by Diane Capri
“Private plane?” Schmidt asked.
Jess nodded. Richard wouldn’t have risked a commercial flight.
“We’ll check the airlines to be sure,” Schmidt paused, ran a hand over his bald head. “Otherwise, I’m afraid we’re done here, Jess. He’s gone six hours. We won’t find him inside this country.”
“But you’re going to try.”
“We’ll try.” He blew a long, frustrated stream of air out of his nostrils. “Of course, we’ll try. Is the girl an American citizen?”
“What the hell does that matter?” If Jess sounded like she was spoiling for a fight, it’s because she was. The idea of beating Richard to a bloody pulp sounded perfectly delightful at the moment. If he’d been standing in the room, she might have tried it. Most of the others present would have piled on, she was sure.
“We’ve got a lot of unsolved cases on the books, Jess. More coming in every day. We can’t spend our resources tilting at windmills. We’ll turn it over to the Feds if we can’t do anything else.” He paused.
“But?”
Gently, Schmidt said, “But we have to face reality. For Miami PD, this case is probably closed.”
Jess felt a slow burn rising from her toes to the top of her hair. Every nerve ending alert. Betsy dead. Anna missing. Richard Martin gone.
Case closed?
Not a chance.
3
After the fifth lap, cold rain pelting her body, punishing her for screwing up, Jess began to feel a bit better. Although her college racing days were long over, running still cleared her head. The rain slid over her wet skin. She completed a turn around the track and kept pounding, one foot and then the other. She used the steady rhythm that allowed her mind to strategize. The problem wasn’t finding Richard. Despite what Schmidt had said, locating Richard would be fairly simple. Jess knew where to look. She’d been watching him for years.
Extracting Anna from Canada was another matter entirely. A much knottier problem. Every solution she tested got pounded to bits by her feet on the cinders.
And if she managed it, somehow, then keeping the girl away from Richard in the future seemed impossible. Hadn’t Betsy tried to do precisely that and ended up dead?
Jess had briefly considered becoming a lawyer, years ago, after college. But the authorities searching for Peter, and their failure to find him, left her disillusioned and angry with the law’s all-consuming workload as well as its compromises and failures. The system focused on the rights of criminals, in Jess’s view, when it should be more concerned with crime’s victims.
All these years later, she was glad she’d chosen investigative journalism instead. She’d quickly discovered she loved the work. It satisfied her in a way she’d never expected while she searched for Peter. And it allowed her to work privately for crime victims’ rights when she wanted to, unencumbered by the rules lawyers and law enforcement teams were required to follow.
The lifestyle suited her, too. She traveled to research her stories, but she carefully selected worthy subjects and fashioned solutions for victims that protected them as much as possible. People like Betsy Martin and her sister, Bette. The work funded her search for Peter and fueled her resolve. She’d made the right choices, after a rocky start. Every day she prayed she’d turned her life around before it was too late for Peter. But had she?
Jess frowned and shook rainwater from her eyes and Peter from her thinking. Focus. Richard would never leave his child alone unless he was in prison or dead. There was no middle ground for Anna. Jess must resolve that problem, too. She needed a permanent solution.
Jess ran, one foot and then the other, pounding the cinders, lap after lap, ignoring the wind and rain that chilled her. Her plan resolved, she finished by walking twice around, allowing the icy rain to drench her body. The cool air now felt refreshing because she knew what she was going to do. Maybe her plan wouldn’t work. Maybe she’d end up like Betsy. Maybe Richard would win once more. But she had to try. For Peter. She dropped her gaze to the ground and headed into the showers.
4
Jess waited long enough for Richard to relax into complacency and Anna to regain some composure before she flew from Miami to Buffalo. At the airport she rented an anonymous-looking gray sedan. She’d rejected a non-stop flight to Toronto. Although faster and easier, she’d be dependent on flight schedules for the return. Since 9/11, airport security had become irritatingly problematic. She’d be required to prove Anna’s identity, which would make them easier to stop and trace. No, driving into and out of Canada was best.
