“Now that we’re absolutely clear about that, how’s it going there? How do you think Margo is doing with the show?” Eliza asked. “I thought she did well on the little bit I caught yesterday morning.”
“Ah, she’s all right,” said Linus. “But she isn’t you. Don’t worry. Your job is secure.”
“That’s the last thing on my mind, Linus.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re relieved that these kidnappers have made themselves known. Now nobody is going to say you were in on it. But you know, you could really help Margo out by letting her interview you anyway,” suggested Linus. “Think of what a coup that would be for her, how much exposure she’d get.”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“I’m just saying…”
“How about this?” Eliza suggested. “As soon as I have Janie back, I promise that the first interview I give will be to Margo and KTA.”
“Not just the first interview,” said Linus. “The only interview.”
When Linus hung up the phone, he called Annabelle over. “I want you and B.J. to go up to Kinko’s and get the manager to talk, see what you can find out.”
Annabelle looked at him quizzically. “I thought we weren’t going to report on this yet,” she said.
“Yeah,” said Linus. “But I want us to have the goods for when we do.”
CHAPTER 79
At 9:15 A.M., Kathy Joyal called to say that the money was ready to be picked up whenever it was needed. By 9:30, the FBI had a description of the man who had used the fax machine at Kinko’s the night before. According to the store manager, the guy was a fairly regular customer, usually using the all-night photocopying facilities.
“As a matter of fact,” said the manager, “I think he’s used his credit card to pay those other times.”
CHAPTER 80
It was her turn to open up and bring in the doughnuts. Ruth Wilson balanced her coffee on top of the Krispy Kreme box she held with one hand while she locked the door of her Escort with the other. She noted with surprise the other car in the parking lot. Carol wasn’t supposed to come until this afternoon since she had worked last night.
When she got to the front door of the Urgentcare, it was already unlocked. She went inside. The lights were on.
“Carol?” she called.
Ruth put the doughnut box down on the reception desk and called out again. “Anybody here?”
She took the plastic top off the paper cup and took a sip of coffee. Ruth noticed Carol’s bag, placed on a chair.
“Carol? Are you here?”
As she rounded the reception desk, Ruth slipped but caught herself from falling. She looked down and saw the large pool of blood that covered the linoleum floor.
CHAPTER 81
Passing through the reporters still camped out in front of the house, Stephanie Quick made her way to the front door and was granted entry.
“I had another dream last night,” she told Eliza, Mack, and the FBI agents.
“Oh, yeah?” said Agent Gebhardt. “What was it this time?”
Stephanie ignored Gebhardt’s tone. “In the dream Janie was near water.”
“Now, that’s specific, isn’t it?” asked Gebhardt. “River, stream, lake, reservoir, ocean, swimming pool, or bathtub?”
“It was some sort of natural body of water,” said Stephanie, ignoring the agent’s sarcasm again. “And the water was moving. Rushing, really.”
“Anything else?” asked Gebhardt with impatience.
“Yes,” said Stephanie. “I’m getting a feeling about the letter M.”
Agent Gebhardt bit her lip to keep herself from making another disparaging comment.
“Do you see kidnappers asking for ransom?” Eliza asked quietly.
Stephanie shook her head. “Not yet. No.”
“Well, that’s strange, because they have,” Gebhardt said smugly.
The psychic looked puzzled. “No, I don’t see that. I only get a feeling about the letter M and Janie near rushing water.”
As Eliza escorted Stephanie to the door, she said, “You caught me totally off-guard yesterday when you said my husband was glad I still wore the same perfume.”
Stephanie nodded. “I don’t know how I know these things, Eliza, but I do.”
CHAPTER 82
The cluttered apartment above a delicatessen on Ninth Avenue was not where he had imagined being at this point in his life. But so many things had not gone as planned.
He looked at the stacks of books and papers scattered around the floor and sighed heavily. He had tried so hard over the years, suffered so many rejections, worked so many miserable jobs just to pay the rent, all the while holding on to his dream. It was a dream that he had slowly come to realize wasn’t going to come true.
In the solitary life he led, he had too much time to think. That was a writer’s blessing and his curse. The time to daydream led to the concoction of all sorts of fictional scenarios that, when transferred to the page, could entertain, enlighten, and delight. But in the downtime, when the mind had time to ruminate on the disappointments and unfairness of life—that’s when he got into trouble.
The piles of rejected manuscripts showed how hard he had tried. He’d put every ounce of himself into his stories but no literary agent wanted to take him on as a client. He’d e-mailed pitch letters, sometimes even attaching his manuscript, directly to the publishing houses but his proposals were all met with letters of rejection. Nobody was interested, nobody wanted to take a chance on him.
It wasn’t fair. No matter how hard he tried, he hadn’t been able to catch a break. But in the past few days, an opportunity had presented itself and, in his desperation and anger, he had used his fertile imagination to come up with a plan to capitalize on that opportunity.
When he turned on the television, the news at noon led with the Janie Blake story, but no mention was made of any ransom demand.
Was it possible they hadn’t gotten his fax?
