“We may be here a while,” John Hillman added. “It’s a big house, and Mr. Talbot likes electronics.”
“We’ll take what you’ve got so far with us to Portland,” Harvey said. “If we find evidence of crimes committed in Cape, we’ll loop you in right away.”
“Okay,” John said. “Want us to keep the guns? My boys can run them.”
“Sure. Let us know if it’s too much, or if any connect with past crimes. No sign of Hobart?”
“My men did a quick search and didn’t find anything, but we’ll check everything more thoroughly.”
“Okay.” Harvey clicked the handcuffs around Talbot’s wrists. “Search him, Eddie. You may find another gadget or two.”
*****
Peter gritted his teeth and tried to adjust the shard of glass he held behind him. He’d sat down on the sleeping bag to ensure he didn’t drop his new tool while standing and destroy it. His fingers where slippery with blood, and he had trouble telling where the best edge was. Was it possible he could bleed to death through his fingers before he ever got the tape off? Abigail would be so distressed.
He paused to rest and tried to picture his hands behind him. The piece of glass was about three inches long, the biggest one he could reach after breaking the mirror. It felt about half an inch or so across at the widest part, and it tapered to a lethal point. With sharp edges on every plane, it endangered him no matter how he held it.
God, you’ve got to help me. If I don’t get this soon, I’m done.
Cautiously, he adjusted his grip on the glass. It seemed to be contacting the tape; he felt some resistance, but no sharp pricks. It was so easy to slice himself before he realized it, and his reactions seemed to be getting slower.
“Today, Lord,” he said aloud. He held his breath and worked the shard back and forth.
Something gave. He was so shocked, he dropped the glass.
“No!”
He sat still for a moment, breathing deeply. Then he started patting the thick fabric beneath him. Where was it?
Another filament in the tape parted, loosening the bond. Peter sat still. Was it really weakening? He struggled to his knees and lifted his bound hands as high as he could behind him—a matter of inches. He thrust downward, forcing his wrists apart as he did.
He tumbled forward and landed on his face, knees still on the sleeping bag. Pain radiated from his nose, almost blocking out the realization that his hands had come apart. He lay for half a minute with his face on the rough concrete, just breathing, trying to quiet his gasps.
With excruciating slowness, he brought his arms forward. Blood covered his hands, wrists, and lower shirtsleeves. He put his hands on the floor to push himself up, but the fingers of his left hand hurt so badly that he used his elbow instead. Finally he was sitting up, staring down at his bleeding hands.
Stop the bleeding first, he told himself. Pressure. With what? There was only the sleeping bag, and he pressed all his fingertips against the outside of it. His blood soaked into the green cloth, and pain nauseated him. Were there bits of glass in his fingers? In this dim light, he wouldn’t be able to see them. He sagged forward and clenched his teeth. He had to stop the bleeding.
*****
Tony glanced around the office. Nate had gone to the locker room, and Jimmy had gone down to the lab. Paula had also left on a break. He wouldn’t have a better chance to talk to Laney. He didn’t have her cell number, so he picked up his desk phone’s receiver and punched in the number for the chief’s office.
“Chief Browning.”
Startled, Tony nearly dropped the phone. “Oh, uh, Chief. Hey. This is Winfield. I, uh, didn’t expect it to go through to you direct.”
“Oh, Judith took Laney down to the records room to introduce her to the staff down there. What’s up, Winfield?”
“Uh, well, I, uh ... wasn’t sure if you’d heard from the captain that they’re bringing Talbot up here.”
“Yes, Captain Larson called me a few minutes ago.”
“Great,” Tony said. “Just wanted to make sure you were in the loop, sir.”
“Thank you.”
The chief hung up on him, and Tony stared at the phone for a second then replaced the receiver. He took a deep, slow breath in an unsuccessful effort to calm his raging pulse.
He could run downstairs and wait outside the records room for Laney to come out, but she would have Judith with her. And waiting in the stairwell wouldn’t work. Since she was with the older woman, Laney would use the elevator.