Reluctantly, she rejected buying an untraceable gun on the streets of Buffalo. Taking a gun into Canada was a serious crime. Canadian citizens weren’t allowed to carry concealed weapons. Even owning them was severely restricted. If she was caught she’d be arrested and probably imprisoned. Anna would certainly be returned to her father. No, the risk was too great. She’d take Anna away from Richard permanently using guile alone. She refused to fail again.
Jess drove to Lewiston, New York, and checked into a mom-and-pop motel. She rented the room for two nights. Tomorrow, she’d test her plan. The following day, she’d execute it.
She slept lightly for four hours, then dressed casually in khaki slacks, pink shirt, blue blazer, and running shoes. She fluffed her curly blonde hair and studied herself in the mirror, pleased by the guileless soccer mom effect she’d created.
It was dark at five a.m. as she drove toward the Lewiston-Queenston Bridge. If he thought about her at all, Richard would expect her to take the shortest route to and from Toronto. She intended to oblige. Drive time was seventy-five minutes, barring construction or heavy traffic.
The border crossing went well. Off season, during the week, the area was almost deserted both ways. Very few travelers meant only one of the two customs booths was open. As in most of the small tourist towns, the Canadian customs officer simply asked her name, nationality, where she was going and when she planned to return. She’d offered the typical tourist’s response for a visit to Niagara Falls and paid the toll. He’d waved her through without asking for ID. May the return be so easy, she thought, wiping the sweat from each palm onto her slacks.
She reached the private school where her research revealed Anna was enrolled. After circling the block twice to be sure Richard wasn’t lurking and didn’t have Anna under surveillance, she parked in front. She had a clear view of the playground while waiting for 10:15 a.m. It nagged her that Richard seemed to have allowed Anna out of his control. Was he that sure of himself? Had he arrogantly assumed Jess had given up? If so, he didn’t know her at all. That thought comforted more than the alternatives.
At 10:20, a young woman led twenty energetic children out the door to the playground. Jess spotted Anna. When she saw the little girl with the strawberry curls for the first time, Jess’s eyes teared. She wiped her eyes with her fingers, willing the tears away. No time for sorrow now. She pushed all emotion aside as luxury. The job demanded her full attention.
Anna seemed quiet and unfocused, but functional. Eyes dull and heavy-lidded, she stood apart from the other children clutching a rag doll under her left arm and sucking her right thumb.
A low flame of denied anger began in Jess’s stomach. Anna’s parents had been locked into their own rage, unable to put Anna’s life first. The child would never be normal again. Anna was a victim of a tragic struggle. All Jess could do now was try to mitigate the damage. And get the bastard responsible. And maybe, someday, make it up to her by uniting her with her brother.
Richard Martin was no kind of father. Never to Peter, and not to Anna, either. The knowledge soothed Jess’s guilt only slightly.
Like every good investigator, she’d analyzed the risks, then constructed Plan A and Plan B. Plan A: she and Anna returned home without Richard’s interference, luring him back into the U.S. where authorities would arrest him. Plan B provided an alternative if Richard attempted to thwart her. He would be dealt with at the border crossing. At least, in theory.
&nbs
p; Yet again, she regretted the decision she’d had to make about the gun and prayed her alternative would work, even though it could cost Jess her own life. She’d no alternatives left.
5
As always before executing the final stages of any plan, Jess slept fitfully. Finally, at 4:00 a.m., she gave up the effort. She dressed again in yesterday’s costume and launched Plan A.
Jess arrived at the school two hours early and parked down the street, waiting for Anna’s arrival. Just before nine, a station wagon stopped. A young woman helped Anna out of the back seat, and held her hand as they walked to the school’s front entrance. The woman was gentle with Anna, but Anna demonstrated no affection when they parted. Anna walked into the school, slowly and alone, dragging the rag doll with her. The woman returned to the station wagon and left.
