by Dave Balcom
Chapter 32
I woke up about four-thirty, my neck aching from where it had spent the past six hours as I slept in the chair. I stumbled around the room a bit, then finally woke up enough to put on workout clothes, put my door card in my pocket and head for the elevator.
At the desk I asked the clerk if he had any suggestions as to what might constitute a workout route of two to four miles.
“We have all the state-of-the-art exercise machines in our fitness room on the second floor,” he said as if reading from a teleprompter.
“I’m sure you do, but if you wanted to breathe fresh air?” I paused.
“Listen, Mac, I can’t honestly suggest you go anywhere outside this hotel except straight to a waiting car. This is not a neighborhood...”
“You mean nobody walks, runs, or anything outdoors?”
“If they do, they don’t do it at the suggestion of this hotel or any of its employees.”
I let that settle for a minute and contemplated the technique borne of the 21st Century. “Okay, if you were sitting at a bar on your day off and a guy asked you for a route, and you were not concerned about keeping your job because some nutcase sued your company because you said something, what might you say?”
A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, “A hypothetical sorta thing?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, a guy I know who works days here, packs his gym stuff and changes after his shift. He raves about the trails around the Gateway Arch. But, of course, you didn’t hear that from me.”
I smiled and thanked him, then lifted my hand towards the front door and pointed first to the left and then to the right.
“Of course; turn left, first corner turn left again, go through the Busch Stadium parking lot and keep going east... you’ll see the entrance to the park. You’ll be on the downstream end of the park.”
I thanked him again and headed for the door.
When I got back, I was dripping wet and my mind had cleared a bit. I headed for the elevators only to hear my name called from the front desk area. I stopped and turned in time to see Richards come roiling out of one of the deep leather chairs that were scattered around the lobby area.
I could see at a glance that he wasn’t happy, but I was actually shocked by the first words out of his mouth. “Are you nuts?”
“Probably; but better now, I think.”
“I’m not joking,” he said as he grabbed my arm and started steering me towards the elevator. While he had kept his voice hushed, the unadulterated anger was impressive. We stepped into the elevator and as the door closed, he continued, “I’ve got agents – busy people without your mess – out looking all over to see if you really went for a run or if you were now in a bigger mess.
“You can’t think you can just walk out of here while in FBI custody... You just can’t be that naive.” All this was delivered as his face was as close to mine as his five-foot, eleven-inch frame would allow.
I finally mustered a response. “I’m sorry; I didn’t think of myself as being in ‘custody.’ I fell asleep in a chair last night, woke up feeling like crap, and took myself out to get myself into some kind of mental and physical shape so I can contribute... I didn’t go to play hooky.”
We were both silent as we reached my floor, and he didn’t say anything when I used my key card to let us into the room. He went to the phone, and I went to the bathroom for the shower.
When I came out, he was gone. There was a note with his phone number pasted to the TV screen: “Call when you’re ready to go to work. I’m in the hotel restaurant.”
When I walked into the restaurant he waved to me from a booth in the far corner of the room. I walked over and found Hurst sitting across from him. She scooched over to let me sit down.
“You can’t follow the simplest direction?” Richards started in, but I held up my hand. He stopped.
“My phone is on the charger; it died in the night I guess. The number you left on the note didn’t have an area code on it and the hotel phones demand one... So I came down thinking it was the best possible alternative.”
The silence was starting to get ominous until Hurst started to giggle. I looked at her in surprise, and she broke out into a laugh.
“Knock it off, Andy,” Richards said, but he too was smiling. “I guess I’m over-reacting a bit, but Goddamit, we wasted a lot of man hours and energy this morning... that just can’t happen again.”
I had nothing to say to that, and any further conversation was put aside as a waitress came smiling up to the booth to take breakfast orders.
“So, I guess there’s nothing new on Jan this morning or my exercise routine wouldn’t have had top billing,” I said as we waited for our food.
“Nothing yet,” Richards said, then looking at Hurst, he nodded.
She picked up the signal. “What we do know is that there has been no indication from East St. Louis or San Diego that something as serious as a kidnapping is going on. The activities of the suspects and all those they are in contact with are normal and routine.”
“So what are you thinking?” I asked, looking back and forth at the two agents.
Richards took over. “We are thinking that you or us or the Sweets, are going to hear something from the kidnappers today.
“They apparently were successful in getting away from the airport without detection. Jan’s photo and the story have been live since eight last night. St. Louis PD had a cordon around the airport in place within fifteen minutes of your call to me, and they came up with nothing, so we can assume they’ve spirited her away to where they feel safe.
“Now, they’ll make some kind of demand or other, and that will open up options for us.”
“So what can I do?”
“You can wait with the rest of us, Jim,” he said in a calm and matter-of-fact tone. “There’s nothing else to do.”
I let that soak in, and found that intellectually I understood, but emotionally that wasn’t enough.
