Jitters built inside me. I was anxious and at the same time unwilling to put the evening behind me. It felt surreal to leave all that money in an abandoned barn. I couldn’t simply head home.
I turned on the radio, listened to a talk show host spar with callers about religion and government, but the angry voices got on my nerves and I switched to soft jazz. I didn’t have a plan, not consciously. But I’d made contact with the kidnappers, and I wasn’t ready to let go.
I waited for over an hour. Plenty of cars passed by on El Dorado, going in both directions, but no one entered or left Buckey.
Then, suddenly, I saw lights in the distance approaching from the direction of the barn. Had they been there the whole time?
When the car turned right onto El Dorado, I waited until it had rounded the bend then started my engine and followed.
I could see that it was an SUV. Dark, but I couldn’t be certain of the color. Nor could I tell the make. I thought I saw two people inside.
I was afraid if I got too close I’d give myself away, so I hung back until we got to town. There, the vehicle stopped at a red light. I was one lane over, two cars back. I peered at the car, which was covered in dust, and was able to make out the first three digits of the license plate. 5TY.
I debated what to do next. Should I call Detective Montgomery directly? She wouldn’t be on duty at this hour. If I called the general number, they might brush me off. If I was lucky, they’d take me seriously and respond ... in time to do what? Pull the SUV over? I might get my money back, but I’d never see Maureen again.
No. Calling the cops wasn’t an option.
Maybe the car would lead me to Maureen. Then I’d contact the police.
My heart was pounding. My hands were so sweaty I had trouble gripping the wheel. I followed the SUV through town and out past the high school. Suddenly it sped around a slow camper and ran a red light.
I jammed my foot on the accelerator, intending to pass the camper myself and stay on the SUV’s tail. A pickup truck was barreling toward me from the other direction. He flashed his lights. I hit the brakes hard and swerved back into my own lane. The car behind me honked ferociously.
Stuck at the busy intersection, I smacked the steering wheel in frustration. How could I have lost them after all this?
But I had part of the license and a general description of the vehicle. As well as a three-day reprieve. On Monday, I’d deliver the rest of the money. Once Maureen was safe, I’d turn the information over to the cops.
I sent a silent prayer to Maureen. Don’t give up, honey. A couple more days and it will all be over.
And then I added one to a god I’d long ago stopped believing in. Please let her be okay.
The message light was blinking when I got home. The first call was from Dad, who wanted me to let him know that I’d made it home safe. Molly, who was spending the night at his house, added her own good night at the end. The second message was from the kidnapper.
That was stupid, Sam. Didn’t I warn you not to play games? You fuck with me, I fuck with you. That’s the way it is, Sam.
CHAPTER 21
Hannah leaned back in her chair and pressed her eyes shut for a few seconds. The squad room was stuffy. Worse than stuffy. It reeked of the pepperoni pizza the evening shift had shared several hours earlier. All except for Hannah, who wasn’t part of the shift, and Carla Adams, who as far as Hannah could tell never ate at all.
“You put up with this every night?” Hannah called to Carla across the open expanse of desks.
“Put up with what?”
“The lingering odor of dinner.”
Carla shrugged. “Goes with the territory. Tonight’s not as bad as some nights. Sausage and sauerkraut is the worst.”
“Ugh.” Hannah located the offending wastebasket and dumped its contents into the large trash can at the back of the coffee room. “They do takeout every night?”
“Pretty much.”
Hannah made a face.
“What, you had catered gourmet when you were with LAPD?” There was no disguising the caustic undertone.
Hannah was ticked. Why did Carla go out of her way to be unfriendly?
She turned her attention back to the papers on her desk. She hated filling out forms, which was pretty laughable since paperwork was a big part of her job. It wasn’t as bad here as it had been in LA—score one point in favor of Monte Vista—but there was more than most people imagined. More certainly than Hollywood let on.
She finished typing up the last of the investigative reports then tackled the cramped application from Human Resources that had been floating in her in-box for the past week. Now that she had a year on the job, she qualified for supplemental life insurance. It wasn’t as if her life had financial value to anyone but herself, but the policy was a perk of the job and she’d be damned if she was going to pass it up.
She zipped through the family history—her father had been healthy as a horse until the plane he was piloting lost power and crashed during her senior year in college. Her mother, at sixty-two, suffered only mild hypertension. Hannah’s own health history wasn’t as clean, of course, but she noted the date of her mastectomy three years earlier, along with those for the follow-up chemo and radiation, then moved on. The question about smoking gave her pause. She did smoke, true, but in another month she wouldn’t. She hoped. She checked the no box, then scratched it out and opted for yes.
So many questions that didn’t lend themselves to the simple, checkbox answers. She hesitated again when she came to marital status. Malcolm was dead, and she’d been his wife, albeit not much of one apparently. That made her a widow, but she didn’t feel like a widow. Widows were elderly women who played bridge with “the girls” and spoke affectionately of their departed husbands. Hannah didn’t fit any part of that. And if she was a widow, what was Claire?
