Greg Iles - 24 Hours

“Put this over your eyes.”

Karen tied the scarf around her head without argument. “Are we getting close?”

“Less than an hour. Don’t ask me anything else. I might change my mind about the insulin.”

“I won’t talk at all.”

“No, talk,” he said. “I like your voice. It’s got class, you know?”

Though blindfolded, Karen turned to him with amazement.

In the heart of Jackson, in the elite subdivision of East-over, a white-columned mansion stood gleaming in the beams of spotlights fixed to stately oak trees. On the circular driveway before the house sat a yellow 1932 Duesenberg, the dazzling cornerstone of a vintage car collection of which its owner had spent the better part of the last year divesting himself.

Inside the mansion, Dr. James McDill, owner of both the Duesenberg and the mansion, sat across the dinner table from his wife, Margaret. He felt a deep apprehension when he looked at her. Over the past twelve months, she had lost twenty pounds, and she’d weighed only one hundred twenty-five to start with. McDill wasn’t in the best shape himself. But after weeks of personal struggle, he was about to speak his mind on a very sensitive matter. He knew the reaction that would follow, but he had no choice. The closer the convention got, the more convinced he became that he was right. Time and reflection had brought it all back to him, particularly the things they had said in passing.

He put down his fork. “Margaret, I know you don’t want me to bring this up again. But I’ve got to.”

His wife’s spoon clattered against her bone china plate. “Why?” she asked in a voice that could have shaved glass. “Why do you have to?”

McDill sighed. He was a cardiovascular surgeon of wide experience, but he had never approached any surgery with the trepidation with which he now faced his wife. “Maybe because it happened exactly a year ago. Maybe because of the things they told us. I couldn’t get it out of my mind in the OR this morning. How this thing has affected our lives. Poisoned them.”

“Not mine. Yours! Your life.”

“For God’s sake, Margaret. The convention started tonight on the coast. We’re not there, and for one reason. Because what happened last year is still controlling us.”

Her mouth opened in shock. “You wish you were there now? My God!”

“No. But we were wrong not to go to the police a year ago. And I have a very bad feeling now. That woman told me they’d done it before, and I believed her. She said they’d done it to other doctors. They took advantage of the convention… of our separation. Margaret, what if it’s happening again? Right now?”

“Stop it!” she said in a strangled whisper. “Don’t you remember what they said? They’ll kill Peter! You want to go to the police now? A year after the fact? Don’t you know what would happen? You’re so naive!”

McDill laid both hands on the dinner table. “We’ve got to face this. We simply cannot let what happened to us happen to another family.”

“To us? What happened to you, James? You sat in a hotel room with some slut for a night. Don’t you ever think for one minute of anyone but yourself? Peter was traumatized!”

“Of course I think about Peter! But I refuse to let another child go through what he did because of our cowardice.”

Margaret wrapped her arms tight around herself and began rocking back and forth in the chair, like schizophrenics McDill had seen in medical school. “If only you hadn’t left us here alone,” she murmured. “All alone… Margaret and Peter… alone and unprotected.”

McDill fought the stab of guilt this produced. “Margaret-”

“Medical convention, my foot,” she hissed, her eyes going narrow. “It was that goddamned car show.”

“Margaret, please-”

He fell silent as their eleven-year-old son appeared in the dining room door. Peter was a pale, thin boy, and his eyes never settled in one place long.

“What’s the matter?” he asked timidly. “Why are you guys yelling?”

“Just a misunderstanding, son. I had a tough surgery today, and we were discussing some tax problems. I lost my temper. Nothing for you to worry about. What time are you going over to Jimmy’s?”

“His dad is picking me up in a minute.”

Margaret took a gulp of wine and said, “Are you sure you want to spend the night over there tonight, darling?”

“Yeah. Unless… unless you don’t want me to.”

“I like having my baby under this roof,” Margaret cooed.

“Nonsense,” said McDill. “Go have some fun, son. You’ve been studying too hard this week.”

A car horn sounded outside.

Peter looked uncertain. “I guess that’s them.”

“You’d better run, son. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Peter crossed the room and kissed his mother. Over his shoulder, Margaret glared at McDill.

“We’ll be right here if you need us for anything,” she said. “Just call. We’ll be right here. All night.”

McDill stared dejectedly at his plate. He had lost his appetite.

The Expedition jounced and jumped along rutted ground beneath black trees, Hickey sitting stiff behind the wheel. Karen gripped the handle on the windshield frame, the ice chest cold between her legs. She was terrified that Hickey would wreck the Expedition before they reached Abby. He had let her remove the blindfold after the last turn, but she felt like she was still wearing it. He refused to use the headlights, and with only the running lights on, she was astonished that he could pick his way through the dense trees. Wherever this place was, Hickey must have spent a lot of time here.

“We’re going to meet Huey on this road,” he said. “You and I will walk forward with the ice chest. You will not get emotional. You will not freak out. You hear? You can hug your kid long enough to calm her down. Then you take her blood sugar and give her the shot. After that, one last hug, then we go.”

“I understand.”

“Be sure you do. She’s going to go crazy when you start to leave, but you’d better tough it out. Just like the first day of school. Huey’s told her he’s baby-sitting her for one night. You reinforce that. Tell her everything’s okay, we’re all friends, and you’re going to pick her up in the morning. If you flip out…” Hickey turned to her for an instant, his eyes hard as agates. “If you flip out, I’ll have to hurt you right in front of her. She’ll have nightmares all night. You don’t want that.”

A pair of headlights flashed out of the dark and speared Karen’s retinas. As she threw up her hand to shield her eyes, Hickey stopped the Expedition and blinked the headlights twice. Then he left them on, creating a long tunnel of halogen light that merged with the dimmer headlights pointing at them.

“Come on,” he said, shutting off the engine. “Bring your stuff.”

Karen picked up the ice chest and climbed out. When she got to the front of the Expedition, Hickey grabbed her arm and said, “Start walking.”

Night mist floated through the headlight beams as they walked along them, and the humidity was heavy on Karen’s skin. She was straining for a sight or sound of Abby when a giant form blotted out the other pair of headlights.

The silhouette was about thirty yards away, and it looked like the outline of a grizzly bear. Karen stopped in her tracks, but Hickey pushed her on. Suddenly a squeal cut through the night.

“Mama? Mama!”

Karen rushed forward, stumbling in the ruts, picking herself up, going on. She fell to her knees and embraced the tiny shadow that had emerged from behind the massive one.

“I’m here, honey!” she said, squeezing Abby as tight as she dared and choking back a wave of tears. “Mama’s here, baby!”