With Malice

by Rachel Lee

  "True," Karen agreed. "And there's some evidence of sophistication. Art Wallace must have an answering machine that allows remote control. And whoever planned this must have known that."

  Which was another strike against Art, in her mind. She would know more on that when Previn searched the Wallace house. Which he should have done by now.

  "Excuse me," she said, dialing his cell number. He answered on the second ring. "Any news?"

  "I'm just pulling into the driveway," he said. "It took a few minutes to get the duty judge for a warrant."

  "Fine. I'm putting you on speaker." Karen pushed the button and replaced the receiver. "The whole task force is here. Terry Tyson, from D.C. Homicide, and Special Agent Miriam Anson from the FBI. Talk us through your search."

  "Sure," Previn said. "I've parked at the curb. The house is dark, no sign of activity. There's no car in the driveway. I can't see any garage windows. No visible signs of disturbance in the lawn. Front windows are all closed, and no broken panes."

  "Walk the entire perimeter of the house before you go in," Miri said. "We're looking for points of entry."

  "Gotcha," Previn replied.

  From the tone of his voice, Karen could tell he was already doing that and wasn't happy about being reminded of the obvious.

  "There's dew on the grass, and no tracks except mine. But it would only have settled in the past hour or so, and we know they were gone before then. The windows on the north side are intact and closed. I'm heading around back now."

  "He has two sliding glass doors," Grant said. "One off the kitchen, and one from the family room to the pool deck. The one off the kitchen was always left unlocked when he was home." He looked at Karen. "He said the alarm would go off if anyone opened it at night, and he hated fussing with the lock when he walked his dog in the mornings."

  "Dog?" Previn asked.

  "A Yorkie," Grant said. "Samantha's her name."

  "Is she nice?"

  "She's always been nice to me," Grant said.

  "Are we afraid of dogs?" Karen asked, the chuckle breaking the tension.

  "Only their teeth and claws," Previn said. "Their wagging tails are cute, though."

  Karen smiled. "How about their kisses?"

  Previn gave a one-word reply. "Ick. Okay, I'm at the back of the house. Both sliding doors are closed. Pool toys on the deck." There was a rattle. "Screen enclosure door is closed and locked. Windows are all closed."

  "Check the sliding glass door to the kitchen," Karen said. She looked at Terry and Miri. "Call it a hunch."

  "It's locked," Previn said.

  Strike two, Karen thought. "Can you see inside, through the glass?"

  "Checking now. No signs of disturbance in the kitchen, from what I can see. There's what looks to be an empty Dunkin' Donuts box on the table. Food and water bowls for the dog, by the door. Food bowl is empty, but there's water in the other."

  "So where's the dog?" Terry asked. "You'd think she'd have heard him walking around out back."

  "No teeth, claws or wagging tail," Previn said. "I'm headed around to the south side of the house. Looks like it's all closed up, too. There's a cracked pane, smoked glass, probably a bathroom. But it's cracked in place. No sign that anyone went in that way."

  "Take a closer look at the crack," Miri said.

  "Doing that now," Previn said. "There's some dirt in the crack, but not much. Looks like it's gathered since the last time the window was washed outside. I'd guess the window's been broken for a while."

  "Sounds like it," Karen said. She wanted to be there, to look at every detail herself. But she had to admit that he was doing a thorough job. "Okay, try the front door. Let's see what's inside."

  "Yes, ma'am," he said. The impatience was evident in his voice.

  "Sorry we're being mother hens," Miri said. She'd heard the tone of his voice, too. "You're doing fine, Detective. We're just a little tense here."

  "I'd be doing the same thing on your end of the phone, I guess. Okay, I'm at the front door. No visible damage around the knob or jamb. Just routine wear and tear. I'm wearing gloves and trying the knob with two fingers. But I'll probably ruin whatever prints are here anyway."

  "Not much we can do about that," Karen said. Not that she expected they would find any prints. Still, it was better that he try to preserve whatever was there.

  "The door's unlocked," he said. "Might be a point of entry."

  Probably only a point of egress, Karen thought. "Go on in. Be careful."

