James Grippando - The Abduction

Eager reporters continued to hurl questions, but they went unanswered. Allison and her DOJ representatives exited first, followed by O’Doud and his assistants. When they reached the hall, she pulled the director into a vacant office and closed the door, nearly slamming it shut.

“What the hell was that all about?” she demanded.

O’Doud shrugged, feigning ignorance. “Just doing my job.”

She moved closer, using her height advantage in heels. “It’s not your job to talk about the death penalty. Prosecutors will make that decision. Not the FBI.”

“I wasn’t making any decisions. I was just telling it like it is.”

“You were campaigning against me and my record on the death penalty, that’s what you were doing. This was supposed to be an apolitical press conference.”

He stepped back, guffawing. “Apolitical, my foot. Thirty minutes before you appear on national television, the press somehow gets its hands on some mysterious photos that make the general look like a sniveling wimp. What do you call that? Coincidence?”

“Are you suggesting I released those photographs?”

“Are you denying it?”

Her face reddened. “Yes, I deny it.”

“Fine. But unless you’d enjoy having to deny these kinds of accusations to the American public, I suggest you take the advice I gave you from the start. Stay out of the investigation.”

“Am I hearing things,” she scoffed, “or did one incredibly pompous ass just threaten to smear my name in the media?”

“I’m not threatening anything. I simply won’t allow this investigation to be directed by an attorney general who may be more interested in winning an election than solving a crime.”

“You won’t allow it?” she said incredulously. “You work for me, O’Doud.”

He made a face. “A mere technicality, given the circumstances. Somehow, I don’t think the director of the FBI is in any real danger of being fired by the president just twenty-four hours after the nation’s biggest kidnapping since the Lindbergh baby. Somehow, I don’t think you want to be skewered as the attorney general who is more interested in protecting her own turf than saving the life of a twelve-year-old girl.”

“You’re the most amoral human being I’ve ever met.”

“You’re the politician, not me. It’s you who has the conflict of interest.”

“Who the hell gave you the authority to decide whether I have a conflict of interest?”

His expression turned cold, but smug. “The next president of the United States. That’s who.”

She watched in silence as he left the room, numbed by his words. Alone.

Repo switched off the television set and rubbed his tired eyes. The drive from Nashville to Baltimore had been exhausting, but he and Tony Delgado were both too full of caffeine to sleep.

The living room went dark without the light from the television. Old heavy drapes blocked out the morning sun. The green sculptured carpet reminded Repo of his grandmother’s house, only this place was even smaller. The tiny Formica kitchen with harvest gold appliances was in full view from the combined living and dining rooms. The vintage sixties bathroom was at the end of the hall. On the right was the master bedroom, where Tony and his brother Johnny would sleep. Kristen was in the other bedroom. Repo got the couch.

The toilet flushed, the bathroom door opened, and Tony came back in the living room.

Repo switched on the table lamp, then sank back into the couch, glaring. “They’re seeking the death penalty.”

“What?”

“I just heard the press conference. The head of the FBI just said they’re gonna seek the death penalty for the murder of Reggie Miles.”

“They gotta catch us first.”

Repo shook his head, exasperated. “I’ve been thinking about this since Nashville, and I’m telling you straight up. Your brother is trouble.”

A sarcastic smile came to Tony’s face. “And I think you’re a pussy. So that makes us the perfect triangle. Nobody trusts nobody.”

“I’m not kidding around.”

Tony’s smile faded. “What do you want me to do, Repo?” He turned in anger, grabbing the phone. “You want me to call Elliot Ness right now and turn Johnny in?” His voice rose as he slammed down the phone and grabbed his gun. “You want me to blow Johnny’s brains out when he gets here? You wanna blow his brains out? Is that what you want? Tell me. Because I’m sick of your whining.”

Repo stared him down. “I took this job because you were heading it up. You’re the one with the brains. Not Johnny. If you just rubber-stamp every stupid mistake your brother makes, this ship is going down. I just want you to have the balls to keep your own brother in line. That’s all.”

“Don’t tell me how to handle Johnny. If he makes a mistake, I’ll deal with him the way I’d deal with you. But killing Reggie Miles was no mistake. In fact, Johnny did us a favor.”

“A favor ? Thanks to him, now we got the death penalty hanging over our heads.”

“Which is perfect. Now it’s an all-or-nothing game, and we’re free to do whatever it takes to pull off the job. No matter what else we do, they can only execute us once. So if we need to kill a cop, we’re free to kill a cop. If some hero gets in our way, we’re free to kill him, too. We’re free-absolutely free-to do whatever we want. Which means that if we have to kill Kristen Howe…”

Repo’s expression fell.

He smiled thinly. “Say it, Repo. I want to hear you say it. If we have to kill Kristen Howe…”

Repo blinked hard, then looked away.

Tony laughed and headed for the kitchen. “Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, we’re free, at last!”

Allison went home for lunch, not so much to eat as to talk to Peter. She couldn’t remember the last time she and her husband had eaten together alone in their own dining room, but after the morning press conference and the exchange with O’Doud, she simply needed to get out of the Justice Building and clear her head. It seemed everyone around her had a political stake in her next move.

She dropped her coat on the sofa and fixed on the news-at-noon broadcast blaring from the television in the kitchen. She recognized her voice, but it was old footage-almost a year old. As attorney general she had downplayed her own personal tragedy, lest she be typecast as an irrational zealot with no respect for the rights of the accused. She knew, however, that the media would dig up the past once she launched her presidential campaign. Upon announcing her candidacy last December, therefore, Allison had granted just one “tell-all” prime-time interview to talk about Emily’s abduction and her own eight-year ordeal. The strategy was to get it out of the way early and move forward with the real campaign issues. With Kristen Howe’s abduction, the media had resurrected that old interview, replaying one sound bite in particular.

“One thing remains as true today as it was then,” Allison said in the taped interview. “The first twenty-four hours are crucial in any case involving the abduction of a child by a nonfamily member.”

The reporter was back on the television screen live, standing outside the FBI headquarters. “This afternoon, as the investigation into Kristen Howe’s disappearance moves into its second day, the attorney general’s words of one year ago weigh heavy in the minds and hearts of all Americans. We can only hope for a happier ending than there was for Allison and Emily Leahy.”

The anchor replied in a solemn voice, “Absolutely.”

Allison cringed. Absolutely -the TV journalists’ all-purpose idiotic response, suitable for any occasion. Hotter than blazes out there today, eh, Ted? Traffic’s a mess this morning, isn’t it, Jamie? Sure hope we’re first on the scene when they pull that girl’s dead body out of the woods, huh, boys? Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely.