by Susan Fleet
Donna put on the blindfold, tugged it down over her eyes, and said, “Where's Robbie?”
“Don't start or I'll put you back in the room.”
“Mommy, do what he says! I want to go home!”
Donna stood there silently, as rigid as a statue, clenching her fists.
His heart ached for her. What would she do when she found out Robbie was dead? What would he do if someone killed S.J.?
“If you promise not to peek, I won't cuff you.”
“I promise,” Donna said.
“Okay, Emily, take your mom's hand.” He took Donna's other hand and led them to the door. “No noise. Not a word till I get you in the car.”
“Okay,” Donna said. “Be quiet as a mouse, Emily, until he says it's okay to talk.”
He hustled them down the steps and around the corner of the house. His station wagon was parked in front of the garage. Donna stood beside the car while he put Emily in the back seat and fastened her seat-belt.
Then he settled Donna into the front seat, ran around the hood and jumped in the car.
“Remember,” he said. “No talking. No questions.” Especially about Robbie.
CHAPTER 23
9:50 PM
Rigid with fear, Donna sat in the car, blindfolded, her hands clenched in her lap, tortured by conflicting emotions. Elation, despair and dread. Elation because she and Emily were out of that house. Despair because Robbie wasn't with them. Dread because she didn't know what would happen now. Where are we going? she wanted to scream.
After obsessing for hours in that shitty little room about how to escape from Hunter, she had formed a vague plan. Given the slightest opportunity, she would take the kids to René's house and they would move to another city, someplace far away. Robbie would be happy, but Emily wouldn't. She'd want to go home to Daddy.
If she took Emily with her, Hunter would hunt her down like a dog. If he got mad enough, he might even kill her. And René.
The car slowed to a stop. Her heart pounded. If Donald Duck took them home, she would never escape. Then again, if he dropped them off at the house, Hunter might see him. But that wouldn't matter if Hunter had paid him to kidnap them. Maybe Hunter had told them to let her and Emily go, but not Robbie. A cruel ploy to punish her.
But that wasn't Hunter's style. If Hunter wanted something, he went at it head-on, like a deadly bullet speeding toward its target.
The car lurched forward and accelerated. She turned toward Donald Duck, but the blindfold was so thick she couldn't see him. All she could see were flashes of light now and then.
Mercifully, Emily was quiet in the back seat. Poor Emily. What an ordeal this must have been for her. She wanted Emily to be safe, but she wanted Robbie to be safe, too.
She gritted her teeth. She couldn't think about that now. This ordeal wasn't over. What if he let them out on some deserted road? She had no money. No cellphone. Damn! She should have asked him to let her bring her purse. But she'd been so worried about Robbie …
She didn't know what time it was, but she knew was dark out. If he let them out on a deserted road, maybe she could find a house and ask for help. But if the people recognized her, they might call the cops and her escape plan would disintegrate like shattered glass.
The car stopped again. She heard sounds beside her, music blasting in another car. Good. At least they weren't on some deserted street. The car started up again but almost immediately it stopped. She sat there, terrified, sensing Donald Duck's eyes on her.
He pulled off her blindfold. “Take Emily out of the car,” he said. “Give me her blindfold and go in the store.”
Blinded by the lights, Donna rubbed her eyes and realized they were parked beside the Whole Foods store in Metairie. She wanted to shout with joy. He really was going to let them go!
She jumped out of the car and opened the back door. With frantic haste, she took off Emily's blindfold, gave it to Donald Duck, released Emily's seat-belt and helped her out of the car.
The instant she slammed the door, the car drove away. If she was very careful and very lucky, maybe she could execute her escape plan.
“Where are we, Mom?” Emily said, clutching her hand.
“At Whole Foods where we buy our groceries. We’re going in the store, but don't make a fuss, okay? I need to call Daddy so he can come get us.”
“Okay. I can't wait to go home and sleep in my own bed.”
She squeezed her daughter’s hand. Emily was going home, but she wasn't.
