Gloria scowled, staring at David. “Fellows? What did you say about him?”
“Just that Jean and Henry had their differences. You know how Henry was – Katie said he was calling Jean for weeks. He was suicidal at one point.”
Gloria was shaking her head. She stared into her coffee and said, quietly, “It’s not Henry.”
“How do you know?” David watched her intently.
She struggled to meet his gaze.
“Excuse me,” he said, abrupt. “My turn to wash up.”
David rose to his feet and Gloria slid out of his way. He walked away toward the bathrooms.
Cross felt like he was watching some absurd play, characters getting on and off the stage.
After a silence, Gloria said, “David worked for my father a few years ago.”
“I didn’t know that.”
She nodded. “He helped with the final construction of the Dobbs Ferry restaurant. Mainly setting up the kitchen, but he even helped my father create the menu. David is a great cook. He was a chef for years while he played in his band.”
Cross’s mind was moving in several directions. He seized on one train of thought. “Gloria, did your father ever run into anything… buying his hotels, the restaurant he built from scratch – did he ever encounter any resistance?”
“Resistance?”
“Pushback. Anyone who, I don’t know, thought they had claim to an area. Or demanded a no-bid contract, you know, that they were entitled to the construction work, things like that.”
Her expression grew somber. “You mean organized crime.”
“I guess, yeah.”
“Not that I’ve ever heard of. I mean, it’s not Atlantic City, you know? He built the restaurant in Dobbs Ferry after the previous one burned down. That site was dormant for a few years, he bought it, and then he built. I don’t remember who he hired. Some company from Yonkers, I think. David did some finish work toward the end, on his own.”
“Do you know how your parents were able to come up with the money? They seemed to be struggling, but they suddenly jumped from twelve million to seventeen…”
Cross trailed off as he watched Gloria’s eyes tracking someone moving through the diner. A moment later, David sat back down.
“Listen,” David said. “None of this matters. What matters is we need to be out there looking.” It looked like he’d taken a moment to calm down; his hair was fixed, the vein in his forehead less prominent.
Cross said, “It matters if this thing – you don’t have details, okay – but whatever it is, if this kidnapping grew out of it…”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then why bring it up?”
David pursed his lips, folded his arms, and stared back at Cross.
“Okay,” Cross said, exasperated. “We’ll let that be for now. Let’s try to think like the kidnappers – whoever they are. What was their plan? Okay? We know – we strongly suspect – Johnny M. talks to Jeff Gebhart, finds out about the park, where the most remote locations are, abandoned cabins, that sort of thing. Right?”
David nodded agreement.
“Okay. So, Johnny enlists Troy Vickers to help with the heavy lifting. They boost a minivan in Ogdensburg. But – there’s a second vehicle, and they switch to it a few miles west of Bakers Mills, leaving the minivan behind.”
Their food arrived, another interruption. Maybe meeting over a meal was a bad idea. The waitress set out the steaming plates and asked if anyone needed anything else.
“Thanks, we’re good,” Cross said.
David and Gloria were watching him, waiting. No one touched their food yet, though Cross’s stomach clenched with hunger. He tried to pick up the thread again.
“We don’t know what the second vehicle is, but maybe it’s something with off-road capabilities. A rugged SUV or a four-by-four truck, something. They get as far as they can into the interior, you know, in the vehicle, then take Katie into the woods, to one of these cabins, at this point on foot. But probably Johnny M. stays behind, makes the first call to Jean, demanding the ransom. He uses a prepaid Tracfone, but then he plants it on a tractor-trailer, so we chase it almost all the way to Canada.”
David leaned in. “Didn’t you speak to this guy’s brother? Gebhart? Why aren’t they telling us what cabins they have? Or know of?”
“They will. Or they’re going to go to jail. But let’s say Vickers is the one to go in with Katie. Okay? Montgomery stays out, makes the calls. He places a second call fifteen minutes later, doubling the ransom… What?”
David sat up straight, pulled in a long breath. “I came up with it.”
“You put up the rest of the money?” Cross asked.
Katie’s husband looked down at his steaming food. “It was money I had gotten from Jean for the work I did.”
“I’m sorry – we’re talking about $5 million. Right?”
David’s eyes snapped up. “It was insurance.”
“What do you mean? For what?”
“Sweeten me up. Keep me quiet.”
“About what?” But Cross could already see they were back to the same place.
David said, “Look, I’m sorry – I’m not going to sit here and incriminate Jean. I can’t do it. And I don’t think it’s related. But yeah, I took money. And then I used it, for this.”
“You took money, hush money, but you don’t know anything?”
David grabbed the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “I know enough to have been paid to stay out of it, and enough to know this—”
“No – you don’t know enough to say one has nothing to do with the other. Okay? You don’t.”
David slowly sat back, at last defeated.
Gloria had paled. She stared into space. Suddenly her brow furrowed in anger and she leaned toward David. “You know what Wick said? That FBI agent? They want to look at my businesses. My store, my restaurant. Want to talk to all my employees.” Her lip trembled and her eyes welled. “Does that have something to do with what you’re talking about, David? Or not talking about?”
