Webber’s shoulders sagged. The resolve in his eyes faded. He tried to say something, but then just took a step back and motioned Lotello inside.
* * *
Cassie checked the time on her pump. It was 12:15. She wondered if the creep were aware that she knew the time. Probably not. He hadn’t put a clock in the room. Did he think she’d be more frightened, more submissive, if she didn’t know how long she’d been locked up?
She was trying as hard as she could to remain calm. Being frightened wasn’t getting her anywhere. All it did was raise her blood sugars, which she needed to check again. She opened the kit, pricked her finger, put a drop of blood on the test strip, and waited the few seconds it took for the meter to register the results: 260. Definitely too high.
Consistent highs were bad, but she’d learned how to behave to keep her blood sugars from climbing too high. Her doctor said she could cheat every once in a while. An occasional date night, he called it. Even if she didn’t date yet.
Being held in this room didn’t help. The food the man put in here was all high carb. Carbs turned into sugar. She had to “cover” carbs with insulin and with exercise. Her online chat group called exercise a poor man’s insulin. Her insulin supplies were running out. She would have to exercise more to lower the amount of insulin she needed to take.
She could do that. But not too much. Too much exercise backfired because it caused a form of stress. All stress raised blood sugars. She knew exercise and stress were tricky. Practicing golf was good exercise. It lowered her blood sugar. However, playing in a tournament was stressful and raised her blood sugar. So, she needed to force herself to be calm in tournaments.
She thought about the man. As much as possible, she couldn’t let the man frighten her, stress her out. Well, maybe a little. Like date nights. But not too much. I can’t let him raise my blood sugars, make me sick.
She’d learned to manage her diabetes, just like she managed her golf and her studies. And now she had to manage how this psycho-scumbag-loser was affecting her blood sugars. It would hopefully make her insulin last a little longer. Maybe.
* * *
Thomas sat in the van a few miles from the cabin. So long as he constantly changed out the SIM card and removed the phone battery, he really couldn’t be traced, but he still hated the thought of making a call from the cabin. Or more than one call from any single place. Unless he absolutely had no choice.
It would soon be time to make the call, but he first used the surveillance camera to check up on the girl. As the image flickered into clarity, Thomas couldn’t believe his eyes. The girl was darting back and forth across the room, pushing off from the wall every time it came time to turn around. Boredom? Exercise?
Despite his sore ribs, and all her insults, he was oddly drawn to her, fascinated by the sight of her charging back and forth, back and forth, arms pumping, hair bouncing. He watched a little while longer before finally switching off the camera app. First things first.
* * *
Lotello entered the living room. Mother and grandmother bunched closely together on a sofa. Expressions and demeanor constituted a poor attempt to suggest nothing more serious than a youngster with a bad case of the stomach flu.
Mark Webber went and stood behind them. All three glared at Lotello as if he were pointing a gun straight at them. He felt badly intruding; he wanted to say something to break the awkward silence, but his instincts told him to wait it out.
Finally, Mark said, “Well, you’re the one who insisted. What is it you want?”
“The truth,” Lotello said. “All I want is to help. I can’t do that unless you level with me.”
The three of them looked at each other. It was Cassie’s mother who spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “They’ve kidnapped Cassie. On her way to school yesterday morning.”
* * *
Despite the lack of surprise and the awful nature of the news, Lotello was relieved to finally have it out in the open. “Who?”
“No idea,” Webber said. “Not who, or how many.”
Lotello sat down. “Tell me what you do know.”
Webber closed his eyes, took a deep breath, let it out, and said: “Cassie’s being held by people who claim they aren’t after money. They say that all they want is for the Supreme Court to invalidate the 28th Amendment, that they will kill Cassie if that doesn’t happen, but will let her go unharmed if it does. So long as nobody’s the wiser about any of this. This is why we couldn’t tell you what was going on.”
“Who are they communicating with? And how?”
“Justice Hirschfeld. By cell phone. Both text and voice. But it’s only one way. No way to trace it. Or even to contact them. We’ve tried.”
Lotello hated to ask. “Do you know what shape Cassie’s in?”
“Apparently okay so far,” Mark said. “They let Hirschfeld see her live on his phone. The problem is that even if they honor their word, Cassie doesn’t have enough insulin with her to keep her pump working until the Court rules on Monday. We have to make that known to the people who have her. But they may not get in touch again before Court resumes tomorrow. If we don’t get Cassie more insulin, she’ll be in a coma by Friday.”
Lotello absorbed everything they were telling him, but sharing nothing he’d learned so far. The less they knew the less trouble they could get into. And the less they’d get in his way. “Okay,” he said. “Please listen carefully. I’m not the enemy here. I’m just another member of your team. I only want what you want, to get Cassie home safely. Trust me. I won’t get out in front of you or do anything unless you okay it first.” He stood up. “I’ll be back in touch with you today. Sit tight until you hear from me. I won’t let you down.” He wasn’t nearly that confident, but didn’t know what else to say.
Mark walked him to the front door. Lotello handed him his card. “Call me if you hear anything more, especially if Hirschfeld speaks with the kidnappers again.”