CHAPTER 83
The taxi stopped at the corner of Seventy-second Street. Annabelle paid the driver and got out. While B.J. unloaded his gear from the trunk, she looked in the direction of the Kinko’s store. There were three dark SUVs double-parked out front, unmarked vehicles that Annabelle instantly recognized as belonging to law enforcement.
When B.J. joined her on the sidewalk, Annabelle motioned in the direction of the SUVs.
“Feds,” said B.J.
“Uh-huh,” said Annabelle. “Better get the exterior shots now.” B.J. made the necessary adjustments, lifted the camera to his shoulder and began recording, taking close-ups of the Kinko’s signs, long shots of the building, and pans of the sidewalk and street out front, capturing images of pedestrians and the FBI vehicles.
“I don’t think we should go inside until we see the agents leave,” said Annabelle. “I doubt they’d welcome us questioning the Kinko’s staff. We don’t want to risk being thrown out and told to stay out.”
They positioned themselves in the alcove of a building across the street and waited until they saw several men and one woman, dressed in conservative business attire, come hurriedly out of the building and get into the SUVs.
“Let’s go,” said Annabelle. She crossed the sidewalk, stepped into the street, and lifted her arm to hail a cab.
“What are you doing?” B.J. called after her. “I thought we were supposed to get the interview with the manager.”
“We are,” said Annabelle as a cab glided to a stop in front of them. “But I have a feeling we should follow those FBI guys instead.”
CHAPTER 84
We have the name and address of the person who sent the fax,” said Agent Gebhardt. “Our people are on their way to the apartment right now.”
Eliza closed her eyes and prayed with an intensity more powerful than she had at any other time in her life. She thought of the stolen minutes she’d spent in the hospital chapel when John was dying. She realized now that, though her initial prayers then had begged God not t
o let her husband die, those prayers had evolved as she became resigned to the fact that John wasn’t going to make it. In the end, she prayed for him to be free from pain, she prayed for him to have a peaceful death, and she prayed for the strength to go on, have their baby, and live without him.
This time was different. Janie was her only child. Janie didn’t have a cruel and vicious disease. Janie had been taken from her, and if the kidnappers simply let her go, or the FBI rescued her, all could be well again. If the strength of her prayers might actually determine her daughter’s and Mrs. Garcia’s fate, Eliza felt she had to focus with every fiber of her being.
It was all she could do.
Agent Gebhardt signaled to Agent Laggie. He followed her out to the kitchen.
“This is too easy,” she said in a low voice as she poured some coffee.
Laggie took the cup she offered him. “I’ve been thinking the same thing myself,” he said.
CHAPTER 85
Feeling her way in the darkness, Mrs. Garcia inched toward the steps. She jumped in fright as something lightly grazed her forehead.
What was that?
She stood for a minute and composed herself. Then, slowly, she raised her arms and groped tentatively through the black air. Her fingers touched a string. When she pulled on it, a bald, low-watt bulb barely lit the underground room.
Unaccustomed to any light, Mrs. Garcia momentarily squeezed her eyes shut, but she gradually adjusted and was able to see the place where she was held captive. There was not much to the space, a square, windowless room with walls made of two-by-fours spaced about two feet apart. In between the wooden struts were sandbags piled from floor to ceiling. The shelves that lined the walls were mostly bare save for a few empty baskets and the mason jars she had felt earlier. Ravenous, she considered opening one of them now to savor its contents but, not knowing how long they had been stored down there, she thought better of it. Hunger was preferable to food poisoning.
She noticed there were two pipes, one at the ceiling and the other down near the floor, probably designed to afford ventilation of the gases given off by the fruits and vegetables once stored in the baskets. Mrs. Garcia was relieved to realize she’d have enough oxygen.
Certain the only way to get out was through the trapdoor at the top of the stairs, Mrs. Garcia climbed the first few wooden steps. She positioned herself beneath the door, crouched down, and then sprang up, ramming her shoulder upward. She winced with pain but the door did not budge.
Mrs. Garcia forced herself to try again, but this time one of the rotted steps gave way beneath her and she crashed to the cement floor.
CHAPTER 86
The smell of corned beef and vinegar permeated the hot air in the narrow stairwell as the FBI agents carefully climbed upward.
When they got to the landing, they separated, some to one side of the door, some to the other. A few positioned themselves across the hall and on the stairs. All were determined that no one inside the apartment would escape.
He was sitting at his desk, preparing his next letter, a list of instructions on where and how the ransom money should be delivered. He went through several drafts, not happy with any of them.
He sat back in his chair and stared at the computer screen. There was so much riding on this, his future, really. He had to get it right. Two million dollars would enable him to get out of this dump, leave his lousy job, and devote himself full-time to his writing. After a while he might even be able to use this experience in his fiction. What a story that would be. Hollywood would surely come calling on that one. He would finally live his dream.
The persistent banging at the door wrenched him from his reverie.
CHAPTER 87
The people who passed by on Ninth Avenue scarcely glanced at the television cameraman and his female companion staked out on the sidewalk in front of the delicatessen.