“No. Nothing. I don’t know.”
“Okay, let’s all take a breath.” Cross focused on David. “Don’t you see how this has broken your family apart? Maybe someone who wanted to get back at your father-in-law? I don’t know everything about kidnappings; only that they’re rare, and they hardly ever work. Is it possible money wasn’t the object? If you tell me what happened, maybe that’s exactly what does help get Katie back.”
David shook his head. “Our family was already broken apart,” he said. “This is about money, and that’s it.”
David surveyed his food, picked up the cutlery, and started eating. Gloria stared out into the storm. Despite the tension at the table and whether or not it was impolite, Cross relished the salty diner food.
After a few minutes he wiped his mouth. He had a new tack. “David, you pointed me toward Henry Fellows, Eric Dubois, Lee Beck. People you thought might have the emotionality, the audacity, or be in the financial straits to attempt something like this. I’m wondering if we’ve missed someone.”
He looked at Gloria, thinking that investigating her restaurant and stores – employees – wasn’t such a bad idea. But she didn’t look like she needed to hear that.
Jean Calumet had far more people working for him anyway. Someone who coveted his wealth. Who might’ve despised him – fueling their drive to take from him in such a violent and risky way.
“It’s too late for secrets,” Cross said. “We all want Katie back, safe and sound. David, when I say I don’t care about the investigation into your father-in-law – I don’t. Any more than I care about what you did to get that money. I ask only in the interest that it helps your wife. If we know who took her, then that’s a hell of a lot better than spending days looking for her, maybe weeks – especially when she’s out there in the wilderness in weather like this, possibly injured, who knows.”
All three of them looked out the plate-glass window of the din
er. Night had fully arrived. The lights from the restaurant lit the rain silver as it pummeled the cars in the parking lot.
David spoke up at last. “I know you’re looking out for Katie’s best interest, and I believe you. But whoever hired these guys – Montgomery, Vickers – they left the specifics up to them. That’s my gut. Wherever Katie is, the only people who know are the ones who have her.”
“Are we talking about organized crime? The thing you… The thing Jean Calumet got involved with, that you’re supposed to stay quiet about?”
David vehemently shook his head. He started getting out money to pay. Cross thought he was through talking, but as he slapped down a couple twenty-dollar bills, David said, “It was about tax stuff. That’s all I’m going to say. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Cross wondered if he meant fraud. But he decided not to press any further on it and accept David’s answer for now.
Cross pushed the twenties back at David. “This is on me. Actually, it’s your tax dollars already at work.”
He offered David a smile, but Katie’s husband was sullen.
The three of them left the diner, bracing against the wind and rain. Cross jumped into his car as David and Gloria piled into a Land Rover.
They drove a short ways down the street to the Leaf Blower Inn and pulled in. Cross watched as David got out and jogged to the office with the “no vacancy” sign lit in the window. The state police had already booked several rooms, and David was checking in. Cross would do the same, but he was fixed on Gloria, still seated behind the steering wheel.
He got out of his car and trotted over.
She rolled down the window and squinted against the rain ricocheting in.
“Your room is a double,” he said. “Hope that’s okay.”
She shook her head. “I have to go back to Brooklyn.”
He just stood there, getting soaked all over again. “Tonight?”
“I left everything,” she explained. “I can’t just stay away. Especially not if… you know, they’re coming down to turn everything inside out. If I get going now I can be there early in the morning. Just need a couple days… Then I’ll be back.”
Cross reached through the open window and patted her shoulder. “Alright, well… drive safe. We’ll do everything we can for Katie.”
“I know you will.” Her eyes were welling but she offered a smile then rolled up the window.
Cross watched her back away then turn and drive off into the night.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Leno was dying. He had crawled away from Hoot’s cabin and was making his way into the woods on his hands and knees. Katie watched him try to get on his feet, and then fall. She stood behind him in the rain, holding the rifle.
“Who hired you?” She had to nearly shout above the storm.
He didn’t answer. After falling, he lay there, face down. She wanted to search him for a sat phone, but he could be playing possum, trying to lull her into letting her guard down, so he could snatch the rifle from her. She wasn’t taking any chances.
She’d stashed the handgun. One less gun, one less opportunity to get shot. But what about Hoot’s rifle? Too many guns to think about, and she hated guns.
She looked around. Leno had left a trail through the mud on his way to the woods.
She edged closer, keeping her feet spread.
He was still.
Just pull the trigger.
She was in the same position as before she’d run away. Shooting Leno had been a reaction – a rush of adrenaline and instinct. Shooting a dying man as he crawled away was another story. Her body was shaking. She was cold and scared and it was dark. He was moving into the woods.
Lightning flashed, brightening everything to a surreal daylight for a flickering second. Thunder followed close – the storm was right on top of her. Katie continued to hold the rifle on him, willing Leno to just drop to the ground again, to be still, to be dead.
He tried to stand up, his back to her.
Then he fell again.