Just as Mark was reaching to open the door, the doorbell rang.
CHAPTER 48
Wednesday, May 7, 1:10 pm
THOMAS DIDN’T CALL Hirschfeld until a good several minutes past the appointed time. Once again to remind Hirschfeld who was in control.
“Hey, Gramps, how’re they hanging?”
Hirschfeld didn’t answer. After a moment, Thomas hung up.
Another five minutes, another SIM card—Thomas dialed the number again.
Hirschfeld picked up before the first ring ended. “What’s the situation you mentioned?”
“Not yet. When I hang up this time, walk outside and stand on the sidewalk until I call you back. Got that?”
“Yes.”
The line went dead.
Thomas waited ten minutes this time before inserting another SIM card. Again, Hirschfeld picked up instantly. Thomas said, “Your granddaughter doesn’t have enough insulin to last until you deliver the result we require.”
“I know. Cassie’s mother told me last night. She gave me more supplies. I have them with me now. How do I get them to you?”
* * *
Mark looked through the peephole. “Christ,” he whispered. “It’s that broadcaster Nishimura who’s been televising the case. If she finds out what’s going on, Cassie’s through.”
Lotello motioned for him to hold her at bay, then stepped back out of sight from the door. Mark waited a moment, closing his eyes to compose himself, then opened it.
The woman flashed a blinding smile, a cameraman standing behind her, lens trained on Mark’s face.
“Hi. My name’s Anne Nishimura, I’m with NBN-TV. Is Jill Webber home?”
Mark tried not to stare into the cavernous lens. “Yes. I’ve seen you on TV. I’m Mark Webber, Jill’s husband. Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t, but we’re doing a series of interviews with the families of the Supreme Court Justices. You know, in connection with the case we’re covering, the 28th Amendment. This will only take a few minutes of her time.�
��
“I’m sorry, Ms. Nishimura. This isn’t a convenient time. If you’ll give me your card, my wife’ll get back to you if she’s interested.”
“I realize I don’t have an appointment, and I apologize.” That smile again. “But this assignment just came up. We have an incredibly tight time window, given the hearing schedule. Are you sure I can’t talk to Mrs. Webber now? I’ll just take a very few minutes?”
“This really isn’t a good time.”
“If your wife’s not available, then could we ask you a few questions?”
With that, the cameraman stepped back slightly to reframe his shot.
Webber placed his hand in front of his face. “Ms. Nishimura,” he said, raising his voice. “I’m trying not to be impolite, but you’re not giving me much choice. There’s no way we would agree to speak with you without first clearing it with Mrs. Webber’s father. There may well be rules against this sort of thing.”
“I assure you that’s not so, Mr. Webber. All we want to cover is how proud you and Mrs. Webber are of her father. Family background, that sort of thing.”
“I’m not going to repeat myself. If you don’t leave, I’m going to call the authorities.”
This prompted a quizzical smile, as though Nishimura were weighing the odds of calling his bluff. Instead she reached into her purse, took out a business card, and handed it to him. “Please have Mrs. Webber call me if she’d be willing to tell us a little bit about her father. Thanks very much.”
Mark nodded, stepped back from the entrance, and closed the door before Nishimura could say anything further. He turned to Lotello inquisitively, who gave him a thumb’s up, then both men waited until they heard the TV van pull away from the house.
Mark said, “Do you think she was telling the truth? Do you think she suspects anything?”
“Honestly? I find it pretty far-fetched that she’d be running around trying to interview the families of nine Supreme Court Justices. She’s the main correspondent for the hearings, not some intern assigned to do society page puff pieces.”
“What do we do?” Webber could not believe what he had just said to Lotello: “We”? He wondered if Lotello had noticed. From the look on Lotello’s face, it seemed as if he had.
“You sit tight. I’m going to wait here a few minutes. They may park down the street to see if anyone comes or goes. We don’t want to let her see me leaving.”
* * *
Thomas listened as Hirschfeld frantically sought a way to get the girl’s insulin to him. Very good, he thought.
“There are several trash receptacles,” Thomas began, “just inside the National Botanic Gardens, northwest entrance, corner of Third Street and Maryland Avenue. One of them has a ‘28’ scratched on its side. You know, to celebrate the trashing of the 28th Amendment.”
“This is amusing to you?”
“Relax, old man. Life is short. Laugh a little. You know that song—‘Smile when your heart is breaking’?”
Silence. Then: “Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“Roger that. Put the supplies in a brown paper bag. In exactly thirty minutes, I want to see you walking down Maryland Avenue all by your lonesome—no trail cars, no disguised cops. Any of that, I’ll know I can’t trust you and the girl’s insulin runs out.”
“I’ll be alone.”
“When you get to the marked bin drop the bag inside and keep on going. If I see you hanging around anywhere close after you put the stuff in the trash, all bets are off. I’ll just leave it where it is and you can spend the rest of your sorry life taking the blame for what happens next. Got that?”
“I’ll do what you say. But how do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t. But if I weren’t trying to keep my end of the bargain, why would I be talking to you?”