The Rock of Gibraltar, she’d have said at one time. As much friend as sister. When Claire’s husband ran off and left her with a one-year-old and no money, Hannah had willingly helped out. In turn, Claire was someone Hannah could turn to for solace. It was Claire she’d called when she first got the news of Malcolm’s accident, Claire’s shoulder she’d cried on when the doctors pronounced him brain-dead. Claire’s fingers that had wiped the tears from Hannah’s cheeks after the funeral.
Despite the stormy years of their teens, when Claire’s perky good looks and popularity with boys had been a thorn in Hannah’s side, she and Claire had found common ground as adults. Hannah laughed at the irony. She couldn’t have invented a more common ground if she’d tried. Malcolm. They’d been sleeping with the same man.
Across the room, Carla Adams was cleaning off her desk.
“You leaving?” Hannah asked.
Carla glared back defensively. “I came on early today.”
“What I meant was, you want to get a drink or something?”
Hannah was in the mood for company, but she wasn’t up to trolling for a good time. She’d done that last night. Josh was his name, if she recalled correctly. A curly-haired cowhand with broad shoulders and a tight butt. Cute as could be and dumb as dirt. She’d woken this morning with a headache and a sour mouth, but at least she’d been in her own bed, alone.
“Sorry,” Carla said, “I’m beat.”
“Another night, maybe.”
“Sure, whatever.” She’d have to have been dead to manage a less enthusiastic response.
Carla had been with the department longer, but as a detective, Hannah had senior rank. It made for tension. Hannah had hoped things might be improving. Clearly, she’d been wrong.
Carla slung a leather satchel over her shoulder, waved at the dispatcher, and left without another word.
Hannah made sure no one was looking, then stuck out her tongue at Carla’s departing figure. A childish gesture to be sure, but one that offered a small degree of satisfaction.
The empty squad room was oppressive. Hannah decided to shelve the paperwork for another day and hit Sli
ppery Rock on her way home instead. It was Friday night, after all.
The air inside the bar was heavy. A pungent mix of booze and sweat. Infinitely better than rank pizza, though maybe that said something about her own priorities. There was a band playing on the small stage at the back. Local talent, no doubt. That was all the Slippery Rock attracted. Two young guys on guitar, a drummer, and a skinny, skimpily clad girl on bass. They looked barely old enough to be playing at an over-twenty-one establishment.
Hannah headed for the bar. “Sierra Nevada pale ale,” she said. “In a bottle.”
The female bartender, whom Hannah had never seen there before, slapped the beer on the counter without looking at her.
“Charlie around?”
“It’s his kid’s birthday.” The bartender gave Hannah a pointed look.
“Just asking. He’s a friend, is all.” Did the woman really think Hannah had the hots for an overweight guy ten years her junior?
She turned to survey the room. Lots of couples, which was to be expected on a weekend. A sprinkling of lone women, including four in the far corner shrieking wildly at whatever funny story one of them was telling. Several groups of guys. No one who caught her eye though, which was just as well. She had to watch herself this close to home. She wanted to keep her personal life personal and well away from the rest of the department.
She turned back to the bar and saw Sam Russell sitting alone at the far end. A martini, straight up with a twist, was in front of him. The glass was full, but that didn’t mean it was his first one. His shoulders were rounded, and his expression was glazed. She thought he must be either half-asleep or totally drunk.
“Hey,” she said, sliding into the empty seat next to him.
He didn’t acknowledge her.
“Sam?” She touched his shoulder lightly. He flinched.
“Hannah Montgomery,” she said. “Monte Vista PD.”
“I know.” He seemed to focus, finally, and turned in her direction with a look of apprehension. “There’s news about Maureen?” His voice was thin and tight.
Hannah shook her head. “I’m off duty.”
His whole body sagged forward.
There was a stretch of silence. “Do you come here often?” she asked. She was hoping the line might evoke a smile.
Sam’s response was dead serious. “First time.”
Interesting, Hannah thought. His wife had been missing not even a week and he was already hitting the night spots. Except he didn’t look like a man on the prowl. All he appeared to be doing was slouching at the bar in a daze.
“How about you?” he asked after a moment.
“Now and then, when I can’t stand my own company.”
His expression softened. “I should think you’d be fine company.”
Hannah felt an unexpected tingle of pleasure at the compliment.
“I want to thank you,” he said, after a moment. “You were really good with Molly yesterday. She was terrified.”
Hannah’s heart had gone out to the girl who, despite her ordeal, had tried so hard to be brave. Her frustrated maternal instincts, she supposed. “It’s part of the job, but I’m glad I could help.”
Even in the darkened room she could feel the warmth of Sam’s gaze. She felt a familiar flutter inside her. Sam Russell. Now wouldn’t that be something. She quickly banished the thought from her mind.
“You have a nice way with your daughter,” she said. “It’s clear you two have a good relationship.”
“I hope so. For a while there, it was just the two of us. Even now, Molly’s my priority.”
She rested an elbow on the counter. “Is that a problem for your wife?”
He sighed. “Sometimes.” The glazed look slid over his face again, like a mask dropping into place.