Jess felt anger’s slow burn ignite in her gut. Teeth clenched, muscles tense. She willed her breathing and heartbeat’s slowing, even pace. Anger now would only interfere with her performance. Another luxury for later.
When the children entered the playground for recess, Jess left her car and strolled over. She called to Anna twice. The child looked up. A broad grin slowly lit her face. Anna loped toward her.
“Aunt Jess!” she said, crying as Jess picked her up and hugged her, too tightly. She felt thinner inside her clothes. Jess’s sadness, followed by hot anger, returned and she allowed herself to feel, just briefly.
Within a few moments, Jess had explained to Anna’s teacher that Anna had a dentist’s appointment and produced a forged note from Richard allowing her to take the child. The teacher looked at Jess carefully, but released Anna, probably in part because Anna continued to hold onto Jess as if she never wanted to let go. Less than fifteen minutes after Jess first saw Anna on the playground, they were driving toward Lewiston. So far, Plan A seemed to be working.
Constantly checking the rearview mirror, she retraced the route she’d taken the day before. Anna, securely belted in the back seat, had returned to her subdued behavior. She talked quietly to the rag doll she’d brought along with her. About an hour into the drive, her eyelids closed, her chin gently touched her chest and she fell into the rhythm of sleep. A bit of drool slid from the corner of her mouth onto the doll’s head. She was so young, so sweet. So undeserving of this mess. Jess clenched the steering wheel so tight her hands cramped.
Was Richard controlling Anna with medication of some kind? Another thing to despise him for. Jess glanced at her watch. Just like yesterday, she was right on time. Even the weather cooperated.
When they approached the border crossing, Jess located the passports, prepared to show them if she had to. She’d seen no sign of Richard or anyone following her for the entire return trip, which worried her.
Richard was crazy, violent, controlling. She’d expected him to know where Anna was every second, and to come after her. Or at least, Richard should have learned Anna was abducted and reasoned that Jess would take the shortest route back to the U.S.
So far, she hadn’t seen Richard. But her senses were on alert. She’d finally learned never to underestimate him. There was something she’d missed. Somehow, she believed, when they reached the border, he’d be there. Then what? She’d already decided. Plan B. Could she pull it off?
Supremely focused now, she drove over the bridge without noticing the spectacular views of Niagara Gorge. At the U.S. check point, the line of vehicles moved swiftly through a single open kiosk. She looked into the cinder-block customs building, which also housed the duty free store. She saw one officer behind the counter, and one clerk in the store waiting on a customer.
While she watched, the customer carried a bottle of liquor in a plain brown bag to the rusty battered panel van waiting in line in front of Jess’s vehicle and got in. The panel van belched smoke when it backfired, and its muffler had long ago surrendered to the rust belt.
Mid-week, off season, at lunch time, the entire area was relaxed, thinly patrolled and almost deserted. She hoped this would make Richard more obvious, if he appeared and tried anything.
Jess mentally rehearsed the lie she’d tell if the customs officer asked her more than routine questions. Yesterday, the process was casual, easy, intended to encourage tourism, not to thwart a kidnapper. Would it be the same today? Please, God.
Two cars ahead passed through the checkpoint. Only one more ahead of her. When the panel van jerked toward the kiosk window, Jess pulled up and waited at the yellow line. The van blocked her view of the officer.
She glanced around the entire vicinity and saw nothing unusual. Then, looked again toward the duty-free store. She saw a lone figure, vaguely familiar, standing outside.
Could it be?
Richard.
He’d shaved his head and wore sunglasses. But it was him. Definitely. He couldn’t disguise his arrogance.
She didn’t know how he’d found her, but he had and she wasn’t surprised. She’d expected him, knew he’d come. But how?
A tracking device on Anna somewhere? Regular calls to the school just to check on his daughter?
However he’d managed it, he was here now. She had to move. Adrenaline made her heart pound and sweat bead on her brow. No choice now. Plan B.
Stay calm.