“I think I have to do something,” I said after the food had arrived and both of the agents had started eating. “I don’t sit well. I’m trying to figure out if I got to Elliotsville, where I think the Sweets are going to hear something, or if I grab a flight to San Diego and get my hands on Mr. Cartwright...”
Richards swallowed and took a sip of his coffee before responding. “I think we all understand your desire to react, but I for one am voting that your intellect will rule here. You go running off to San Diego and the Sweets get an ultimatum that gives us a lead, and where are you?”
He took another swallow of coffee. “You go running off to Elliotsville and a leggy woman is seen in the company of some of Cartwright’s goons, and you’re hours away from a flight...”
He went back to his eggs, and Hurst took over, “We cannot begin to react until we have something concrete to react to. We’re just going to have to sit and wait.
“As new as I am to this, I’ve gone through this twice already – waiting for some word to give us a clue as to how to proceed – and I studied this scenario over and over in training...” she put her hand on mine... “You have to be patient; we know how difficult that can be, but it’s what you have to do.”
I was nodding as I started to climb out of the booth.
Richards actually dropped his fork, “Where are you going?”
“To my phone; I can’t be away from my phone. They took her phone; they’ll call my phone if they’re going to call anyone. It’s on the charger up in my room.”
“Sit down and eat,” Richards said quietly. “They’ll leave a message; you have to take care of yourself.”
I gave him a look, and walked away. I found my phone had completed its charge, and there were no messages on it. I sat in the chair I’d slept in the night before and I felt the energy of my walk just ooze out of me, replaced with an almost overwhelming feeling of apathy.
I recognized that feeling and fought back tears as I did. It was a feeling I’d known well eig
ht years before. It was grief.
Chapter 33
I must have dozed off. The knock at the door jolted me awake, and I felt adrenaline surge through me until I heard the knock again.
It was Richards and Hurst. Richards had a key card in his hand, as if he was prepared to open the door himself if I hadn’t responded.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I turned away from the doorway. “I must have fallen asleep in that chair again.”
“We know,” Richards said quietly. “We checked on you earlier, and you seemed to be resting peacefully so we let you sleep. But we figured you better get up and come to the office with us or else you won’t be able to sleep tonight.”
“You didn’t hear...”
“No, nothing yet,” Hurst said. “It’s still very early in the game...”
I started to react and then turned away towards the bathroom, “I’ll be ready in just a few minutes.”
Hurst drove. Richards sat in the back leaving me the leg room in the co-pilot seat. It was a silent ride to their suburban office, and when they ushered me into the conference room and went on their way, they didn’t say anything either. Hurst came back a minute later with a copy of the Post-Dispatch and plopped it onto the table in front of me.
Then the door closed, and I sat looking at Jan’s face on the front page. I read the story and found it to be the typical first-day, pop-and-bang coverage of an unusual event.
There were no quotes from the FBI and there was no background on Jan other than that she was a tourist from Pendleton, Oregon.
I had read the story through twice before I snapped out of my melancholy and grabbed for my phone.
Jack Nelson answered on the first ring, as if he’d been poised over his phone awaiting the call, which he practically had.
“Jim, we’ve been so worried,” he said after I introduced myself. “We saw the news last night on CBS, and again this morning on all the morning shows, how are you doing?” His concern poured out of him like a stream.
“Jack, I’m doing as well as I can. I’m sorry I didn’t call you earlier... I... well, I can’t go into it, but you know why we were down here, and it looked like we’d done all we could and we were headed home...”
I ran out of gas, and a silence I found comforting stretched out between us until, as I should have known he would, “Is there anything we can do now? Randall Albright has been on the phone twice today wondering if you need him or his airplane. We’re all standing by to do what you need...”
The mention of Randall deepened my feeling of shame for having neglected Jan’s friends while I moped about feeling sorry for myself.
“I know you’re all concerned, and I am really sorry that I waited so long to call. There’s really nothing we can do right now. The FBI is on the case, and we’re just waiting for the kidnappers to make their demands or send some kind of message.”
“You think this is tied up in that Sweet thing you talked to me about?”
“I guess I have to think that, but I have no way of knowing...” I felt the grief starting to work its way into me again. “Please, tell everyone thanks, and I’ll try to be better at keeping you and Shirlee in the loop, but I’ve gotta go now; okay?”
“Be gone with you; we’re praying for you. We all are.”
I had no sooner hung up and Andrea Hurst was back in the room with a smile on her face, “Let’s go; the Sweets have a new message.”
Chapter 34
Ed met us at the door just after six that evening, and without a word led us to his study. The note was lying unopened on his desk. “I didn’t want to risk...”
“Great work,” Hurst interrupted him as she gently pushed him aside. She had surgical gloves on, and tweezers in one hand and a scalpel in the other. As she carefully flipped the envelope over I could see the simple address: “The Sweets.”
Richards noticed it too, “Found it in your mailbox again?”