Hirschfeld didn’t answer. Thomas could almost feel the hatred radiating through the phone line. That was okay. In my line of work, you get used to being hated. Sometimes it’s okay; sometimes it’s not. “There’s more,” Thomas said.
CHAPTER 49
Wednesday, May 7, 1:15 pm
AS THEY DROVE AWAY from the house, Nishimura’s instincts told her someone had been behind the door, directing Webber’s performance. Let’s see if we can’t find out.
At the second corner, she told her cameraman to make a U-turn, ease back up the street, and park within eyesight of the Webber home.
He did as she instructed, then asked, “What’s going on?”
“Just a hunch,” she responded. “We’ll give it a few minutes.”
Five minutes passed, then ten. She was about to call off their little surveillance when a man walked out of the house, looked around, and headed toward a dark sedan parked two doors away.
“That’s not the guy who came to the door,” the cameraman said.
“It certainly isn’t,” Nishimura responded, smiling.
“Any idea who . . .?”
“Name’s Frank Lotello. Metropolitan D.C. Homicide Detective Frank Lotello. More to the point, he’s the husband of Leah Klein, one of the lawyers representing NoPoli.”
The cameraman pushed up his cap, scratched his brow. “No shit! Why would he be here?”
“Now that’s a question I bet a great many of our viewers would like to ask.”
“That couldn’t be legit, could it?”
“I doubt it. I also doubt that it was just a social call. And even if it were, it seems highly questionable for the husband of a lawyer arguing a case before a judge to be visiting the judge’s daughter at the very same moment. I’d sure like to know what’s going on.” Nishimura dug her phone out of her purse. “We need to get back to the studio.”
CHAPTER 50
Wednesday, May 7, 2015, 1:20 pm
THOMAS WASN’T DONE PLAYING with Hirschfeld yet. “I noticed the girl had a Find Phone app connecting her phone to yours.”
“Yes. She told me it was so she could find my phone for me if I ever forgot it somewhere.”
“Which means I can track every call you make, and every text you send. I can also trace every step you take. And that’s exactly what I intend to do. And what you’d better not try to stop me from doing.” Pure bunk, but Hirschfeld wouldn’t likely know that. A little insurance to keep him honest was a good idea, a bluff worth taking. “Got that, Pops?” Thomas held his breath to see how Thomas would answer.
“Yes, I understand,” Hirschfeld said.
Thomas laughed to himself. The poor sap thinks I’ll be able to see him wherever he goes!
“Don’t go inside any buildings along the way or use your phone to make any calls or send any texts until I call you back to confirm that I have the supplies. You do and the next text you get will be a photo you won’t wanna see. Understand?”
Silence.
“I said—”
“I won’t do anything like that. You have my word.”
“Excellent. By the way, it might be good to say a prayer or two that I don’t get in any car accidents. Could be hazardous to our health, mine and the girl’s.”
He clicked off.
* * *
Hirschfeld felt utterly isolated. He desperately wanted to call his family, tell them he’d made contact. Let them know what was going on. But he didn’t know whether the man really could monitor his movements and communications the way he’d said. The risk was too great. Besides, he didn’t have much time to make the drop.
CHAPTER 51
Wednesday, May 7, 1:30 pm
MARK’S PHONE VIBRATED. He looked at the number. It wasn’t Hirschfeld. But it was Larry Adams.
“I was hoping it would be you. Anything?”
“You first. What about your father-in-law? Any word?”
“Nothing. I tried his phone a few minutes ago. He’s not picking up. I don’t get that.”
He told Adams about the visits from Lotello and Nishimura. “Lotello backed us into a corner. We had to tell him everything. Almost everything. He doesn’t know about you. Neith
er does my family. He seems to be on our side. I can only hope he’s being straight with us. Nishimura definitely smells something, but I don’t think she knows what.”
“I’ve met Lotello a couple of times. He’s a good guy. You can take him at his word. As for Nishimura, if she unravels what’s up, you’re in trouble. All she cares about is the almighty scoop. The good news is that if she had anything, you’d already know. The whole world would. Keep your fingers crossed. Don’t talk to her under any circumstances. Make sure your family understands that too. Do not get roped into anything she says.”
“Don’t worry. We’re all on the same page here.” But for how long, he wondered.
“I’ve been able to connect with a couple resources,” Adams told him. “One might be able to help, but it’ll take him at least until tomorrow. Maybe Friday. I know what you’re gonna say. I completely understand. But for now it’s the best I’ve got. I’ll keep trying.”
Mark didn’t want to end the call. It was like letting go of Cassie. But there was no point in asking him for more than he had. At least Adams represented a glimmer of hope if his father-in-law and Lotello struck out. “Thanks so much, Larry. Please call as soon as you have anything more.”
“Count on it, Mark. You do likewise. Good luck, pal.”
CHAPTER 52
Wednesday, May 7, 1:45 pm
HIRSCHFELD MADE it with not one minute to spare. Cold as it was, he was sweating all over.
The hard part had been finding a brown paper bag without walking into a store. It made him wonder how carefully the man had thought through his instructions.
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