  "Bet on that," he said. He called out loudly. "Tampa Police. I have a warrant." He paused and repeated the warning. "No answer. Okay, I'm in the foyer. Two pair of shoes inside the door, one male adult's, size eleven. One female child's, size two."

  "Art and one of the girls," Grant said. "Jessie and Lucy. They're twins. Seven."

  "Sounds about right," Previn said. "Remind me never to have girls."

  "Why's that?" Karen asked.

  "Because someone decided to play with glitter in the living room. Some of it is stuck to the arm of the couch with what looks to be paste."

  "Kids," Grant said.

  With no adult watching, Karen thought. "Let me guess, no signs of disturbance?"

  "Well, if it were my couch, I'd be disturbed. But no, nothing. Dining room table has scraps of construction paper. More paste and glitter on the tabletop, and the chairs and the floor and a light switch."

  "Got the point on the glitter, Dave," Karen said, a tense laugh in her voice.

  "And on the curtains," he added. "And on the north wall. In short, lots of glitter."

  "Describe what's on the wall," Miri said, suddenly alert. "In detail."

  "You mean besides the glitter?" Previn asked.

  "No. The glitter."

  "Ummm…okay. Smears. Like finger-painting. At what would be a child's eye level and below. Shining the light from the side. Looks like a capital 'B' and a small 'e."'

  "Belle," Grant said, gasping.

  "Where is that, exactly?" Miri asked.

  "Maybe eighteen inches off the floor. Beside a window looking out on the house next door."

  "Which side?" Karen asked.

  "South."

  "My house," Grant said. His face had gone ashen.

  Karen's heart squeezed for him. One part of her wanted him out of the room, not having to hear this. Part of her recognized that his knowledge of the house was invaluable. Like the locked kitchen door. It was a wrenching tradeoff. On the other hand, he probably wouldn't have left ever if she'd asked him to. She certainly wouldn't have, in his position.

  "There are dishes in the sink," Previn said. "All rinsed."

  "Check the dishwasher," Karen said.

  There was a pause. "It's full. Looks like it's been run."

  "And he was rinsing dishes in the sink before emptying the dishwasher and reloading it."

  "He always ran it after dinner," Grant said. "Said it was habit. Even when we had barbeques."

  "What dishes are in the sink?" Karen asked.

  "Cereal bowls. Glasses. Spoons. That's all."

  "That fits," Karen said. "Okay, make a quick sweep of the bedrooms, but they'll be empty. Look for the answering machine and the dog. Other than that, you're not going to find anything useful."

  "You sound like you know something," Previn said.

  "I think I do. One quick thing. Check the bedroom and any hall closets for suitcases. You're not going to find any."

  "Checking now." For a few minutes, there was nothing but the sound of doors opening and closing. "You're right, Karen. No suitcases. And to answer the next question, no car in the garage."

  "Of course not," she said.

  She turned to Grant. "Art Wallace took your girls."

  22

  They were within just a few miles of the cabin now. Art glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that the girls were still soundly asleep, wrapped safely in their seat belts with their heads cradled against the sides of the SUV on the pillows he'd had them bring. S
amantha was asleep on the floor between the front seats. At the cabin they would probably wake just barely enough to stagger inside and fall on the cots in the bedroom. That was the great thing about kids this age. They could stay excited and awake just so long before they fell into a sleep so deep little could disturb them.

  It made his life easier, for sure. And this wasn't going to take all that long anyway. As soon as Grant paid the ransom—the amount of child support Grant would have owed, under Florida guidelines, until the girls reached eighteen, plus a college fund for each—he and all the girls were going to disappear forever. He wasn't giving them up. Never. Not any of them.

  It had hurt enough when his twins went to live with their mother, but now he was going to lose Belle and Cathy Suzanne, as well, because he was sure that at the end of the school year Grant was going to take them to Washington to live.

  He couldn't allow that. He most especially couldn't allow it because Belle and Cathy were his daughters, the fruit of an affair with Georgina. An affair that had begun long before Belle was conceived. An affair that had made Georgina determined to move into the same neighborhood. An affair that, when Elizabeth found the letters Georgina had written to him, had killed Art's own marriage.

