First, this was someone whose tee shots consistently sent sluggish range balls flying past the 200-yard marker on the driving range.
Second, the golf tee she’d discretely removed from her pocket while he turned to set down his jacket, and solidly wedged between her first and second fingers just before she swung.
He supposed she’d say she’d “nailed” it. As he later learned at the urgent care facility, it was just his bad, dumb luck. The tee entered his chest between two ribs, slid through the intercostal soft tissue laced in between his ribs, and pierced his thus unprotected right lung.
He screamed instantly. The pain was excruciating. The sight of the blood pulsing out onto his tee shirt didn’t help either. He heard the air hissing out around the tee still stuck in his chest. He grabbed the tee and yanked it out. He fell to his knees. In a daze. Fighting to remain conscious.
His primal scream apparently startled the girl. She momentarily froze, but then spun around and ran to the basement door. She pulled it open and sprinted up the stairs.
Thomas struggled to his feet almost as fast as he had hit the ground. Bitch sucker-punched me! The pain was agonizing. With each breath in, his chest pulsated and emitted an eerie sound. He knew he needed a doctor, but if the girl escaped, everything was lost. He would not survive another failure.
Holding his hand over the burning candle in the aftermath of Watergate, Gordon Liddy famously said you just need not to want to feel the pain badly enough. Thomas needed not to want to feel the pain in his chest badly enough.
He managed his way up the stairs. The front door was open. He hurried through the door. How much of a head start did she have? She’s gonna be worse than sorry! If I catch her.
CHAPTER 32
Tuesday, May 6, 6:00 pm
“MY GOD,” Eloise whispered. “That poor child. And her family. Cyrus, you’ve got to call the authorities.”
“Don’t you think that’s up to the girl’s family? They’ve told me not to get involved. Besides, I have told the authorities. Detective Lotello. He’s working on it right now.”
“You’re satisfied that’s enough?”
He wasn’t. Much as he put the best spin on it with Lotello, Brooks wasn’t satisfied at all. He had no useful answer for her. He wasn’t sure one existed. So he didn’t give her one. And right now he couldn’t taste her dinner. He didn’t tell her that either.
CHAPTER 33
Tuesday, May 6, 6:15 pm
HIRSCHFELD OPENED the front door the minute he heard the car pull in the driveway. In seconds, mother and child were nestled in each other’s arms. Linda might now be Nannie, but she was Mom first. No words were spoken. Or needed. They just held onto each other, while Hirschfeld and Mark stood by in strained silence. After a few moments, they moved into the family room and sat on the comfortable, oversized sofa and chairs around the large glass coffee table.
When Hirschfeld arrived home, he began by repeating for Jill what he’d previously told Mark and Linda from the car. He emphasized what he had convinced himself was most important to say: He had seen Cassie and she seemed okay.
“Dad, what do you mean you saw Cassie? How? When? Where? What did she say?”
“Hon, give your dad a chance,” Mark said. He reached for her hand, perhaps a bit too late.
She pulled her hand away and scowled at him. “Don’t tell me what to say! How could you not want me to know what’s going on?”
Mark did not answer.
Hirschfeld then walked Jill through his edited version of what had transpired on his phone call with the kidnapper. “I think I now have them convinced they won’t get what they want unless Cassie remains unharmed and well.”
“Dad, I thought you weren’t going to play chicken with Cassie’s life on the line. And just how many of them are there?”
“You had to be there, Jill. There was no other way. Let’s not dwell on it. It worked. And I’ve only spoken with one person. I don’t know how many more there might be.”
“What do you mean it worked, Dad? How do you know?”
“Like I said, you had to be there.”
Mark met Hirschfeld’s eyes. “But what’s the endgame, Arnold? If you give them what they want before we get Cassie back, what’s to assure that we will get her back? And how will you ever persuade them that if they let her go first, they’ll get what they want?”
