The time stamp was 1:52:13.
He disappeared behind the helium truck at the 1:52:46 mark.
At the 1:54:03 mark, a new man appeared in a Macy’s yellow slicker. Haddox clicked keys and the frame froze.
“You believe it’s the same guy?” Donovan leaned in, suddenly immersed in the video.
“Aye,” Haddox confirmed. “Same body build. Same gait when he walks. See how he slightly favors his left foot over his right?”
“So he’s familiar with Macy’s and their procedures.” Eve circled to Haddox’s right.
Haddox focused the screen. “Now watch this.”
The man in the Macy’s yellow slicker moved forward. His face was still obscured—but his body movements were those of a hunter stalking his prey.
Slow. Measured. Stealthy.
When he was within eight feet of the podium, he stopped. Waited.
“When did Commissioner Donovan start speaking?” Eve asked.
“He begins moving toward the podium at one-fifty-six p.m.,” Haddox replied. He hit some more keys and zoomed in on the area surrounding Molly.
The guy in the Macy’s rain slicker waited on the left.
The commissioner took the stage in the middle.
The crowd began rumbling to the right. They continued until the 2:11 mark. A guy in a hoodie raised his hand. It looked like a signal to the crowd. Because the moment the fist pumped into the air, shots rang out, the commissioner was hit, and rioters took over.
Something else happened, too. At the same instant that the guy’s fist pumped into the air, the man in the yellow Macy’s slicker sprang into action. He closed the gap between himself and his prey in 4.8 seconds.
Allie was standing there. Frozen. Stunned.
She didn’t seem to notice when this man approached behind her. Then enveloped her, taking her into his arms, before they vanished into the crowd.
“Amazing how a change of perspective can change the story.” Haddox waited for the implication to sink in. Not just for the commissioner—but for everyone in the room.
The single frame had shown one man. Striking alone. Taking advantage, in the midst of the chaos.
Haddox’s video, which had been created by merging multiple frames of view, showed something else entirely. The fist pump had been a signal. Allie’s kidnapper had expected it. The assault on the commissioner and the taking of his daughter had been linked.
“My God,” the commissioner breathed. “The bastard knew exactly what was going to happen.”
Chapter 22
350 Riverside Drive, Vidocq Headquarters
Donovan looked at Eve like he’d just received a sucker punch, right in the gut. Then he swallowed hard. Recovered himself. Mumbled, “Excuse me a moment. I have to take care of something.” Started furiously typing a message into his phone.
Eli whistled under his breath. “That job’s going to cost you your child. Sure hope it’s worth it.”
Donovan stared up at him, unbelieving. “Three and a half million people are depending on me tomorrow. How many are depending on you?”
Eve was aware that it was suddenly becoming hot in the room. Even she was having difficulty breathing. “Allie’s kidnapping was choreographed, perfectly timed to coincide with the attack on you. Which raises the question: Is it personal? Or is it tied to the parade?”
“We have multiple credible threats against tomorrow’s parade. But the primary ones targeted my own officers. Certainly not the public. Not my own child.”
“Based on the evidence we’ve seen so far, my opinion is that it’s personal,” Haddox ventured.
Donovan surrendered to the instincts that were ingrained in him after more than two decades as a professional. “Opinion? I’ve got no use for opinions. But I can envision multiple reasons why Allie may have been targeted.”
Eve’s jaw tightened. She understood the tremendous pressure he was under, but there was something about his manner that Eve found vaguely patronizing, if not outright bullying. He wasn’t used to being questioned—and it was beginning to show. She ticked the reasons off on her fingers. “He’s looking for ransom. He’s looking for revenge. Or he’s looking for any young girl, and Allie fit the bill.”
The commissioner flinched.
Haddox arched an eyebrow. “Meaning he’s a greedy bastard, a cop hater, or a pervert.”
“With a solid working knowledge of Macy’s inflation zone procedure as well as the police protest,” Eli added.
“It’s got to be a cop hater,” the commissioner decided, “based on the timing of the protest. The people who showed up were angry. I personally heard shouts about the Binta case, where that twelve-year-old boy was beaten—allegedly—by four cops in the Bronx. Then there’s the Johnson case, which has just started jury selection; the shooting victim there was fourteen.”
“Allie’s kidnapper may well hate cops,” Eve agreed coolly. “But motives can be complicated. We’ll know more when the ransom call comes.”
“Ransom? I thought we just agreed this was a cop hater.” Donovan draped his arm over the top of the empty chair next to him. The move made him appear relaxed, but by now Eve had figured out that it was all an act. His mind was razor sharp, always working six different angles, but he liked to pretend he wasn’t much of a thinker. It helped him fit in, be just one of the guys, even if he was the top cop.
It also tricked people into underestimating him.
“We didn’t say anything. You jumped to that conclusion all by yourself,” Haddox pointed out.
For a brief moment, the commissioner’s self-control once again threatened to snap. But he kept it in check, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve got to get back to the parade zone; my own officers—and this city—need me. I just want to know you have this under control. And that you promise to bring me back in the moment there’s a significant development.”
