suit who perched on the edge of the coffee table. A handsome, gray-haired man—also in a suit—sat in a chair opposite the sofa, and behind him stood a second uniformed officer. But Cait was so stunned by Jane’s appearance that these other details made only vague impressions.
As she entered, all conversation ceased and everyone looked at her.
“Auntie?” Cait said.
“It’s all right, Caitlin,” Jane replied, her voice a mumble thanks to her swollen lips. “She’s okay. I wouldn’t let them—”
She began to stand, but George stopped her.
“Settle down, Jane. You need to stay calm,” he said.
Cait glanced around at the officers and detectives—for the man and woman in suits were obviously police as well—and found that all eyes were upon her. Leyla had heard her voice and now reached toward her, starting to cry in frustration that the huge bear of a cop was not carrying her to her mother.
“What happened?” Cait demanded. “Oh, my God, what’s going on?”
She crossed to the big cop, afraid for a moment that he would refuse to give Leyla to her, but then the man handed the baby over and Cait cradled her daughter against her chest. As she did, the auburn-haired woman stood up from the coffee table, picked imaginary lint off of her jacket, and fixed Cait with a grim look.
“Your aunt was assaulted, Ms. McCandless—” the woman began.
“They wanted Leyla,” Jane said. “But I fought, honey. I wouldn’t let them have her.”
Cait clapped a hand over her mouth, feeling like she might vomit. Her breath came in short, stuttery gasps against her palm.
George rubbed Jane’s hands, as though he was trying to warm them. It made no sense; the temperature in the house must be eighty-five, even with the cross-breeze from the open windows and screen door.
“A man attacked her while she was unloading the groceries,” George said, looking at Cait. “Right there in the driveway. Another guy drove up in a car.”
“I thought they wanted me at first,” Jane said, staring wide-eyed at Cait. “But then one of them said something about the baby, and I knew, and then I …”
Jane started to cry, and that was when, finally, Cait felt her own tears begin to burn at the corners of her eyes. She kissed Leyla’s head and cheeks and then rushed over to the sofa, where she sat next to Jane.
“Thank you, Auntie. Oh, God, thank you so much. But what about you?”
“The EMTs wanted to take your aunt to the hospital,” the female detective said. “It’s likely she has a concussion. But she refused to leave until you came back for your daughter.”
A torrent of emotion flooded Cait. Fear for Leyla, gratitude, and worry for her aunt.
“Go!” Cait said. “I’ve got her now, Auntie. Please, go. I’ll follow in my car. Or I can drive us all.”
“Actually, Ms. McCandless, Detective Monteforte and I would like to ask you a few questions,” said the male detective, speaking up for the first tim
e.
“We’ll be fine, Caitlin,” George said. “You don’t want to be sitting around the emergency room with Leyla. You should go home. Or wait here, if you like, until we come back.”
“But—”
“I’m going to be all right,” Jane insisted.
Cait blinked, trying to process it all. Auntie Jane would be okay. She could accept that. And, yes, she’d wait here for them to come home. But … the cops wanted to talk to her?
Of course they did. Someone had tried to snatch Leyla, and they wanted to find out if it was random or if they’d specifically targeted her baby. Thoughts tumbled through her mind in quick succession. With the mysterious surveillance on Badger Road and after her conversation with Sergeant Bryce, she couldn’t help thinking that, for whatever reason, this hadn’t been a random abduction attempt.
“Okay,” she told the detectives. “Whatever you need.”
Jane squeezed her arm, leaned over and kissed Leyla’s head, and then kissed Cait’s cheek before standing up.
“Officer Parker will drive you to the hospital,” Detective Monteforte said.
The uniformed cop who had been standing behind the other detective responded to this, moving toward the door. George reached down to gently brush Leyla’s thin hair with his fingers. Then he steadied Jane as they moved around the coffee table and followed Officer Parker from the room.
“I’ll be here when you get back,” Cait called after them.
Then she and Leyla were alone with the police. The burly officer over by the fireplace busied himself looking at family photos on the mantel while the gray-haired man gazed at his partner expectantly.
“I’m Detective Anne Monteforte,” the woman said, taking a seat on the sofa. “This is Detective Jarman, and the sasquatch who had your daughter when you came in is Officer Grant. I think Grant’s available for babysitting, by the way.”
Cait smiled politely at this attempt at humor.
“Why don’t you sit down, Ms. McCandless,” Detective Jarman said.
He had strong features, and his skin was so dark his face looked carved from cherrywood. Though he’d said little, his very presence had a reassuring weight to it. Yet it did feel a little odd that he, a stranger, was inviting her to take a seat in her aunt and uncle’s living room.
“Call me Cait, please,” she said, as she settled onto the sofa beside Detective Monteforte and sat Leyla on her lap. The baby played with Cait’s fingers, trying to bring them to her mouth to be gnawed on. She had a new tooth on the way.
“Cait,” Monteforte said. “We’ve been over the day’s events with your aunt. I want you to understand right up front that we’ve seen this sort of thing before. We’re also aware of the call you placed to Sergeant Bryce earlier this morning. In fact, it’s thanks to that call that things didn’t go even worse here today. Bryce sent a patrol car to see if there were any suspicious vehicles parked on the street, and as Officer Grant came down the street, he saw the attack in progress.”
Cait turned to Grant. “You saved them?”
Grant shrugged. “Right place, right time.”
“Thank you,” Cait said. She kissed Leyla’s head. “Thank you so much.”
“The odds are that this was a random thing,” Monteforte continued. “Even if these guys were watching during the night and this morning, it’s likely they were looking for a target, for a woman with a baby—”
“Why?” Cait asked.
Jarman shrugged. “I can think of a few reasons, all ugly. But the point is that we also have to consider the possibility that it wasn’t random. So we need to ask you some questions.”