“I understand. I don’t have an answer for you yet. At noon today, we didn’t know whether Cassie was alive or dead. Now we know she’s alive, and well, and will be until at least next Monday. That’s a start. One step at a time.”
“Monday?” Jill almost shot out of her seat. “No way! You’re not right. She won’t be fine until Monday, Dad. I already told you that!”
“Jill, honey, driving yourself crazy is not going to help anyone. I don’t think they’ll do anything to Cassie until—”
“You’re missing the point, Dad. I told you this morning that Cassie doesn’t have enough insulin to last until Monday.”
“Right, I know you did, and I specifically mentioned the diabetes to them this afternoon. The only thing I was able to accomplish right now was their general agreement to keep Cassie safe, including her insulin requirements.”
Hirschfeld recognized he was putting an awfully positive spin on this, but he didn’t feel there was any alternative if he were going to keep things remotely calm.
“Jill, I’ve watched Cassie refill her pump several times. I’ve also watched her inject insulin using a syringe. I’m a little unclear right now how this all works. Can you please show me again now because I’ll need to pursue this with her captors.”
“Sure, I have everything Cassie could possibly need right here. I pulled it all together right after we spoke at noon.” Jill grabbed a small leather bag out of her larger purse, emptied its contents onto the coffee table between them, and, in spite of her shaking hands, gave her father a quick course in diabetes management. Hirschfeld watched and listened carefully. When Jill finished, he repeated everything she had done— twice—and then put it all back into the leather bag himself. It was not difficult.
He then asked only one question: “How long will all these supplies here last?”
Jill emptied the bag out once more and surveyed each of the items before her, like a collection of precious jewelry about to be negotiated. “It depends on the item, and on what condition Cassie’s in, but there should be enough there for at least three weeks.
“If her insulin pump acts up, which it sometimes does, she’ll need to switch over to syringe injections. Cassie knows all about that. I’ve included syringes as well as pump reservoirs and infusion sets.
“There’s also an extra blood sugar meter, finger stickers, glucose test strips, alcohol, cleaning swabs, and four vials of insulin. Everything Cassie could possibly need. I’ve actually included twice the number of insulin vials required for three weeks. Just in case.”
“And Cassie can responsibly manage all of this on her own?”
Jill looked straight at him. “Dad, I thought you knew all this. Mark and I had to help Cassie with all this until she was about five. From then on, for almost seven years now, she’s managed all of this on her own. Every single day.
“All I do is make sure that her endocrinologist sees and checks her out once every three months and renews all of her prescriptions. I fill the prescriptions. Cassie takes it from there. And she does it very well.”
“Okay. I’ll keep the case with me. Somehow, I’ll get it to her, if not tomorrow, then by Thursday.”
“Dad, it can’t be any later than that.”
“I know. I get it.”
“Are you sure, Arnold?” These were the first words Linda, Hirschfeld’s wife, had uttered. She said it softly, and without recrimination. “Cassie is counting on you. We all are.”
* * *
With nothing more to be done that night, Jill and Mark returned home. To Mark, they seemed on different planets, not speaking to one another, not even g
lancing in each other’s direction.
He did not share his wife’s belief in her father. The old man hadn’t even managed to find out what Cassie presently had with her in the way of diabetes equipment and supplies. This won’t do, Mark thought. He decided he’d wait until Thursday afternoon—at the latest. If Hirschfeld didn’t produce something more tangible and reassuring by then, he would take matters into his own hands.
CHAPTER 34
Tuesday, May 6, 6:20 pm
NISHIMURA WAS PLEASED with the taping of the one-hour special that would air later that evening. “Nice job guys,” she said to Elliott and Kessler. “It could easily have taken us much longer.”
“I have a question for the two of you,” Elliott said. “I think there might have been something odd going on in the Courtroom today with Justice Hirschfeld. I didn’t mention it before because I wasn’t sure I was right, or that there was anything we could do with it during the broadcast. Several times today, Hirschfeld made remarks that struck me as contrary to opinions he’s expressed over the years. I don’t have anything any more solid than that, but I wanted to see if either of you had noticed this.”