Hyper-vigilant, she guided Emily into the store and stopped just inside the door. Only three registers were open so it must be late. No one was sitting at the counter adjacent to the entrance where customers ate sandwiches and prepared meals. She settled Emily onto the end stool near the dispensers with plastic utensils and napkins.
In October, Whole Foods ran a Halloween coloring contest for kids. She grabbed some crayons and a sheet of paper with the outline of a big cat and a smiling pumpkin. “You can color this while I go call Daddy, okay?”
“Okay, but my hair is scuzzy. Daddy doesn't like it when my hair's all scuzzy.”
She hugged Emily to her chest. Her hair did smell funky, and there were food stains on her white dress, but at least she was safe. “Daddy won't care. He'll be thrilled to see you. I'll go call him.”
She turned to leave, but a blanket of guilt settled over her. How could she leave Emily? She was the perfect mother. At least she'd tried to be.
“Are you sure you'll be okay here by yourself?”
“Of course, Mom.” Emily flashed her gap-toothed smile. “I'll color you a pretty picture.”
Her throat thickened. Leaving Emily alone was bad enough. What she was about to do was far worse. She pointed at a young woman with a ponytail ringing up an order. “See the clerk at that register over there? If I'm not back when you finish the picture, go talk to her. She'll help you.”
Still she couldn’t leave. Heartbroken, she bit back a sob and choked out, “I love you, Emily.”
“Love you, too,” Emily said, already coloring the pumpkin with an orange crayon.
Paralyzed with guilt, she gazed at her daughter, the daughter she was about to abandon. To escape the brute she had married.
Resolutely, she turned and hurried toward the produce section. At the end of one aisle, straw hats dangled from a display. She grabbed one, plopped it on her head and kept going. The hat was too big, but the floppy brim would hide her face. In the produce section she strode past bins of oranges and apples, avocados and stalks of asparagus. No customers.
She continued toward the back of the store, searching for shoppers. None at the meat counter. Bent over a clipboard, the clerk behind the seafood counter didn't look up as she passed him. She kept going, glancing down aisles with canned food and condiments and dry pasta. Still no customers. Damn!
Conscious of the passing minutes, she strode past a cooler with assorted juices and scanned the next section. Her heart surged. Ten yards away, a woman was pawing through the vast assortment of cheeses in a display case. A canvas bag with exterior pockets sat in a grocery cart behind her. Best of all, a cellphone was sticking out of one pocket.
Unable to believe her luck, Donna edged closer and gathered her courage. Without breaking stride, she walked past the grocery cart, swiped the canvas bag and kept going, her chest tight with fear. Never in her life had she stolen something that didn't belong to her. But she'd never been kidnapped either.
Conscious of her sweaty armpits and smelly shirt, she ducked into the wine section. She smelled like a homeless person. Stooping to stay out of sight, she crept down a row of wine bottles from Argentina and Australia, heading for the front of the store. In the bakery area she stopped beside a table with muffins and peeked around a corner.
To her left at the other end of the store, several people clustered around Emily, who was talking to the clerk with the ponytail. But a man in a police uniform stood beside clerk. An icepick of fear stabbed her heart.
&nbs
p; Emily was safe, but she wasn't. She had to get out of here. Slinging the canvas bag over her shoulder, she headed for the exit at this end of the store.
“Hold on, Miss,” said a gruff male voice. “I need to talk to you.”
Her heart catapulted into her throat. Jesus! He must have seen her take the bag. She put her head down and kept walking.
“Hey, you with the hat!” he yelled. “Stop. I need to talk to you.”
She ran to the exit and burst out door. Nobody at the tables on the patio outside, but any second the security guard would come out the door. A siren whooped in the distance. Panic-stricken, she rummaged through the canvas bag and found the woman's wallet. She jammed the cellphone and wallet into the pockets of her shorts, dropped the bag on the floor of the patio and bolted around the corner of the building.
Terrified, praying the guard would see the woman's bag and stop chasing her, she raced alongside the building, her low-heeled flats pounding the grass. But the soles were smooth, and the grass was slick with dew. She slipped and almost fell, righted herself and kept running.