Nate came out of the break room. “So, do you think the Captain will make it back in time for the press briefing?”
Tony eyed the clock. “Have you ever known him to be late?”
*****
Harvey had a headache by the time they got back to the police station. Talbot had complained all the way there. If only he’d been allowed a backup team from Portland to transport him.
He hated press conferences to begin with, and he hated headaches. Taken together, they made him irritable, which was not good if your words might be splashed all over tonight’s local newscasts.
They were a mile from the station when his phone rang. He looked at it and grimaced.
“Yeah, Mike?”
“You’re cutting it close on the press conference, Harv. The lobby’s full of reporters.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. What have I got, ten minutes?”
“Yeah. I hope you know what you’re going to say.”
“Pretty much. Can you have Cheryl send a couple of officers to meet us in the garage to escort Talbot? Eddie will supervise the booking.”
“You’re booking me?” Talbot howled from the back seat.
Eddie swore in French, and Harvey shot him a disapproving glare. “We’re almost there, Chief. I’ll go right to the lobby.”
He hung up and swiveled to scowl at Talbot. “Put a sock in it, would you?”
“No! I want my lawyer as soon as we get there.”
Harvey rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was impossible to focus on what he would say to the press. Eddie parked in the garage and got Talbot out. Harvey paused only long enough to speed-dial Abby.
“Hey, I’m about to do a press conference. Anything you want to say?”
“Just bring Peter back alive.”
“Yeah. That’s what we all want. I’ll appeal to public. We’re releasing Peter’s picture, Abs. You might not want the boys to see the six o’clock news.”
“Can I offer a reward?” she asked.
“Of course you can.”
“I’d give the ransom money—”
“Whoa! Abby, remember, that’s not your money.”
“Of course, you’re right. How about ten thousand? I could take that from our savings. What do you think?”
“Sure.”
Cheryl Yeaton, the day sergeant, looked up as Harvey entered the hallway door from the parking garage. She spoke to one of the journalists and turned toward the lectern, which a patrolwoman was setting up for Harvey. He was glad to see Nate Miller in the front row with a laptop set up on a rolling stand, which meant he was ready to show Harvey’s visuals on the blank wall behind him. Harvey went over to speak to him for a moment then approached the lectern.
“You all set?” Cheryl asked.
He nodded. He was confident things were well organized on this end, if not in his mind. “One new wrinkle. Mrs. Hobart wants to offer a reward. Can you set up a hotline and get the phone number to Miller, so he can project it on the wall? And we’ll need two or three people to field calls.”
“Right away?”
“If you can manage.”
Cheryl pulled a sour face. “Of course I can manage the impossible.” She walked straight to the front of the audience. “Thank you all for coming. Captain Larson is in the building.”
A low murmur of laughter swept the gathering of about twenty reporters and videographers. Harvey thought he detected a note of relief. He smiled and stepped up to the lectern.
“You’re right on time,” Cheryl assured him. She leaned in and whispered, “But I was getting a little worried.”
“I’m sure you could have handled things, Sergeant Yeaton,” Harvey said smoothly, and Cheryl threw him a grim smile and hurried to the door that would put her in the area that held her office, the duty room, and the communications room. He’d given her an assignment that would push her limits over the next quarter hour.
Harvey focused on the press. “So. We’re in the middle of a breaking case, and I’ll give you the latest developments. You all know about the shooting that took place Wednesday evening at Hobart Chevrolet. This is a photo of the man who was killed, Carter Ulrich. He was an employee at the car dealership. Detective Miller will post it on our liaison website for you.”
Right on cue, Nate had the photo of Ulrich displayed on the wall.
“We now believe that the owner, Peter Hobart, was kidnapped that same evening,” Harvey said. “This is a photo of Mr. Hobart.” Nate swapped out the pictures. “He has not been seen since before the shooting. His wife was to meet him at the showroom at close of business Wednesday, but when she arrived, she found Ulrich’s body. Her husband was missing.”