Nishimura’s journalistic instincts were always at the ready. She turned to Kessler, who said simply, “Yeah. A few things he said struck me as perhaps a bit off-key as well.”
Nishimura took that all in, then said, “Thanks for the tip, Chris. Too bad we can’t just ask him. But let’s definitely keep an eye out.”
She rose to signal that they were done for the night. “I’ve got a little more work to do here. See you both bright and early Thursday morning.”
* * *
Nishimura too had been intrigued by Hirschfeld’s choice of words at times, which were gratuitously terse, but figured it was probably just her imagination and lack of familiarity with the subject matter. Now, Elliott had elevated her curiosity.
She pulled up the day’s tapes in her office and fast-forwarded to each of Hirschfeld’s remarks, watching them carefully one after the other. Very interesting. Elliott might just be on to something.
It was hard for her to know if Hirschfeld was being inconsistent with his prior views. The Justices didn’t speak except in published case decisions and she hadn’t followed his prior written decisions. But he sure did seem distracted today. And anxious. Wonder why he made those several references to extortion and hostage?
She went through the tapes a second time, this time more slowly, focusing on Hirschfeld’s appearance as well as his words. Wow. Look at that. Was he covertly motioning for someone to call him? She thought to look at footage of the gallery and the lawyers seated in the well, but none of that was in time proximity to Hirschfeld’s gesture and she saw nothing out of the ordinary.
She viewed the footage again, now concentrating on the exchanges between Hirschfeld and the various lawyers. And then she caught it. The exchange with Brooks. Damned if they’re not double-talking one another. Elliott’s instincts had been right on the money.
Nishimura made a few notes, turned off the equipment, and headed home. She was exhausted, but she wanted to think this over a little more. With some dinner. And a glass of wine.
CHAPTER 35
Tuesday, May 6, 6:25 pm
LOTELLO REVIEWED the completed lab report that Lester had sent to his phone. There were several prints on the eyeglass stem, but none clear enough to check against the various databases. A dead-end.
He’d now canvassed fourteen homeowners, seven on each side of the tree-lined suburban street of eclectic but mostly nicely maintained single family residences that ran between the driving range where Cassie practiced and the school that both Cassie and Madison attended. No one had seen a thing. Another dead-end. He was cold and he was hungry. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
He could only imagine how poor Cassie must be feeling right now. And her family. My God, what if this were Madison? That thought was enough to make him cringe—and keep going.
There were just another four homes. If that produced nothing, he’d be right back to square one. Could he somehow be reading this incorrectly? Maybe it was time to pay another visit to Cassie’s home, this time a little more aggressively.
He knocked on the front door of the next home, and waited. A couple of moments went by before the door slowly opened. An elderly woman in an oversized, gaudy flowered muumuu hanging down to her ankles peered out at him.
“Good evening, ma’am, I’m—”
“I know who you are, young man. You’re with Animal Control.”
“Uh . . . not really. But I am with the Metropolitan D.C. Police. Name’s Frank Lotello, Detective Frank Lotello. What made you think I’m with Animal Control?”
The woman leaned out of her doorway to glance furtively up and down the block. “Reckoned you were finally out checking up on that awful business this morning.”
Lotello was no longer cold. “Right. Please tell me what happened.”
The woman folded her bulky arms. “I was at the door, about to go out and get the newspaper when I heard it.”
“Heard what, ma’am?”
“A loud screech. I thought there must have been a car accident, but then I realized there was no thud following the screech. Usually when there’s a collision, I hear a screech and then a thud. This time there was no thud. So, of course, I looked outside my window right away. I saw some man burst out of this van and take off running down the street.”
“Really. Do you have any idea why?”
“I thought maybe he was chasing after his dog.”
“Why’d you think that, ma’am? Did you see a dog?”