Hannah had never felt close to her father. Claire was his favorite. Hannah didn’t know if this was because Claire was the baby or because Claire was Claire, but she felt she’d missed out. Growing up, Claire had been cute, Hannah tall and gangly. Claire had been, and still was, a flirt, while Hannah was often tongue-tied. Even before she was old enough to be interested, Claire had boys beating a path to her door, while Hannah had never felt attractive or lovable until Malcolm. And then Claire had taken that away from her.
“How’s your daughter doing? The department has a list of counselors, if you think it might help.”
Sam nodded.
The silence between them grew. It wasn’t that Sam was cool so much as simply not there. He’d drifted off again to whatever private place he was inhabiting when she first sat down.
“She’s not home alone, is she?” Hannah asked after a moment. Given Sam’s state, she wasn’t sure he was thinking clearly.
“She’s spending the night with my dad.” He managed a weak smile. “She loves to stay there. He spoils her like crazy.”
“It’s nice that you have family close by.”
“That’s mostly why I moved back to Monte Vista. I didn’t want it to be just me and Molly.”
“What about her maternal grandparents?” Hannah asked. “Does she ever see them?”
“Not very often.” He hesitated. “We’re ... not on the best of terms.”
“Because of what happened with Lisa?”
Sam gave a humorless laugh. “That was certainly the crowning blow. They were never very fond of me though.”
“Because?”
“Because they’re assholes,” he said flatly. “But I try to remember they’re Molly’s grandparents. And she has a right to know her mother’s side of the family.” He paused. “They spoil her in a different way.”
“Different how?”
“Gadgets, toys, clothes. Material things. She eats it up, I’m sorry to say.”
“Girls are like that,” Hannah said. “I was the same way at her age.” Not that anyone was tossing toys and clothes her way.
Hannah finished her beer and ordered another. She looked at Sam and nodded toward his untouched glass. “You okay there?”
He swirled the liquid and nodded.
Another stretch of silence.
“I was reading about the trial,” Hannah said after a moment.
“The trial?” Recognition dawned. “My trial? Why?” Then he shook his head in disgust. “Never mind, I know the answer. You think there’s a parallel between what happened with Lisa and what happened with Maureen.”
“It’s an odd coincidence, don’t you think?”
“Odd?” He laughed bitterly. “To say the least. But it’s not the same.”
“What’s that mean?”
He didn’t answer.
Hannah’s beer arrived, and she took a sip.
Sam hunched over his drink. Silence stretched between them.
“I got a call,” Sam said finally, in a voice so soft she wasn’t sure he’d actually spoken.
“A call?”
He turned to look at her. “A ransom call. From whoever has Maureen.”
“You’re saying she was kidnapped?” Hannah’s pulse began to pound. She could hear it in her ears. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“He told me not to. That I’d never see her again if I did.”
“But you reported her missing.”
He nodded. “I didn’t get the ransom call until two days ago.”
Hannah tried to bring order to the questions spinning inside her head. The beer she’d drunk on an empty stomach wasn’t helping. Thank God she’d only had one.
“What did they want—money?
Silence.
“How much?”
“It doesn’t matter. I fucked it up.” Sam brought the glass to his lips.
“What do you mean?”
“I only paid part of the ransom. It was all I could get my hands on.”
She choked. “You gave them money?”
“Not as much as he wanted. I promised to get the rest.”
“Oh Jesus.” Hannah leaned forward, elbows on the bar. She wanted to throttle him for not telling them
sooner. She thought about taking him in right now, but he was talking freely and he might not if she went into cop mode.
She shifted her position on the stool to give them more privacy.
“When was this?”
“Tonight. Then I got another call. An hour or so ago.”
“From the kidnappers?”
Sam’s hands were wrapped so tightly around his glass, his knuckles had turned white. The glass shook, spilling liquid over the side. He nodded. “Because I followed him.”
His voice was so low Hannah was having trouble hearing. “You followed the kidnapper?”
“I made a fucking mess of it.” He pushed his drink aside and put his head in his hands.
“Tell me what happened,” Hannah said. “The whole thing from the beginning.”
“It doesn’t matter.” His voice broke with an odd guttural sound. “It’s too late.”
Hannah spun around to face him. She pulled his hands from his face so that she could look him in the eye. “Listen to me, Sam. It’s not too late. He’s going to contact you again, right? For the rest of money? We’ll put a tap on your phone. We’ll station officers at your house. If we’re lucky, we can trace the call. And we’ll come up with a plan for the drop.”
“You don’t understand. He told me I’d pay for messing up. He’s going to kill her. I know it.”
Hannah’s mind was racing as she tried to fit the pieces together. “When you followed the car, did you get a glimpse of who was inside?”
“It looked like the driver was male. Thin. There might have been a second person in the car as well. I lost them on the highway.”
“What about the vehicle itself?”
“A dark color SUV is all I know. But I got part of the license plate.”
She felt a surge of adrenaline. “That’s good, Sam. Give it to me.” She wrote down the numbers and letters he recited, as well as his meager description of the vehicle. “I’ll put this out on the wire right away. And we’ll run the plate. We’ll find them.”
“Not in time.” He pressed a palm to his forehead. “They put Maureen on the phone, just for a few seconds. She sounded so scared. I can’t bear to think what he’s doing to her.”
The Only Suspect Page 14