“That’s one of the things I love most about New York,” said B.J. “Nobody’s all that impressed with anything. They couldn’t give a damn what we’re doing.”
“They’d be impressed if they thought that Janie Blake was inside and the FBI were in there trying to rescue her,” said Annabelle.
B.J. smiled. “God, I hope I’ll be getting pictures of her any second,” he said. “And it’ll be exclusive video to boot. Nobody else is out here. I can picture Linus jumping up and down with glee.”
“When they start coming out, you’re on your own,” said Annabelle. “Because, as soon as I see Janie, I’m going to get on the phone and call Eliza.”
The door opened. An FBI agent came out of the building, walked to one of the SUVs, and opened the back door. He was followed by a cluster of agents who surrounded a disheveled-looking man, holding his arms as they escorted him to the vehicle.
B.J.’s camera recorded their movements.
Annabelle moved closer to the doorway, eager to view the child being carried safely out of the building. She strained to see if there were more people coming down the stairwell.
There weren’t.
CHAPTER 88
Phil Doyle needed a mental health day or, at least, a mental health afternoon. He deserved one. He worked hard, made a good living, took care of his wife and two sons. But sometimes, he just needed to get away by himself and have some fun.
After lunch, he got his car out of the company garage and started up the West Side Highway. As he drove over the George Washington Bridge, he listened to the radio and heard the latest news on the kidnapping. The FBI had raided the apartment of some guy who had sent a ransom demand. The feds had the guy in custody, but there was no child in the apartment and the authorities were convinced Janie had never been there at all.
An hour and a half later, Phil was in the Poconos, parking his car outside the lodge. He left his cell phone in the car, knowing from experience that there was no service where he was going. He went inside, paid, registered, and signed a waiver that he wouldn’t sue anyone if he got hurt.
“Want walkie-talkies?” asked the man at the desk.
“Nah,” said Phil. “I’d get them if one of my sons was with me, but I’m by myself. I don’t really need one.”
Phil went outside again and boarded the bus that took him up to the meeting post. Once there, Phil had his air tank filled, got his ammunition, and took possession of his rented gun, a Tippmann 98. Though, even in the woods, it was a hot day, Phil pulled the camouflage jumpsuit over his shorts and T-shirt. He’d have a better chance of survival if he blended in with the environment.
Phil was introduced to the man who was going to referee the fight and shook hands with his opponents, the other guys who had come for the same thrill as Phil. Together, they all hiked up to the field.
It wasn’t a field in the agricultural sense, open and uncovered, with no place to hide. Instead, it was an expansive, seemingly boundless area of mountainous terrain covered with tall trees and thick underbrush, full of rocks, caves, and streams. It was in the middle of nowhere and it was a field of war.
Adjusting his safety mask and the baseball cap that covered his head, Phil waited for the horn to blow.
Everybody scrambled, running to find the best position. Phil looked for a spot where he would be hidden, a place where he’d be able to pick off his opponents without their ever knowing what had hit them. He moved from cover to cover, from tree to tree, from rock to ditch to cave, crouching to make himself as small as possible. At each place, he stared through the plastic shield that covered his eyes and managed to get off several shots. But Phil didn’t shoot just for the sake of shooting. He conserved his ammunition, hoping that, when the time was right, he would let loose with a barrage that would annihilate his enemies.
CHAPTER 89
“I shouldn’t be surprised that some misguided individual would actually try to take advantage of this nightmare,” Eliza said softly, “but, at the same time, I just can’t believe it.”
No one else in the kitchen said a word. Mack reached out and put his hand on Eliza’s
shoulder. Katharine and Paul stared down at the table, desolate with disappointment. The FBI agents trained their eyes on the view through the French doors out to the yard. Even Daisy seemed to understand the anguish that permeated the atmosphere in the room. The dog walked up to Eliza and rubbed gently against her mistress’s leg to comfort her.
Eliza bent over and stroked the dog’s golden coat. “You’re a good girl, Daisy,” she whispered. “A good girl.”
The dog looked up at her and Eliza remembered how excited Janie had been when the yellow Lab puppy had arrived in their lives. Eliza had been skeptical about the idea of having a pet at first, but Janie had won her over with her enthusiasm and love for the sweet little dog. As Daisy grew ever larger over the next two years, Janie played with her, cuddled with her, and learned early lessons of responsibility as the child made sure there was water in the dog’s bowl and that she brushed Daisy’s soft coat. Daisy, in turn, allowed herself to be hugged, hard and often. She fetched the plastic toys that Janie threw, followed her young owner around, and watched over her.
“Are you feeling that you didn’t protect our girl, Daisy?” asked Eliza plaintively. “I feel that way, too.”
The dog nuzzled Eliza’s thigh.
“It’s all right, Daisy. It’s got to be all right,” said Eliza, her voice breaking. “But we have to get Janie and Mrs. Garcia back. How are we going to get them back?”
“Do you want to take a call from Annabelle?” Mack asked.
It Only Takes a Moment Page 17
