Piece of My Heart

by Mary Higgins Clark

  But how could Gunther connect the cop he despised to a child born nearly a decade after Gunther went to prison? Her mind suddenly flashed to an image of the magazine article that was currently framed on the wall of her studio office.

  “Dad, New York magazine did that profile last year, when you went back to the NYPD to join the counterterrorism team,” she said. “The writer included that whole section about how you originally left the department to help me with Timmy after Greg was killed. Remember how upset I was when they ran that photo of the three of us from the Yankees game?”

  She, Timmy, and Leo had attended as guests in the mayor’s box. Laurie tried to be vigilant about protecting Timmy from the public eye, but apparently the stadium’s event photographer had snapped a shot of them and uploaded it to a database of images available to the press. Rather than use the official NYPD headshot that Leo had provided for the profile, the magazine editors had somehow tracked down the old family photo online.

  Alex was following the chain of her logic. “That picture from the game was a couple of years old.”

  Back when Timmy looked just like Johnny, Laurie thought.

  “We should tell Marcy and Andrew about this before we do anything further,” Laurie said.

  “They’re probably still in my room,” Alex said. “They must have broken the news to the twins by now. Let’s go find them.”

  Chapter 19

  Johnny could tell from the slower speed of the car and the many turns the man made, one after the next, that they had left the highway. The slivers of sunlight that had found their way into the car trunk had been replaced by the back glow of taillights. It was nighttime now.

  Another turn, followed by bump, bump, bump, bump beneath him, like they were driving on rocks or gravel or something. Then the car came to a stop.

  One one-thousand, two one-thousand…

  He began to count to himself, just as he had every single time the car had stopped before. A hundred and seventeen was the furthest he’d gotten so far. That was the one time the man actually got out of the car and talked to him and gave him a ginger ale.

  Ever since then, the stops had all been false alarms. Probably stop signs or red lights, Johnny guessed. Were they finally stopping, and was the man going to come for him again?

  Eight one-thousand, nine one-thousand…

  He heard a low humming sound somewhere outside the car. Not like a bird or other animal, he thought. Like a machine of some kind.

  The sound stopped at the count of fifteen, and the car began to move again. He felt a small bump, and then the surface beneath the tires seemed to go back to a smooth road. No more rocks and gravel.

  Another stop.

  One one-thousand, two one—

  The man cut the engine. This was the first time that had happened since the ginger ale. He held his breath, terrified of what might happen next.

  The mechanical humming sound started again. This time it was louder.

  As soon as the noise ended, he heard the man’s voice. “Not one little peep, you hear me?”

  Johnny opened his mouth to tell the man he wasn’t going to say a word, but then stopped himself. That would be saying something, and he didn’t want to make the man angry.

  He heard the quiet pop of the trunk. The man looked directly at him through the crack.

  “Ssssssshhhhh, little boy. Not a word.”

  The voice was a whisper, but it was the scariest sound Johnny had ever heard. He needed to get out of the car before he wet his pants. He didn’t want to think about what the man would do to him if that happened.

  As the top of the trunk slowly rose, Johnny saw that they were inside a two-car garage. There was enough room for the car they had traveled in, but the rest of the garage was filled with all kinds of things sticking out everywhere. A bike on top of an old sofa next to a lawn mower. Boxes stacked all over the place. A huge mess.

  “You can sit up now,” the man said. “It’s okay.”

  Johnny followed the instructions but moved slowly, not wanting to upset the man. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the gun in the man’s waistband.

  “You’re probably ready to get out of that little compartment, aren’t you?”

  Is he trying to trick me? Johnny wondered. He didn’t want to sound like a complainer. The man looked at him expectantly. Johnny nodded slowly, hoping he had guessed the right answer.

  “We’re going to go inside this house now,” the man stated. “But you have to follow my rules.”

  Johnny nodded again.

  “First one we already talked about before. No yelling or making a fuss or trying to run off.”

  Johnny nodded, even though he didn’t want to go to a strange house. He had never, ever been inside someone else’s house unless his parents took him there. He tried to imagine what they were all doing now at Uncle Alex’s birthday party, but it didn’t even seem real that they were still out there in the world while he was here, alone with this man.

  “And I’m going to have to give you a little haircut.” The man made a snipping gesture above his own head.

  The thought of this man holding scissors near his head made Johnny shake, but he forced himself to swallow and nod again.

  “And you’re going to need another name, too. You’re Danny now. Don’t forget that. It’s Danny from here on out. You’d better get used to it.”

  Get used to it? Johnny thought, frightened. How long is he going to keep me here? I want to go home.

  Chapter 20

  The waiter in the hotel restaurant had just finished clearing the table when Marcy’s cell phone buzzed. Please let it be good news. She wanted to believe that any moment, the message would be delivered: Johnny had simply gotten lost on the beach and was waiting for them to come pick him up from the warm, comforting home of whatever nice family he had approached for help.

  Instead, it was a new message from Laurie: We looked for you in Alex’s room. Where are you?

