Chris Grabenstein - Tilt-a-Whirl

“As I said, the monetary demands are clear and appear quite doable. However, what remains unclear are the details. The where. The how. You mention a very specific time frame….”

Now everybody knows he's talking directly to the kidnapper.

“… and we hope to meet it. However, to do so, we require more information. Any clarification would prove most helpful. Thank you.”

Ceepak steps back.

“Are you using us to talk directly to the kidnapper?” a reporter shouts from the crowd.

Morgan steps forward and eases Ceepak to the side.

“We have nothing further to say.”

Now all the reporters are screaming.

“Are you paying the ransom?”

“How do you know the girl is alive?’

Morgan simply turns his back on the crowd, gestures to everybody else on stage to do the same, and the choir walks up the porch steps and goes back inside.

We're sitting inside the interrogation room-Morgan, Ceepak, and me.

The mayor is out walking the beach, personally encouraging everybody he can to stick around town.

On the table in front of us are copies of the ransom fax, the photograph, and the scribbled note that came with it.

“I've sent all this material to Quantico. We'll run a handwriting analysis, try to work up a psychological profile….” Morgan has circled the phone number in the header with a felt-tip pen.

“Your man drops a lot of clues, doesn't he?” he says to Ceepak.

Ceepak nods. “You think he wants us to catch him?”

“You mean is this one of those ‘stop me before I do this again’ calls-for-help you see in the serial-killer movies?”

“Right.”

“Nah.” Morgan takes a sip of coffee. “I think he's trying to be clever. Show how smart he is. He knew you'd trace the fax number in about five minutes flat. That's why he did the auto-dial deal. Why he left the picture for you to find. He's Hansel, dropping bread crumbs like crazy.”

Ceepak rotates his copy of the Polaroid to show Morgan where he's been doodling on it with his pen, outlining something blurry in the background.

“More like a bread loaf, I'd say.”

“What you got? Lighthouse?”

“Could be.”

“The north shore,” I say.

“Danny's a local,” Ceepak explains. “Knows this island like nobody's business.”

Morgan hands the photo to me.

“Yeah. Okay. That looks like the old Ship John lighthouse. See how it's got this big band painted around the middle of the tower, here? Makes it look like a barber pole or a rugby shirt: white stripe, red stripe, white stripe. Makes it a daymark too.”

“Where's Ship John?” Ceepak asks.

“Bottom of the ocean. They named the lighthouse after a ship that sank in the shoals. That's why boats needed to see the lighthouse day and night … the shoals….”

“Hence the red band.”

“Right.”

“You know how to find this lighthouse, Danny?”

“Sure. It's been closed for years, but I know where it is.”

“Excellent.” Ceepak actually claps me on the back. Then he turns to Morgan. “Looks like he's sticking pretty close to familiar stomping grounds. We know he used to squat in an abandoned hotel up that way. Might be prudent to do some RST up that way. Reconnaissance, Surveillance, and Targeting.”

“I don't know.” Morgan leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes. “You don't want him going all jumpy. Don't forget-the guy's a junkie. No matter how smart he thinks he is, when he's wired he could do something pretty damn stupid.”

“That's why we'll go up tonight. Cover of darkness.”

Morgan looks at Ceepak for a second.

“You want me or my guys to go with you?”

“No, sir. Like you say-a big crowd will only draw unwanted attention. Danny and I can handle it. We're just going up for a look-see. Get our bearings for tomorrow. We have to figure the money drop will be somewhere in the general vicinity-”

Gus sticks his head in the door.

“Uh, excuse me, fellas. Ceepak?”

“Yeah?”

“Chief said to grab you guys. Another freaking fax is coming in.”

“You got the number?” Morgan asks.

“Yeah,” the chief says. “We're on with the phone company … pinpointing the location.”

We're all standing behind Gus's desk, staring at the fax machine as it prints out page number three.

“It's a self-serve machine on Ocean Avenue,” Jane Bright yells from a desk phone. “Boardwalk Books. 1733 Ocean Avenue.”

“Helen?” the chief barks into the dispatcher's cubicle. “Who's close to 1733 Ocean?”

“Cochran?” Morgan's yelling at one of his men.

“Pescatore and Murphy,” the dispatcher yells back to the chief.

“Send them!”

“Boardwalk Books!” Morgan's bellowing at a guy who must be Cochran. “1733 Ocean. Take the forensics team. Go!”

“Sir?” Ceepak says to the chief.

“No, you can not go. We need you here.”

Ashley's mother walks through the front door. She's wearing her black wig and floppy hat, and she freezes when she sees all of us standing behind the front desk staring at a beige box grunting out paper.

“What's going on? Is it him?” Is it the kidnapper?”

“We think so.”

“What does he want now?”

“It looks like he's honoring our request for more specifics,” says Ceepak.

“Is that good news?”

“Yes, ma'am. I believe it means we're one step closer to bringing Ashley home.”

“Can I read it?”

“No need,” the chief says. “We'll handle it from here.”

“Are you sure?”

“It's for the best,” Morgan chimes in, giving the official FBI seal of approval to the chief's suggestion.

“In fact,” the chief suggests, “you might be more comfortable at your own home. I can have Officer Bright drive you.”

“All right, Robert. You know best.”

Ceepak and me look over at the chief, who's sort of blushing.

We've never heard anybody call him “Robert” before.

Of course Pescatore and Murphy found no one at Boardwalk Books. The coin-operated fax machine is tucked in a corner, hidden behind bookcases filled with beach reads. The sole employee was up at the cash register. Business was extremely slow, so he was sipping cappuccino and reading. He hadn't seen the fax sender walk in or out. Preoccupied with his froth. End of story.

Also, the bookstore doesn't believe in security cameras. The owner, this guy I've met a couple times, is a big fan of George Orwell's 1984 and doesn't want us “to go down a slippery slope” to governmental mind control or world domination, I forget which. Besides, what kid is going to shoplift books on his summer vacation?

Cochran, the FBI guy, dutifully dusted the fax machine for prints. He even impounded all the quarters in the money box. I'll bet you there's three or four in there without any fingerprints on them at all.

That would be our guy's loose change.

So all we have is the fax.

Once again, we have copies, and the interrogation room looks like a Barnes amp; Noble, everybody hanging out reading. The chief, Morgan, Ceepak, and me-we're all studying what the kidnapper wants us to do next: Mrs. Hart.Listen carefully! We have your daughter and have not yet harmed her in any way even though I have been tempted.If you want your daughter to stay safe and unharmed you will put ten million dollars in cash in several rolling suitcases. $100 bills are fine so are $1000s but please give me some $20 bills too.You are to place the suitcases inside the Ship John Lighthouse at noon tomorrow. The first floor. Just inside the door. The padlock and chain have been removed and you will be able to enter. When you do so, you will find instructions as to where to find your daughter at precisely 2 P.M.Yes. Sorry. You will have to wait two hours.I have friends who are with Ashley.Any deviation from these instructions will result in the immediate execution of your daughter.The friends watching over your daughter did not like your late husband so do not provoke them.Ceepak is to bring the money and then leave and not look back.If he stays, if he brings the FBI agent with the sunglasses, if he even brings a dog, your daughter dies.If the money is marked or in any way tampered with she dies. If the Coast Guard tries to stop me from leaving the island, she dies.You stand a 99 per cent chance of killing your daughter if you try to out smart us. Follow our instructions and wait until 2 P.M. and you stand a 100 % chance of getting her back. Don't try to grow a brain. Don't underestimate us. It is up to you now.Victory!