“You have an important job to do, Commissioner.” Eve walked to the window. Cracked it open half an inch. “This arrangement will work best if you do your job—and we do ours. We’ll call you when Allie is safe.”
“That’s unacceptable.”
“This is going to take awhile,” Eve said.
“Also unacceptable. You must work faster.”
“I wish we could,” Eve agreed. “But the next step is to wait.”
“WAIT?” His question was a wounded roar. Then, as quickly as he had erupted, he defaulted to charm. “Eve, you know I want you to find my daughter. I trust you implicitly.” Warmth flickered in Donovan’s blue eyes as they searched her own. “But in all my decades of service—in Operation Desert Storm and then as a police officer—waiting is one strategy I’ve never used. I don’t intend to start now.”
“The kidnapper is going to ask for ransom,” Eve said. “He’ll call or text his demands any moment.”
Four pairs of eyes stared at Allie’s phone.
It remained stubbornly silent. Still at the center of the table. Still not ringing.
“That infernal ticking clock, timed for the parade’s end.” The commissioner ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. Lingering flecks of red paint fell like confetti. “Probably because that’s when the security cordon lifts and normal activity resumes.”
Eve decided he sounded like he was trying to convince himself. More or less arguing for the scenario he could cope with best.
“How can you possibly know this is just about ransom?” the commissioner challenged.
Eve breathed in the cold air from the window—and it calmed her. The air was definitely too hot in here. “I could tell you it’s because of my master’s in psychology from Yale. Except you don’t learn this from the textbooks or in the classroom, only from experience. After a decade in the field, I’ve developed a sixth sense for human behavior.” Eve delivered the line with as much confidence as she could muster.
When it came to reading people’s motives, she was one of the best. She understood that the commissioner was a professional used to b
eing in charge. To playing by his own rules and no one else’s. She liked his strong sense of self; in no small measure, it reminded her of Zev. But if he didn’t stop second-guessing everything, she was going to end up seriously disliking the man.
“Let me make it simple,” she said. “He returned Allie’s phone—complete with a ticking clock. This tells us two things. First, he wants to communicate. And second, he has a specific deadline.”
No one made a sound.
“People don’t initiate contact like that unless they want something,” Eve said.
“No one’s called,” Donovan said to Eve. “And we need this to resolve fast.”
Eve understood. It was a rule of thumb for law enforcement: The faster the process, the better the chance for an early resolution. And the earlier the resolution, the better the odds that the victim would survive the experience unharmed.
“They’re waiting just long enough for you to feel desperate. To make it more likely you’ll do whatever they ask,” Eve told him. “That’s a good thing.”
“I don’t follow.” Eli scowled.
“I do,” the commissioner said tersely. “Whoever this is, if he wants something from me, then Allie is more valuable to him alive than dead.”
Chapter 23
Broadway and 104th Street
Mace froze. Then he turned in response to the voice.
Eye contact was made.
Then Mace said, “No way.”
“No way what? I haven’t asked you anything yet.”
“No way to anything you’re going to ask me.”
“Man, don’t you think it’s hard for me to admit I need help? Especially from you.”
“Not gonna happen. Find someone who cares.”
“I need you to come to the natural history museum area with me.”
“You mean the parade zone? Why the hell would I do that? I’m going nowhere with you. Especially not there. Not after they just tried to lock my ass up.”
“It ain’t a request. What if I give you a good reason why?”
Mace sighed—long and deep. “Better be a damn good reason.”
So Frank García gave him one.
Mace listened despite himself, focusing first on the stupid red bandana García always wore for luck. Then on the intersection ahead of them.
Smudges of smoke drifted out of storm sewers in the street. He could smell roasting nuts from the vendor another block south. Some homeless guy, a neon-blue plastic bag on his back, was rustling for tin cans and plastic bottles as a frazzled woman got out of a cab, hauling grocery bags from Zabar’s. Fairway. Citarella. The Upper West Side trifecta of gourmet goods.
Different people, different lives, different problems. But nothing like the real problem he’d just heard.
Dammit. What kind of guy was he, anyway?
Apparently not the kind to walk away. “I’ll come with you, Frankie,” Mace found himself agreeing. “But we have to bring Eve up to speed first.”
Chapter 24
350 Riverside Drive, Vidocq Headquarters
Commissioner Logan Donovan disappeared in the blink of an eye, summoned downtown for a police emergency. Eve had known from his tone that something was wrong.
She, Eli, and Haddox were alone. They stared at Allie’s phone. Its clock was ticking down.
Fifteen hours, 46 minutes, 58 seconds.
Haddox cleared his throat. “So you think it’s about money. Ransom. Simple and uncomplicated.”
“It’s the motive in the vast majority of kidnapping cases, and it comes with a deadline—which he’s already given us,” Eve pointed out.
“Why haven’t they called?” Eli had found apple cider in the fridge downstairs. He took a sip—then paused, mug still in mid-air.
“Maybe because they’re busy talking with Allie, trying to find out where the commissioner vacations and what kind of car he drives and what he bought her for Christmas last year. Details to give an idea of how much cash to ask for.” Haddox arched a brow at Eli, seemed amused.