  Art had never been stupid enough to think Georgie would leave Grant for him. No, Georgie had been too in love with the trappings of power, with the idea of eventually becoming first lady. But Georgie had also had sexual appetites that only Art had been able to satisfy. Her death had riven him as much as it had riven Grant. Maybe more so.

  Well, he was going to get even. He brushed away all the unhappy thoughts of the past and focused on the future, a future that would allow him to keep all four girls and destroy Grant Lawrence for good.

  He glanced in the mirror again and for an instant thought he saw a gleam from Cathy Suzanne's eyes. Awake? He watched, then decided he must have imagined it, some glimmer from a distant light.

  But he felt a little less comfortable when he returned his attention to driving. Cathy had been making him uneasy for most of this trip. That solemn way she had of staring at him, as if she saw things deep within him.

  That one might bear some watching, he decided. She was only nine but…a little caution might be advisable.

  Then he almost laughed. He didn't need to be paranoid, because whether or not he got what he wanted, there was one thing for certain: Grant Lawrence would be destroyed.

  * * *

  "No!" Grant's eruption was loud and violent, compounded, no doubt, of all the strain of the last hours. "Art wouldn't do this."

  Karen didn't even try to argue with him. It didn't matter whether he wanted to believe her or not. She was as sure as if she had a confession that Art Wallace was behind this abduction.

  "You're letting yourself be misled," Grant accused her. "Art loves those girls. He wouldn't use them like this."

  Miriam Anson spoke, saying the thing that was floating in Karen's mind. "Unless he hates you more."

  At that, Grant's anger evaporated. He looked away, cheek muscles working, mouth compressing. Finally he said, "I never would have thought so."

  "Do you know how to get in touch with his ex-wife?" Karen asked.

  "Elizabeth?" His gaze returned to her. "Yeah, sure. At home, anyway. But she's on her honeymoon right now. On a cruise."

  "A cruise to where?"

  "Antarctica, I think."

  "Hoo boy," Terry remarked. "That's some money." Everyone looked at him, and he shrugged. "I wanted to do it so I priced it. I could buy a condo in Florida for that."

  Miriam flipped open a cell phone. "Let's see if we can track her down. Senator, do you know her new married name?"

  "LeMain. She married Girard LeMain."

  Miriam began dialing, remarking, "There can't be that many cruises to Antarctica."

  Karen's cell rang, and she answered it. It was Previn, of course. "I've got a feeb here," he said to her. "We're at the Wallace house. Name's Andrew Wicke. He wants to talk to Agent Anson."

  "She's on the phone. Can you hang on a minute?"

  "Sure." Previn hummed a few bars. "The house is too clean," he remarked. "I'd say they were abducted somewhere else except for one thing."

  "Two things. The front door was unlocked and the alarm wasn't set."

  "How'd you know about the alarm?"

  "Because I didn't hear it in the background, and I didn't hear you swear about it when you opened the front door."

  He laughed. "Okay."

  "So I figure it was arranged to look as if someone had walked into the house when they were home. Except nothing was disturbed."

  "Right. Which means we gotta find this Wallace guy. Agent Wicke agrees with me, by the way."

  "I'm proud of you, Dave."

  There was a pause. "Thanks." His voice sounded thick.

  Karen figured he hadn't heard any praise in a long time, only criticism from his wife.

  Grant's phone rang. Everyone in the room stilled for a moment.

  "Here," Grant said, suddenly galvanized. He passed a headset to Karen, waited until she had it adjusted and the mike covered. On the fourth ring, he picked up the handset.

  "Hello?"

  Karen, whose heart had practically climbed into her throat, felt it sink as the caller identified himself.

  "Grant, this is Randall Youngblood. I heard about…your girls. I'm so sorry…. If there's anything I can do…"

  Karen broke in. "How'd you hear about this, Mr. Youngblood?"

  There was a hesitation. "Who the hell is on the line?"

  "Karen Sweeney."

  "Detective Sweeney! Yes, I guess I should have expected you to be there."