Now the sirens were closer. Were they coming to Whole Foods?
“Hey!” called the male voice. “Stop or I'll shoot!”
Jesus, the security guard had a gun! He was going to shoot her! Without slowing down, she glanced over her shoulder. The guard, a pudgy red-faced older man, was trotting after her. No gun in his hand. Fuck it. He wasn't going to shoot her and he was too fat to catch her. The corner of the building was only ten yards away. She ran faster, as fast as she'd ever run in her life.
She sprinted around the corner and kept running, gasping for breath. This side of the building was shorter. If she could get to the far end and make it across Severn Avenue, she might be able to hide in the restaurant opposite Whole Foods.
But when she reached the next corner, a police car with flashing lights was barreling up Severn toward the Whole Foods entrance.
Damn! If the cop saw her, she was done for.
She glanced behind her. No security guard, but she had nowhere to hide. Fearing the cop in the cruiser might notice the straw hat, she took it off, turned and flung it behind her.
She turned back and looked at the street. Her heart exploded in her chest. The cruiser was almost upon her, siren blaring, lights flashing.
Desperate, she flung herself on the ground and pressed her body to the grass, the stolen cellphone in one pocket, the wallet in the other.
_____
10:14 PM
Frank stood at the bathroom sink, brushing his teeth. Robbie's murder was still the lead story on the evening news, including the fact that his mother, Donna Lee, worked for a local TV station, and his stepfather, Hunter Gates, was a New Orleans City Councilman. But not a word about the kidnapping. Good. Kidnappers watched the news, too.
He rinsed the toothbrush, stuck it in the holder and heard his cellphone ring. He ran in his bedroom, grabbed the phone and answered. “Renzi.”
“Frank,” said a vaguely familiar voice. “Fred Rousseau. I'm working a paid detail at Whole Foods in Metairie, got a little girl here says she's been kidnapped. Emily Gates.”
Stunned, he said, “Jesus! That's great, Fred. Is her mother there?”
“Well, that's the weird part. The girl said her mother went to call her daddy to come pick them up, but she never came back.”
He grabbed his sweatpants and pulled them on. “So Donna Lee isn't with her?”
“No. I hope I did the right thing. Whole Foods is in Metairie. I probably should have called the Jefferson Parish Sheriff's Office, but the girl said she lives in New Orleans, so I called you. Is she related to the murdered boy they found this morning?”
“Yes. You did right, Fred. Thanks a million for calling me. Can you hold Emily there till I come pick her up? Only take me a few minutes.”
“Sure, Frank. No problem.”
He ended the call, thanking his good fortune that Fred Rousseau, a District-5 patrol officer, had called him instead of the Jefferson Parish Sheriff's office. He pulled on a sweatshirt, jammed his feet into his Nikes, grabbed his SIG and his cellphone and left his condo.
Planning his moves, he jumped in his car. First up, call Blanche and tell her to come to the D-8 station ASAP. He wanted to get her permission to interview Emily without her father. Blanche would be thrilled that Emily was safe, not so thrilled that Donna was still missing.
That was weird, but he had no time to think about it now. After he talked to Blanche, he had to call Gates and tell him they had Emily. Then he'd call Vobitch and Claudia Cohen. She could sit in on the interview. After he drove Emily to the station, he'd put her in an interview room and get as much information as he could.
Only then would he release her to Hunter Gates.
_____
Cursing the kidnapper, Hunter Gates sped down Airline Drive, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the wheel of his Mercedes-Benz SUV. He reached inside his jacket and touched his Defender, his insurance in case anyone tried to hijack him and steal the money in the trunk. A million dollars.
Why the hell should he give it to the kidnapper? Answer: If he didn't, the bastard might kill Emily.
He took a breath mint out of his jacket pocket. His mouth tasted vile, partly from the Southern Comfort he'd belted down before he left the office, partly from the overwhelming rage that boiled up in his throat. Because he was at the mercy of a fucking kidnapper.