Pull the trigger.
She racked the bolt, sending a fresh round into the chamber.
Something else caught her eye. Close to the cabin, near where she’d shot Leno, a backpack and the other rifle – Hoot’s rifle. Leno must’ve dropped the items when he opened the front door.
She walked backward, keeping her eye on Leno. When she reached the items, she knelt and checked the pack over. It bore the peace sign stencil. It was Hoot’s.
Katie heard a noise and glanced up.
Leno was gone.
“Ah fuck.”
She stood, swept the area with the rifle. The storm had turned the air cold, and she was shattered from everything; the past hours of running and hiding, going up and down the mountain, being on constant alert.
She dared to venture into the woods a little, looking for Leno, or signs of him, but it was pitch-dark, just a white noise of rain in the forest.
He’d clearly been in rough shape. Hopefully he’d just crawled off to die alone.
But she would have to wait until morning, or at least until the storm had passed, before searching for him and finding out for sure. For now, she needed rest; she needed food and water and to be dry.
She needed warmth. For days she’d been languishing in the heat; now the temperature was plummeting and she was drenched.
The handgun was on the ground where she’d stashed it. She ferried it into the cabin, went back for the pack and the other rifle, brought them inside.
Hoot’s cabin was in good repair – even with the torrential downpour, the place was bone-dry. His wood stove wasn’t as robust as the one from the previous cabin, but it would certainly heat the small space efficiently. A dismal-looking cot in the corner constituted the sleeping quarters.
She used the lock on the door this time, sliding it home with a satisfying snick, then groped around until she found matches and kindling among Hoot’s well-organized things, got a fire going.
Her thoughts went to the hermit, lying up there near the chapel, his body exposed to the elements.
She couldn’t do anything for him now. She had to focus on surviving.
With the door secured and the fire snapping, she stripped out of her wet clothes. She had to constantly reassure herself that Leno was in a shape too grievous to come back and attempt to harm her, and she had all the weapons. She hoped.
She hung her wet clothes from the rafters and wrapped herself in the blanket on Hoot’s cot in the corner.
The blanket stunk of mildew and old sweat, but it was dry, and warm, and she sat cross-legged in front of the fire, the hides swinging gently around her in the wafting heat, their ropes creaking.
* * *
The coyotes howled during the night.
Katie lay awake listening, pointing the rifle at the door, waiting for either Leno or the animals to show up on the other side.
She and David had heard coyotes before from their own property – they sounded like crazed teenagers. Yipping and hollering, David had said. He’d been in a pair of overalls that day, splattered with paint and sawdust while he worked on the house. She was partial to him when he was that way, his brow furrowed in concentration, smelling of cut wood.
She liked the musician-David, too – she’d fallen in love with the guy in jeans and a sport jacket playing tortured blues on the piano – but it was the more bucolic, handyman-version of him that had won her over for the long term.
Musicians were great, but men who could cook, fix up the house, and do their own laundry – those were the keepers.
He would’ve made a good father too.
-He still can. This isn’t over yet.
But her whole body seemed to deflate in a post-adrenaline crash, sheer exhaustion and despair creeping in, and Katie let out an inadvertent moan.
She’d been in a state of high alert for hours, climbing and running and falling and shooting guns. It couldn’t be good for her body.
Couldn’t be good f
or the baby inside her.
Normally, a woman would know, she thought. But there’d been so much rain, everything soaking wet, blood from her cuts and scrapes running down her legs, so many other pains and traumas…
Lying in the darkness of Hoot’s cabin, the live coyotes still yipping outside, their dead cousins hanging from the ceiling, thinking about the potential loss of her pregnancy filled her with a thick sorrow.
Thinking about what could have been, and what might now never be.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Leaf Blower Inn parking lot was chock full of vehicles – a few troopers but mostly volunteers working the search. Cross kept a spare bag in the back of his car with extra clothes in it for just such an occasion. He had the bag and was headed into his room, planning to shower and reboot himself before heading over to the fire station, when his phone buzzed.
“Petrie wants to talk to you.” Marty sounded tired.
“Is everything okay?” Cross keyed into the room and tossed his bag on the bed.
“She’s been asking about you since I got home. She keeps talking about some dream she had.”
Cross began to understand, and his heart eased back into cruising speed. Patricia had a vivid imagination, and often scary dreams. “Put her on.”
“Hi Daddy,” Petrie said a moment later. Her voice was unbearably small and cute.
“Hi Petey. How you doin’?” Cross sat down on the bed.
“Good. Daddy, where are you?”
“I’m in a place called Speculator. You remember the playground? Where we played rocket ship on the swing set that time?”
Cross had a sister who lived in Syracuse, and when they went to visit her they sometimes took a route through Speculator. But they hadn’t done it since he and Marty separated.
“Yeah I remember and there was the mud from my juice.”
It took him a moment but he got it. “That’s right. You spilled your juice cup in the sand and it turned the sand into mud. Wow, Petrie. You’ve got such a good memory.”
“Yeah. Daddy, where are you?”
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