Ed nodded. I watched Andrea carefully slit the envelope open at the bottom, then using the scalpel to hold down one side, she pulled the note with the tweezers. Then she set the note aside and picked up the envelope with the tweezers as Richards held open a plastic evidence baggie. She dropped the envelope in, and then using the tools, opened the note so she and Richards could read it without touching it.
Sign number one!
You think making Mrs. Stanton disappear was something? If you don’t publish your decision, the kids will be ‘child’s play,’ if you get what I mean.
As for Mrs. Stanton, she’s served her purpose so far and can tell you all about it as long as we don’t see any more evidence of the FBI’s involvement. We know it was Stanton who brought them in, now he has as good a reason as you to get them out.
The next time you disobey will cost you a kid.
I felt the air go out of Richards as I read the note over his shoulder. I glanced at Ed and his eyes were shut.
We all backed away from the note, and I watched with something like the gawking that goes on around a traffic accident as Andrea put the note into the evidence bag. She turned and left the room with only a “see you later” for Richards.
Ed came out of his reverie, and motioned to the chairs. “I have to go tell Rita...”
“What’s gonna happen now?” I asked Richards.
“We’re going to sit and think, Mr. Stanton. We’re going to sit and think while Andrea drives to the State Police barracks in Kirksville and uses their technology to test that note for evidence and send a secure copy of the note to Quantico.
“We’re going to sit here and think about what this could mean, every possible thing we can think it could mean, and then when Quantico calls me, we’re going to have a nice chat with the brainiacs who study this kind of bullshit, and we’ll come up for air when we’ve got at least one line of investigation that makes sense.”
I didn’t have an answer to that, and we sat silently for two hours until I couldn’t sit any longer. I went out and found Rita and Ed on their porch, and sat with them. We didn’t have much to say either after I told them the gist of what Richards had said to me.
And we waited in the usually comfortable quiet of that home until we heard Richard’s phone go off. We heard half a mumbled conversation, and then we waited silently for another ten minutes until the agent came out to the porch.
“That was my office. Our luggage – yours, Andy’s, and mine, – is now at the Inn downtown.”
“Have any thoughts you want to share?” I asked.
He just shook his head and went back to the study. I shared a look with Ed and Rita; I saw the tears just draining from her eyes and across her cheeks. I reached out to touch the back of her hand, but she caught mine in both of hers. “Oh, Jim,” she sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I can’t tell you...”
I shushed her gently, “She’s a big girl; she can take care of herself more than you would guess. She’s been in tight spots. She keeps her cool, uses her head... you’d be better off feeling sorry for her captors if they let their guard down a second.”
She released my hand, and I took myself to the study, hoping I had helped her with my confident words. I knew I hadn’t helped myself any.
Richards was now sitting at Ed’s desk, and had a legal pad open in front of him. From the look of things he had spent his time jotting down all the thoughts that he’d had while I had been sitting, feeling sorry for myself and not really participating at all.
As I sat down in the chair opposite him, he turned the pad back to the front page and shoved it over to me. I read his thoughts and realized the only difference between how he’d spent the hours and the way I had it was he’d actually written down his version of our thoughts.
Basically his notes boiled down to the same three possibilities that I had:
Someone close to the Sweets was part of this, otherwise how would the notes be delivered to the mailbox on their front porch.
Or, the person or persons involved in this had either seen an FBI involvement or been told about it
– either way they had to have a connection to the five children.
Or, there was no connection at all between the threat and the family. It was someone in the Elliotsville area who had flipped over the good news and whose jealousy had taken them to this macabre exhibition.
I read the notes again, and then excused myself.
On the porch, I sat next to Ed, “Do you hunt deer or turkey?”
My question came out of the blue, and was so far from where his mind was that it took a bunch of blinking before he answered. “Some.”
“Do you own a trail camera?”
Suddenly his eyes focused directly on mine and a small smile started on his lips as he said, “Of course; the mail box.”
“What’s the range?”
“Daylight? About fifty feet; in the dark? Half that maybe.”
“How many shots in a burst?”
“Three; or we can do a sixteen-second video.”
I thought for a minute, and he added, “This new camera I have – I haven’t put it out on the trail yet, but it is supposed to have a self-centering feature that when it detects motion on the periphery, it gets the subject in the middle of the frame before it shoots.”
“I think we’d get better resolution if we had it on single frame rather than a movie.”
“It’s a ten-mega pixel camera; if we set it up right, we should get portrait-like photos in the daylight, and certainly identifiable IR images in the dark.”
“Do you have other cameras?”
“Two. They both work, but they’re older, why?”
“I’m thinking that whoever is coming up on your porch to deliver those notes isn’t just walking up the walk or the driveway. Maybe we should put cameras at likely access points as well as on the box.”
“Come on; the cameras are in the garage. We’ll have to set up the new camera, it’s still in its box; but I have batteries. We can get them ready and post them...”
“Let’s talk with Richards before we go off half-cocked; I’m thinking we’ll be better off if we wait until tonight to set the cameras... who knows if we’re being watched.”