He popped the mint in his mouth and chewed. He didn’t want the clerk to smell his funky breath. The low-budget rental-car agency he used when he didn't want anyone seeing his Mercedes-Benz was two blocks away. Now that he was a councilman he had to be careful when he went out trolling for prostitutes.
His cellphone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and checked the ID. Renzi. What the hell did that sonofabitch want? He pulled into a parking lot in front of a cheap beer joint and answered.
“We've got Emily,” Renzi said.
The air left his lungs in a whoosh. His heart soared like a rocket taking off from Cape Canaveral. “Is she all right? Where is she?”
“She's fine. You can pick her up at the District-8 station.”
“Where's Donna?”
“One of the kidnappers dropped them off at Whole Foods in Metairie. But Donna's not there.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know. Talk to you at the station,” Renzi said, and ended the call.
Giddy with relief, he sank back against the padded leather seat. Donna was still missing but Emily was safe. That was the important thing.
He put the SUV in gear and smiled.
Screw the kidnapper. Now he didn't have to pay him a dime.
Renzi didn't know about the latest demand. Walsh didn't either. Now he could kiss Walsh and his sexy FBI agent Claudia Cohen goodbye. No more worries about background checks that might uncover things best left buried.
He pulled out of the parking lot and headed for New Orleans.
He didn't know why they let Emily and Donna go and he didn't care. His beloved princess with her golden halo of hair, sky-blue eyes and impudent grin was safe! God, how he loved her!
Emily was his flesh and blood, the product of his seed. He wanted a son just like her, but Donna didn't want to give him one.
He didn't know where Donna was, but he'd deal with that later.
Deal with the fucking kidnappers, too. Find out who they were and make them pay. But tonight he was taking Emily home.
He pumped his fist in the air. The nightmare was over!
CHAPTER 24
10:55 PM
Frank stood outside the interview room. During the drive to the D-8 station, he had prepared Emily for the interview, saying she was very brave for a five-year-old and smarter than a lot of grownups he knew, so he had some questions for her. Blanche had been overjoyed when he told her Emily was safe, far less happy that Donna was still missing. She had given him permission to question Emily as long as she could be present.
Blanche wante
d to take Emily home afterwards, but Hunter Gates was the custodial parent. Nevertheless, Frank and Vobitch considered him a possible suspect. They didn't want him in the room while Frank questioned Emily, so Vobitch had told Gates to wait in the foyer.
Frank started the video camera. For backup, to make sure he got Emily’s testimony on tape, he took a micro-cassette recorder into the interview room, set the recorder on the table in front of Emily and took the chair opposite her.
Claudia Cohen occupied the chair to his right. Blanche was sitting beside Emily. She looked tired but better than the last time he'd seen her, when he had given her news about Robbie.
“How are you doing, Emily?” Frank said. “Can you tell us what happened, or are you too tired?”
Gazing at him solemnly, her big blue eyes open wide, she said, “I'm not tired.”
“Good. I'm going to tape what we say. You're going to give us important information and I don't want to forget any of it.” He tapped his head and smiled. “My memory isn't the greatest.”
She smiled at him, the spitting image of her mother. “Mine isn't either. I memorized the multiplication tables at school, but I still have trouble with the nines table sometimes.”
Frank started the tape-recorder, announced the date, time and the names of those present. To Emily, he said, “I need you to speak right up so the microphone picks up your voice, okay?”
Emily nodded. “Like Mommy when she does the news.”
“Exactly right. Tell us your name, please.”
“My name is Emily Gates and I live in Lakeview at 4345 General Augustin LaPierre Avenue.”
“Very good, Emily. How old are you?”
“Almost six. My birthday's next month. November seventh.”
“When my daughter was your age, she loved to go horseback riding. What do you do for fun?”
Emily grinned at him and her eyes lit up. “Gymnastics. I'm going to be in the Olympics someday. If I practice enough.” She frowned. “I missed my gymnastics lesson on Monday.”