  "How'd you hear about this?"

  "From my assistant, Bill Michaels. He apparently has a contact in the Tampa Police Department."

  "Thanks. I'm off the line now." Karen pulled the headset off and grabbed for her cell phone. "Previn?"

  "Yeah?"

  "How the fuck did Randall Youngblood's camp find out about this?"

  Previn didn't answer.

  "You did get a sealed warrant?"

  "Hell yes."

  "Then how is it the news has already spread to Youngblood? He says one of his men has a contact in the department." No answer. "Previn?"

  "Hell, I don't know, Karen. How the hell am I supposed to know?"

  She didn't believe him. The anger that stirred in her stomach was of a new variety. "You listen to me, you got it?"

  "Yes."

  "These kids' lives are in danger, and flapping jaws getting this to the media could put this guy over the edge. Are we clear?"

  "Yeah. I ain't talking. Maybe it's the feds."

  Karen sincerely doubted that. A tap on her arm drew her attention to Miriam, who was holding out a hand for the phone. Karen passed it over.

  "This is Miriam Anson, FBI…. Yes…. Hi, Andy…. Yeah, just walk it over one more time. If anything catches your attention, dust it, okay?"

  They talked for a few more minutes, nothing that particularly interested Karen. She was more interested in the ashen look of Grant's face. He sat behind his desk now, staring at the phone, probably despairing because he had been warned not to call in the cops.

  "Grant."

  It took a few seconds, but he finally looked at her.

  "Grant, it'll be okay. The leak will be plugged. As long as it doesn't get to the papers, Wallace will never know."

  "You're still sure it's him."

  "Yes. Grant, it's the only explanation that makes sense. The locked kitchen door was the big slip. He remembered to leave the front door unlocked and the alarm off, as if they'd been taken. But he locked the kitchen door, out of habit. A kidnapper would've been nervously watching the kids, making them keep still. Here we have kids who were being ignored while they spread paste and glitter all over the room. And who else would know that Art had a remote-controllable answering machine? Yes, I'm sure."

  He sighed heavily. "Unfortunately, so am I."

  "Grant
, that gives us a big advantage. He doesn't know we know. He thinks he has time. He doesn't."

  "He has my girls," Grant said.

  Karen nodded. "Yes, he does. But he also has his own girls with him. He won't want a fight. He'll take them somewhere they're all familiar with."

  "She's right, Senator," Miri said. "Have your girls ever gone on vacation with him?"

  Grant paused for a moment, closing his eyes. Stress and exhaustion were wearing him down, Karen realized. His thoughts and reactions were slowing. He opened his eyes and nodded.

  "Yes, they went to the mountains once."

  "Who went?" Karen asked, walking him through the memory.

  "Art and Elizabeth and their girls, Georgie and our girls."

  "Which mountains? The Rockies?"

  "No. Maryland, I think. Yes. Afterward Georgie brought the kids here to stay with me for a weekend. There was a budget brawl going on. Things were stalled, and we were trying to break the deadlock, so we'd put off the summer recess." He let out a long breath and looked at the couch. "Belle was just a baby at the time. I was changing her diapers on that sofa, with the phone on speaker."

  "You must've had a number where you could reach them," Miri said. "Do you still have it?"

  "I wouldn't even know. It was six years ago."

  Miri and Karen glanced at his desk at the same moment. An appointment calendar was open on one corner. Karen spoke first. "Do you keep your old appointment books?"

  "We do," Jerry said. "At the office."

  "Get it," Miri said. "If he wrote that number in it, we can find the place with a reverse directory search."

  Jerry nodded. "I'm on my way."

  "I'll drive you," Terry said. "That way we don't have to worry about speeding tickets."

  Karen didn't have to tell them to hurry. Once they'd left, she turned to Grant. "You need some sleep."

  "I couldn't sleep," he said, almost angry at the very thought. "I can't sleep until they're back with me."

  "That's not an option, Senator," Miri said. "You're the best source of information we have right now, but you're tired, and you're going to start making mistakes. Those mistakes could get your girls hurt. Or worse. We need you fresh."