Checking the rearview, she realized she’d have to move forward. An eighteen-wheeler six feet behind blocked any alternative, even if she’d wanted to leave the line and return deeper into Canada. Which she didn’t. What she needed to do was leave the country. Now.
The officer in the kiosk seemed to be chatting too long with the occupants of the panel van. But she couldn’t see the officer and he couldn’t see her. She tapped the steering wheel impatiently with her thumbs.
Mimicking the guy who’d joined the van earlier, Richard strolled toward her car. Quiet panic fluttered in her chest as she watched him. Did anyone else see? He reached her car door, looked directly into her eyes as if to mesmerize her, grasped the handle, and lifted it.
The locked door didn’t open. He glanced then into the back seat where Anna slept, covered by the blanket Jess had brought, still holding the doll. The normal sarcastic smirk creased his face. Insight struck.
It was the doll. That’s where he’d hidden the tracking device.
Bastard. You think you’re so clever. We’ll see.
Jess lowered the back window and Richard stuck his left hand on the top of the glass, gripped as if he might pull the glass out. His right hand gripped the passenger door handle.
“Go away, Richard, while you still can. If you try anything here, border patrol will kill you. Your choice.”
He laughed. “I’m touched that you’d care. Truly. But you’re kidnapping my daughter, Jess. Do you really think they’ll take your side over mine?”
While he held onto the glass and the door handle Jess punched the accelerator. The car leaped forward. Richard lost his balance. She slammed the brake. The car’s quick jerk threw him to the ground. Her actions, and Richard’s, were blocked from the customs officer’s view by the panel van, which moved forward now, slowly, through the open gate.
Maybe surveillance cameras saw him. Surely, the border guards would protect her and the child. She hoped.
The officer inside the booth waved her ahead. She released a breath and eased to stop next to the booth, left hand on the wheel.
“What’s your citizenship, ma’am?” the kindly old officer asked.
“U.S.” She glanced in the right side mirror. Richard had risen from the ground. His stare carried a malevolence she could feel. Bastard. Go away. While you still can.
The customs officer glanced into the back seat now, too, where Anna slept. At the same time, he noticed Richard, hands in the oversized pocket of his sweatshirt, standing too close, not moving, saying nothing.
The officer became more alert. “How about the child, ma’am?” Another officer came out of the building, hand on his gun, waiting.
They had seen Richard try to enter her car. It was working. Plan B
was working. Thank God.
“U.S., too.” Small rivulets of sweat tickled her armpits. Let us go, Richard, and live to try again.
“Picture I.D., Ma’am?”
Jess reached into her handbag, retrieved the passports and handed them to the officer. He examined the blue jacketed folders. “Your name is Jessica Kimball? And hers is Anna Martin?”
“Divorce,” she said. Richard simply stood there. What was he thinking? Was he willing to die to thwart her?
The big truck behind her seemed to breathe fire through its roaring engine when the driver tapped his accelerator impatiently. Jess felt the heat rolling toward her.
The officer glanced at Richard again. Maybe experience, or training or something gave him an uneasy pang. Now, his full attention was focused on the situation. “Do you have the child’s birth certificate?”
Jess furrowed her brow with mock consternation. “I didn’t think you’d need it.”
He closed the passports and gestured toward the building. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. Park over there and go inside where they’ll verify your identification.” Then he nodded at Richard, who stood stock-still, feet braced shoulder width apart, hands still inside his big front pocket. “Do you know him?”
Now. Plan B. Now was the time. Do it!
She took a breath. Exhaled. “He’s got a gun.”
Before the officer could react, Richard slowly extracted his hand from the sweatshirt, and pointed the gun at her head.
“Get down! Get down!” the officer shouted, squatting beside the car’s engine block, the only place safe from gunfire.
In that instant, Richard chose death.
The deafening noise of shots rang out. Bullets entered the rear glass. One grazed Jess’s arm as she fell sideways. Another exited inches from where her head had been an instant before. The pain seared through her as blood soaked her blazer and ran down her arm. Anna began to scream.