The reporters were furiously scribbling in their notebooks.
“We knew for certain he’d been kidnapped a few hours later,” Harvey said. “A call came in to Mrs. Hobart for ransom about 9:40 p.m. She was able to speak to her husband for a few seconds at that time. It’s the last time we’re certain that Peter Hobart was still alive.”
He paused for a moment. Stating the bald truth cut deeply. He looked out at the reporters. He knew most of them, had worked closely with some.
“We need your help. We’ll give you photos of Mr. Hobart, and we ask you to publicize them. Tell your audience, if anyone has seen this man in the last two days to please contact the Portland police. We’ll set up a hotline in our comm room and staff it starting at the close of this press conference. We’ll have that number for you in a minute—”
Nate lifted a hand, pointing behind him. Harvey swiveled and looked at the 800 number on the wall.
“Well, there you go. Our day sergeant, Cheryl Yeaton, is her usual efficient self today. If you get calls in your newsrooms about this kidnapping, please refer them to us.”
“Captain—” Half a dozen reporters waved their hands.
“I’m not finished.” Harvey looked out over them. “The family is offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward for information that leads to Mr. Hobart’s safe return. Anyone who contacts us through the hotline with details that take us to the victim will be eligible.”
He paused considering how much more to tell. He figured they were running out of time. The kidnappers had cut off communication twenty-four hours ago, and that usually wasn’t good. The more he revealed, the better Peter’s chances of some good Samaritan coming up with a clue.
“My detectives and I helped Mrs. Hobart prepare to meet the kidnappers’ demands on Thursday, but unfortunately, things did not go as planned. The man who tried to retrieve the ransom was struck by a vehicle and killed. We believe he wasn’t working alone, and that there’s at least one more kidnapper still out there. He hasn’t contacted us, and we figure he’s afraid.” He nodded to Nate, and Chad McCafferty’s photo came up.
“This man is a person of interest in the case. His name is Chad McCafferty, nickname Mack. We’d like to be notified immediately if anyone knows his whereabouts.”
Harvey paused and looked over the group. Some were veteran reporters, and others looked like rookies fresh out of journalism school. For better or for worse, he was giving them a chance to help solve several crimes. He only hoped he wasn’t putting Peter in deeper danger.
“I’d like to say right now that if anyone involved contacts our hotline and gives us information leading to the return of Peter Hobart, we will take their cooperation into consideration. Someone has abducted Mr. Hobart and is holding him against his will. But if we don’t find Mr. Hobart alive, this will become a homicide case. So whoever knows anything needs to step forward now.”
He opened the forum for questions, calling on a woman from Channel 2 first.
“Is this McCafferty the other kidnapper you’re looking for?”
“Right now, he’s just a potential witness. I can’t give you details, but we do believe he has some connection to the case.”
The questions rained thick and hard. Harvey revealed that they had several leads they were following, and that they were questioning some contacts. But he didn’t mention Emma Skerritt or Davey Talbot by name or get specific about their leads. He did admit that the roadblocks on the I-95 ramps Thursday night were connected to the case.
Nate had sent him a fact sheet he’d prepared with minimal biographical information on Peter Hobart, Carter Ulrich, and Webster Holden. Harvey released that to the journalists. He saw Mike leaning against the wall near the stairway and nodded to him. Like old times.
“Thank you, folks,” Harvey said. “Help us out by filing your stories with as much information as you can and referring any inquiries to us.”
He turned away. Mike had slipped inside the stairwell, and Harvey wished he’d escaped with him. Ryan Toothaker chased him to the door that would take him to the comm room to talk over details of the hotline with the head dispatcher.
“Captain, hold on a sec.”
Harvey sighed. “Well, Ryan, did you find out anything interesting about Holden?”
“I guess not. Nothing you didn’t already know. But do you know who the second kidnapper is?”
“I told you, we have someone in mind.”