  Marcy hit reply and typed, Getting dinner at the hotel restaurant.

  The letters looked up at her from the screen, judging her. How can you go out to dinner when your son is missing? What kind of woman responds that way?

  Her husband, Andrew, had made the decision. He had been the one to pull her aside and force her to read the booklet that Detective Langland had given them. It was a publication from the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. The title alone—A Child Is Missing—had brought on yet another wave of nausea. She kept reminding herself that this was really happening. Johnny was… missing.

  But Johnny wasn’t their only child. They had Emily and Chloe to take care of, too. Marcy was not going to let them find out about Johnny from anyone other than her. That’s where the pamphlet came in, with a section devoted specifically to the needs of the missing child’s siblings. After reading the materials, Marcy and Andrew decided that the best thing they could do for their daughters was to tell them everything they knew, and then make them feel as safe as possible by maintaining their usual routines and structures.

  And so here the four of them were, finishing up a meal she had forced herself to eat, because the manual said that it was important for the children to see that their parents were taking care of themselves. She set aside her guilt and finally hit enter on her text reply to Laurie. Laurie was a mother, too. She’d understand that Marcy and Andrew needed to look after the twins, despite the terror that Johnny’s disappearance instilled.

  Marcy feigned a small smile as Emily and Chloe debated what menu item Johnny would want when he got back to the hotel. She told herself that it was a sign that the girls were accepting their brother’s “temporary absence,” in the words of the manual.

  Please, God, let it be temporary.

  Her phone buzzed again as the check was arriving. Laurie again: My father has a theory he wants to share with you and Andrew. I think I might be able to help if you want to pursue it. Alex can watch the girls while we talk.

  * * *

/>   Marcy had always been the kind of person who read the instructions for any project from start to finish before touching even a single part. Andrew, on the other hand, would unpack all the pieces and start putting them together, pausing for a passing glance at the directions only if he hit a snag.

  Their different styles were on apparent display in their hotel suite as Leo laid out his theory that a convicted killer named Darren Gunther had orchestrated the kidnapping of their son out of a mistaken belief that he was actually Laurie’s son, Timmy. According to Leo, it was nearly certain that Gunther would have read a recent magazine profile about Leo, which had highlighted Leo’s close relationship with his grandson. It was Leo’s belief that Gunther planned on using the child as leverage to force Leo to admit—falsely—to fabricating the confession that had landed Gunther in prison for life.

  As Leo spelled out all the facts, Andrew interrupted with follow-up questions.

  “How could he take our son if he’s behind bars?”

  “Gunther has become a bit of a celebrity,” Leo explained. “It’s not uncommon for prisoners to attract supporters—in some instances, even what you might call groupies. And Gunther is extremely charismatic. I could imagine him persuading someone with a vulnerable mind to help him from the outside.”

  “If he plans on manipulating you, why haven’t you heard anything yet?”

  “He’s behind bars. If he’s the one calling the shots, it might take a while for the actual kidnapper to communicate with Gunther and plan the next steps.”

  Marcy sat quietly next to Andrew on the sofa in their suite, saying nothing, absorbing every last bit of information. True to form, she would listen first and ask questions later.

  “If you’re right,” Andrew continued, “what’s going to happen when they realize they have the wrong boy? It’s possible they might panic and—”

  The thought had sent a chill down Marcy’s spine, and still, she said nothing.

  When Leo was finished spelling out his theory, and her husband was done with all of his questions, she finally spoke. “How or when will we know if you’re on the right track?”

  Leo shook his head sadly. “I wish I could tell you, Marcy. If somebody connected with Gunther reaches out to us regarding Johnny, we’ll be certain. Darren Gunther has had eighteen years to blame me for the fact that he’s in prison, and he’s not the kind of man who has ever played by the rules. I keep trying to figure out when and where he’s working a con, stacking the deck in his favor. And now your son is missing. Could it be a coincidence? Maybe. But right now, this is more of a theory than anything else we’ve got.”

  Marcy found no comfort in the words.

  “Laurie, you said you were in a position to help if we wanted to pursue this.”

  “Maybe. The way I see it, Gunther distrusts police, yet craves attention. Media. Fame. And I have my show. Dad has been pitching Gunther’s case for Under Suspicion for weeks, but I was worried about the potential conflict of interest.”

  Leo started to interrupt, but Laurie stopped him. “The perception of a conflict of interest,” she emphasized. “If there’s any chance that Gunther has something to do with Johnny’s disappearance, I’ll use my show to get access, both to him and to the people he knows outside of prison. And I don’t have to deal with Miranda warnings, court orders, or any of that. There’s a reason we’ve been able to unearth evidence that police missed for years in some cases.”

  Marcy felt Andrew’s hand squeeze hers. “What do you think, babe?” he asked.

  Marcy opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  Laurie offered her a small smile. “We just gave you a lot of information at once.”

  “If we say yes, what would you do first?” she asked.

  “The very first thing would be to run it by my boss at the studio, but I know he’ll say yes. Then I’d contact Gunther’s attorney to invite Gunther to sit down with my show for an interview.”