“Shoot.”
Jarman leaned forward in his chair. “Your uncle told us that the baby … that Leyla’s father is deceased.”
Cait nodded, grateful that she wouldn’t have to tell the story. “Yes.”
“What about his family? Is it possible that any of … I’m sorry, what was his name?” Monteforte asked.
“Nizam Qadir.”
“Right.” Monteforte went on, “Is it possible any of Mr. Qadir’s relatives might think they ought to have custody of Leyla? Grandparents? Anyone?”
Cait glanced back and forth between the two detectives, blinking in surprise. This had never even occurred to her, and the idea startled her. On her lap, Leyla had managed to get the knuckle of her mother’s right index finger into her mouth and nibbled it hard with her single tooth.
“I really don’t think so,” Cait said. “I mean, Nizam’s parents and brother are dead. As far as I know his two sisters are still alive, but they’re all in Iraq. His younger sister and I write letters. I’ve sent pictures of the baby, but she’s never said anything.”
“So it’s not impossible,” Monteforte said, glancing at Jarman.
“I guess not. But I’d say it’s pretty unlikely.”
Jarman sat back in his chair. “I agree it’s far-fetched. So let’s talk about A-Train.”
Again, the line of questioning mystified her.
“A-Train?” she said, hearing the emptiness of her own voice. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Cait felt sick. Someone had tried to take her child. The thought filled her with a horror she had never before experienced—not even in Iraq. She could endure any physical torment that left her alive, but the idea that someone had tried to take Leyla was ripping her apart. And the cops were going off on tangents that seemed useless to her.
Monteforte cocked her head to one side, studying Cait. “You humiliated the man last night. It’s obvious he’s capable of violence—”
“Capable of convincing two other guys to beat the shit out of a middle-aged woman and try to snatch a baby? My aunt saw the video from last night. She’d have recognized A-Train if he was one of them. And, yeah, the guy’s capable of slapping his wife around, definitely, but what was he going to do if he got my daughter? Kill her? Blackmail me? I don’t see it. You need to focus on those cars. I tried approaching the one this morning, and it took off, but I got the plate number. I gave it to Sergeant Bryce. He was going to run it.”
“He’s still working on it,” Jarman said.
“Hang on,” Monteforte said, rising from the sofa. “I’ll check in with him, see what he’s turned up.”
She went into the kitchen, leaving Cait and Leyla alone with Jarman and the silent Officer Grant. Leyla had started to fuss. Cait kissed her daughter’s head, shushing her, and bounced her a little on her lap.
“We’re not going to keep you much longer,” Detective Jarman said.
Leyla started to cry, and Cait was relieved for the excuse to get up.
“Sorry, Detective, but it’s time for her bottle.”
When Cait had started working, she had pumped breast milk for Jane to give the baby, but within days of taking a bottle for the first time, Leyla had started to lose interest in breast-feeding. The milk didn’t come fast enough for her and she’d grow frustrated and cry, refusing to latch on. Cait would have liked to nurse the baby longer, but with her schedule and Leyla’s fussing, she’d had no choice but to move entirely to formula just to keep up with the baby’s demands.
As she stood, Detective Monteforte stepped back into the room, just completing her phone call. Leyla would have to manage without her bottle for a couple of minutes longer.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Yeah, good. Much appreciated,” Monteforte said. She ended the call and palmed her cell, gazing first at Cait and then at Jarman.
Cait could see the doubt in her eyes, mixed with confusion and disappointment.
“Anything?” Jarman asked.
Monteforte addressed her reply to Cait. “I spoke with Sergeant Bryce. He ran the license plate that you gave him but he came up with nothing. There’s no plate with that number in Massachusetts or New Hampshire.”
“It’s a Mass plate. And the number I gave him was off that car. I’m a hundred percent sure of that.”
“Maybe you wrote it down wrong?” Jarman suggested.
Cait sh
ook her head. “I didn’t.”
Monteforte clipped her phone into the leather sheath on her belt. “That’s a problem, Cait. There isn’t a car on the road with that plate number.”
Cait held Leyla tightly. The baby seemed to weigh more, as if she had somehow become more solid. She tried to let the anger flow out of her, breathing evenly, not wanting to upset her little girl.
“There is,” she said, biting down on the words. “I saw it. Unless the plate was a fake.”
Monteforte and Jarman glanced at each other, and Cait wanted to scream.
“I know what I saw,” she said. “When the Audi tore out of here this morning, I got a face full of exhaust fumes. I can still smell them. And I wrote the number down correctly. The fact you can’t find the registration should get you more curious, not make you assume I’m delusional.”
“We’re not discounting what you’re saying, Cait,” Monteforte replied. “But as we explained, we’ve got to investigate every avenue that might lead us to the answers we’re all looking for.”
Cait took a deep breath and let it out. “I hope you do, Detective,” she said. “Investigate every avenue, I mean. We’re not imagining all of this. And the A-Train thing … that’s a waste of your time.”
“And yet we have to talk to him,” Jarman said.
Cait uttered a sound that was half sigh and half chuckle. “Great. Have fun with that. Are you going to have someone watching for these cars, in case they come back?”
Jarman narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring. She had apparently pushed his buttons, but she was glad. Maybe it would wake him up a little.
“Officer Grant will be in his car, right out front, for a couple of hours. If you decide to go home during that time, he’ll follow you and enter first.”
Cait frowned, unconsciously rocking Leyla, the way she did whenever she wanted the baby to take a nap.
“Do you think I should be afraid to go home?” she asked.
“We’re not saying that,” Monteforte jumped in. “Not at all. Detective Jarman was just offering, in case you were concerned.”
Cait glanced down at Leyla. “We’ll be fine.”