“No, not exactly, but he came back to his van carrying something pretty big, kind of the size of a German shepherd. I didn’t get a good look through the window, but he put it in the back of the van and then started sweeping up the sidewalk. I assumed it was dog poop. He had a bag. Swept the poop into the bag, tossed the bag in his van and drove off.”
Lotello dug in his pocket for his notepad. “Go on.”
“He seemed very responsible and conscientious. I just hate it when the neighbors don’t clean up after their dogs. I don’t see the shit until it gets in my shoes and starts smelling. Pisses me off no end.”
“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. Pisses me off too. Do you think you would recognize the man if you saw him again?”
“No way. He had one of those sweatshirts up over his head like it was raining. Even though it wasn’t.”
“Tell me, ma’am, did you maybe get a look at what kind of van he was driving?” He waited. And hoped.
“Sure did. It was one of those Japanese models. A Nissan, I think. Old. Tired looking.”
“Did you happen to notice the color?”
“I’m old, Mister, but I’m not blind. It was white.”
“Any particular shade of white?”
“Yeah. Dirty. It was dirty as hell. Suppose I’d call it dirty white.”
“Got it,” Lotello said, thinking: Unwashed white, maybe beige. “You’ve been very helpful, ma’am. Don’t imagine you got the license plate?” He held his breath.
“Course not. I wasn’t witnessing a crime, or anything. Why would I have wanted the license plate?”
“That’s a shame. I own a dog and try to clean up after him. I would love to track the guy down and thank him for doing his part.”
“Well, I did happen to glance at the plate as he drove off. Remembered a part of it, anyway, ‘DPS.’ I thought it was kind of coincidental.”
“How’s that?”
“Yeah. Coincidental. Here was a guy sweeping up his dog’s poop. And his license plate said DPS. For dog poop sweeper.”
“Right. I get it. Ma’am, you are a wonder.” He got her name and contact information. He handed her one of his cards and told her to give him a call anytime she needed any help.
She thanked him. “Never know when it might come in handy,” she said. “Might need help with a traffic ticket some time.”
* * *
&nb
sp; Spotting Lotello’s name in the dialog box, Brooks picked up on the first ring. “Tell me something useful, Detective.”
“We caught a break, Judge.”
“Detective! Are you trying to make the Guinness Book of World Records for the most drawn out call ever? What is it, for Pete’s sake? Almost past my bedtime here.”
Brooks thought he heard Lotello sighing indulgently. He didn’t laugh out loud, but the sigh would do.
“We may have a witness.” Lotello reported his conversation with the old lady virtually word for word.
“You really expect me to believe that story?”
“Up to you. If there’s a white Nissan van out there with DPS in the license plate, I’ll have it fifteen minutes after the DMV opens in the morning.”
“Any chance of getting it sooner?”
“Are you kidding? We’re not looking to share what we’re doing. It’s difficult for me to make this kind of inquiry when I can’t explain why I need the information. This is the day and age of coddling the privacy rights of the guilty. Not protecting the innocent.
“I won’t be able to turn a partial license plate into a full one with as little as we know without the help of a genuine DMV techie I have in mind who I think will do this strictly on the QT for me. Without needing to know why. Another guy who owes me big. But no way I can set this in motion before regular DMV hours in the morning.”
“Don’t keep me waiting, Detective.”
* * *
Brooks hung up the phone and turned to Eloise, whose attention had shifted to him from the book she was reading the minute the phone rang. “Not out of the woods yet, but some progress.” He then spent another fifteen minutes explaining to her what Lotello had found. “Do you still think we need to call in the cavalry?”
She was clearly ignoring him. Not that he had expected any concessions.
CHAPTER 36
Tuesday, May 6, 6:30 pm
ALL CASSIE KNEW WAS that the cabin from which she had escaped was in a forest. A great big one. According to the clock in her pump, she had been jogging non-stop for about thirty minutes, and there was still nothing to see but more forest. In every direction.
Brooks-Lotello Collection Page 11