  Marcy nodded, letting the information sit with the other facts. “And is that something you could do right now, or…”

  “No,” Laurie said. “I’d call the attorney first thing in the morning, and then of course it would take however long to get an answer. But from there, we’d go in for the questioning as quickly as we could possibly do it.”

  “So we can think it over for a little bit, is what you’re saying.” Marcy found herself rising from her spot on the sofa, unsure of where she wanted to go from there.

  “Absolutely,” Laurie said. “It’s just that—”

  “Johnny’s missing,” Marcy said flatly. “Trust me, I don’t need a reminder.” Looking at Andrew, she said, “We’ll let you know for sure early tomorrow morning.”

  Andrew reached for her hand. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

  She looked blankly at him. Am I okay? Her own voice sounded distant when she finally answered. “Remember how it said in that manual that the consumption of a parent’s consciousness and awareness by a child’s disappearance can lead to physical shock?”

  The last thing Marcy heard before she hit the floor was her husband crying out her name.

  * * *

  When Marcy woke, she was in bed. The room was pitch-black, but she just knew that the hand holding hers was Andrew’s.

  Where am I?

  She felt like she had been asleep for years. She had been dreaming about helping Johnny with his school science project. He had made a battery out of pennies and nickels, tinfoil, a paper towel, and some salt and vinegar. Johnny’s smile beamed from ear to ear when he was able to light a 100-watt bulb with his concoction. “Mom, if we make enough of these, we can light up the whole house!”

  Johnny!

  She jolted upright in the bed, fully awake now, her heart racing. She was tucked into bed in her pajamas, but next to her, Andrew was on top of the duvet, still dressed.

  He reached for her and hugged her, making shushing sounds to console her.

  She looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. 12:10 A.M.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You collapsed. You don’t remember?”

  Do I?

  She remembered Alex bringing a woman into the suite’s living room. She was a doctor who happened to be staying at the hotel. Marcy answered all of her questions: her name, the year, the name of the current president. She remembered putting on these pajamas, in fact, and tucking the clothing she had worn that day neatly back into her suitcase, as she always did to speed the ever-dreaded task of repacking at the end of a trip.

  “I remember every bit of it, actually,” she said. “But it feels like each step was taken by some other person, not me. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it?”

  Andrew kissed her gently on the forehead. “Not at all. I’ve felt numb all day. That manual says that people process the stress differently. Try to get more sleep—”

  “The girls—”

  “Already dozing away. I don’t think the reality has sunk in yet.”

  One of the many benefits of youth. “We should all be so lucky.” She let herself recline again, her head sinking into the down pillow.

  They stayed there like that, in bed in the dark, breathing into the silence and holding hands.

  “Andrew?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That manual… it said that some parents grow apart when a child’s missing. That they—”

  He turned on his side and placed a hand gently on one of her cheeks. She could make out enough of his face to see that he was crying. “That is never going to happen to us. Do you hear me? Never.”

  She reached over and wiped the tears from his face. A few minutes later, his breaths slowed and deepened. He was asleep.

  She fumbled for her cell phone on the nightstand. No new messages.

  She pulled up the phone number she had saved for Detective Langland and composed a text message. Please call me as soon as you can. There’s something I need to discuss with you.

  She set down her phone and th
en picked it back up again, realizing she was much less important to the police than they were to her. P.S. This is Marcy Buckley. It’s about a man named Darren Gunther.

  She closed her eyes and tried futilely to find sleep again.

  Wherever you are, Johnny, try to sleep and don’t be afraid. We’re going to find you. I promise.

  Chapter 21

  As the man walked out of the bedroom, he flipped the light switch next to the door, enveloping the room in blackness.

  “Sorry,” Johnny said, just as the man was about to close the door behind him. “But I’m afraid of the dark. My parents always leave a light on for me when I go to sleep.”

  Johnny felt like the man was searching his face for more information. Did he know that Johnny was telling a fib?

  Johnny had stopped using a night-light at the very beginning of the first grade, but that was when he was at home—his real home, with Mom and Dad and Chloe and Emily and their two cats, Salt and Pepper. Home, where he felt safe. He didn’t want to be in a dark room in a house with the man who’d brought him here. He didn’t want to be in this house at all.

  He was afraid the man would yell at him after his fib. That he’d somehow know it was a lie and punish him. Or he’d scold him again, the way he had when Johnny said, “Uh-uh,” earlier in the car. If the man thought he was old enough to say yes or no, properly, he probably thought he was too old to be afraid of the dark, too.

  But the man surprised him by flipping the switch again, and then leaving the room and returning with one of those dim little lights that was a plug that went right into the wall. Johnny noticed that the cover on the bulb was the shape of an angel.

  “Is that enough light, Danny?” the man asked, hitting the same wall switch again to turn off the lights on the ceiling. “I don’t want these overheads on full blast all night or you won’t get any sleep. You probably need some rest after that car ride.”

  Johnny said nothing, and the man’s voice softened. “Not very comfortable, was it, Danny?”