“Does make me wonder.” Eli took a seat. “Why would they think the commissioner has much to offer? I know he has an important job, but in terms of salary? He’s just another civil servant. An administrator appointed by the mayor. I’ve had plenty of buddies who worked for the city, and not a single one of them had two nickels to rub together.”
“His salary’s a matter of public record,” Eve said. “Easy for anyone to find out.”
“Which I already did, and Eli is right,” Haddox said. “The commissioner makes decent money but not enough for anybody to call him a rich man. He’s certainly not pulling in a wage sufficient for a significant ransom.”
Eli looked up from his screen. “I admit it’s not my expertise, but I thought cops—or, more typically, the FBI—handled the ransom money in situations like this. That they kept funds on hand to use for the kidnapper’s demands.”
“They do,” Eve agreed. “They’ve got suitcases of it. But if they use real bills, they’re marked. Even more commonly, they just use blank paper. And in my experience, either option can make kidnappers fly off the handle. Nobody likes being tricked.”
“So what’s the alternative? Actually give them the real stuff?” Eli brushed away a couple crumbs stuck to his shirt from a mushroom tart he’d sampled downstairs.
“Any reason this kidnapper would think the commissioner’s good for serious dough?” Haddox asked casually.
“I can check.” Eli popped a stick of gum in his mouth. “See if he came into money recently. Maybe won the lotto? Maybe had a rich uncle die?”
“Or, I believe, a wife,” Haddox surmised, looking at Eve.
Eve noticed how his blue eyes were so different from the commissioner’s. The latter’s were bright with energy but layered with sorrow. Haddox’s were nothing but irrepressible mischief. The kind women fell for in an instant, in spite of themselves—though they suffered a broken heart when those eyes invariably strayed. It gave Eve an idea.
“Maybe there’s even a more personal reason—and he wants Donovan to pay?” she offered. “Somebody Donovan pissed off. He fired them or didn’t hire them or gave them a puny Christmas bonus.”
“He’s spent the last decade working for this city in one capacity or another—and I’m positive that he’s made his share of political enemies,” Haddox said. “If there’s a dark secret or skeleton in his closet, then I’ll find it. Frankly, I’ll enjoy digging through the git’s dirty laundry.”
Eve opened her mouth in retort—but never actually said a word.
Because in that instant, Allie’s phone started ringing.
Chapter 25
350 Riverside Drive, Vidocq Headquarters
Allie’s phone continued to ring.
Haddox hit a button and his program promptly initiated a trace—but they still scribbled down the number all the same.
It was ten digits. The first three of them 347. A local cell number.
Eve picked up the phone and passed it to Haddox. “Be Donovan!”
“Who’s this?” He tried to flatten his Irish vowels as much as possible.
Silence. Finally, a girl’s voice, hesitating. “Um, who’s this?”
Allie? He mouthed to Eve.
She shook her head as if to answer Don’t think so.
“This is Donovan,” he answered.
“Allie’s father?” Shy. Uncertain. High-pitched. “Can I talk to Allie, please?”
“What’s this about?” Haddox asked.
“I’m Sara. Allie’s lab partner in biology.” There was a nervous tremor in her voice. “I know Allie’s busy with family stuff, but we’ve got an assignment due Monday after Thanksgiving, and I wanted to ask her—”
Haddox cut her off. “You haven’t heard from Allie today, have you?”
“No…not since Spanish class yesterday.”
He peppered her with more questions. Allie’s routines. Friends. Habits.
But Sara called Allie the “lonely girl.” No real frien
ds. Unknown habits.
A dead end.
—
Eve watched as Haddox placed Allie’s phone back in the center of the table. He slowly let his fingertips rest lightly on the device. As though his touch might spark some connection to the missing girl.
His thumb inadvertently hit the home button, activating the lock screen—where the image of Allie, bound and frightened, taunted them from afar.
The phone remained silent.
Its clock was still ticking down.
“What about blackmail?” Eli hazarded.
“Someone takes his daughter because they want to stipulate what deputies get hired? Dictate his policy on stop-and-frisk? Don’t think so, mate.” Haddox shook his head.
“Or, going back to the shooting, who might benefit if the commissioner had been taken out of commission? No pun intended.” Eve closed her eyes, considered the different threads.
Some people were highly visual thinkers who had to see possibilities to believe them. Others could only think in chronological steps. Eve thought in terms of connections. She collected details and possibilities—and worked to spin them into a pattern that made sense.
The phone still didn’t ring—or trill to announce a text.
“The NYPD’s got threats on file from everybody,” Haddox said. “Political activists with a grudge against city officials. Celebrity hangers-on. Former employees of corporate sponsors who ended on bad terms. Individuals who’ve been hurt by rogue balloons. And the commissioner’s particularly worried about telephone threats against police officers this year. We’ve got too many options. Not enough time.”
The phone still didn’t ring. Its silence was now downright maddening.
“Haddox, I believe you’ve pulled everything there is to know about the parade route and the security surrounding it?” Eve asked. She was dashing off notes and talking at the same time.
Whistleblower Page 12