“That McCafferty guy.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t want us to broadcast that he’s the kidnapper and have people be on the lookout for him?”
“I’ve given you his name and his picture. We would like to talk to him. I did not ever say we think he’s one of the kidnappers.” Harvey shook his head. “Ryan, we don’t to want to spook him. But we have some leads we’re following, and we hope to track him down soon. We don’t want civilians getting in the way of that.”
“You said you’re talking to some other people. Can you tell me who?”
“No.”
“Relatives of the dead kidnapper?”
“I can’t reveal that.”
“If you could just—”
“No, Ryan. Go write up your story.”
“But I don’t have anything the others don’t have.”
“That’s right.” Harvey reached for the keypad beside the doorjamb.
“Just one little tidbit, Captain. You know that if—”
“If you say that I’d give my sister-in-law an exclusive if she still worked for the paper, I’ll have you banned from this building.”
Ryan gulped. “You could do that?”
“Yes. And I will, if you bring Leeanne’s name into this.”
“Okay.” Ryan held up a hand and took a step backward.
Harvey felt sorry for him, but not that sorry. He punched in the key code and hurried toward the comm room. His cell phone’s vibrations halted him. He checked the screen and was surprised to see Captain Hillman’s name.
“Larson. That you, John?”
“Yes. I have something for you to look into. One of Talbot’s men checked in—that is, he thought he checked in. He called Talbot’s henchman. You know, the big guy, Cartwell.”
“Right, the heavy. What’d he say?”
“Seems this guy was out on a so-called errand and didn’t know about our raid on Talbot’s place.”
“He didn’t catch on when you answered Cartwell’s phone?” Harvey asked.
“No. He was a little shook up. Said he’d located McCafferty, but he got away.”
“I just came from McCafferty’s hideaway half an hour ago,” Harvey said. “We found some blood there.”
“Well, this guy said he was pretty sure he’d hit Mack, but he lost him
.”
“What did you tell him?”
Hillman chuckled. “I told him the boss wanted him to come back to headquarters. We’ll pick him up when he gets here to Talbot’s house.”
“Great. Hold him and anyone with him,” Harvey said. He went on into the busy comm room to speak to Charlie about the hotline workers.
*****
Peter stirred. He must have drifted off again. He looked toward the window. It was still bright outside, but he couldn’t tell what time.
His hands hurt like crazy. He flexed them. The left hurt more than the right. He held them up and studied them. They were so caked in blood that he couldn’t tell where the cuts were, but his fingertips had suffered for sure. He also had a few lacerations on his left wrist. But the bleeding seemed to have stopped, so that was something. What now?
He lay still, thinking. There was something he had to remember.
The key!
Even a small movement like turning his head hurt, but he had to find it. It was somewhere here on the sleeping bag. He eased back and looked carefully over the rumpled fabric, stained with his blood. The light from the high window wasn’t strong enough to help much from across the room. Slowly, methodically, he patted the folds of fabric. It had to be here.
Ten minutes later, he nearly despaired.
I know it’s here, God! Mack threw it down.
Maybe if he stood and shook out the sleeping bag. The little key would fall out on the floor. He’d have to be careful, though, so it didn’t bounce away to where he couldn’t reach it.
He crawled to the wall and leaned against it. After two failed attempts, he managed to get to his feet and pull the corner of the sleeping bag up with him. He pulled it in slowly, clutching a wad of the quilted cloth and listening for the key to plink on the floor. If it didn’t hit the concrete, it must be down inside the folds of the bedding.
He caught a faint sound and froze. Swaying slightly, he moved his head from one side to the other, searching for it. Carefully he crouched with the sleeping bag in his arms a peered at the floor. At last he saw it and leaned forward.
Chapter 15
Three off-duty officers had volunteered to come in and take the first shift on the hotline. Relieved, Harvey thanked Charlie Doran and was half way out the door of the comm room when Charlie called him back.
Ransom of the Heart Page 18
