R. Ellory - A Quiet Vendetta

‘Because Ray Hartmann has earned Perez’s confidence, Governor-’

Hartmann, standing there in the narrow hotel corridor, no more than three feet from the room where these people were speaking, realized who was inside. Ducane. Governor Charles Ducane.

‘And when you are dealing with a man such as Ernesto Perez,’ Schaeffer went on, ‘you use whatever leverage or foothold you can find. We are not dealing with a rational man, Governor. We are dealing with a multiple murderer, a homicidal psychopath. The laws and rules and regulations that dictate the manner in which business is undertaken at Capitol Hill do not apply to situations such as this. What we have here is an entirely different world-’

‘I do not appreciate the facetious attitude, Agent Schaeffer. I am here because my daughter has been kidnapped, and I am in personal communication not only with the attorney general himself, but also the director of the FBI. I can assure you that there will be no quarter given if it is discovered that any aspect of this operation has been mishandled by yourself or the men under your command-’

‘And I can assure you, Governor Ducane, that every single thing that can be done is being done.’

Hartmann, his fists clenched, his teeth gritted, took three steps forward and appeared in the doorway of the hotel room where Schaeffer, Woodroffe and Ducane had been talking.

Ducane was standing facing Schaeffer. Woodroffe was seated. Schaeffer appeared more vexed and agitated than Hartmann had ever seen him. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his hair was uncombed. Ducane, however, seemed the epitome of composure. He possessed the air of a man who always achieved his own ends and never had to explain either what he did or why he did it. His eyes were sharp and unforgiving. His hair – silver-gray and full – his tailored suit and overcoat, even the deep burgundy scarf around his neck: these things spoke of a man who had never envisioned the idea of going without. He did not, in Hartmann’s estimation, appear to be a man deeply disturbed and distressed by the absence of his only child.

He turned as Hartmann entered the room. ‘Mr Hartmann,’ he said slowly.

Hartmann nodded. ‘Governor Ducane.’

‘I have come to ensure that all progress that can be made is being made-’

‘I understand,’ Hartmann interjected. The last thing he wanted was a lecture.

Ducane shook his head. ‘I am afraid, Mr Hartmann, that I am not sure you do understand.’

Hartmann opened his mouth to speak but Ducane raised his hand.

‘You have a daughter, do you not, Mr Hartmann?’

Hartmann nodded.

‘How old is she? Eleven? Twelve?’

Ducane looked at Hartmann for an answer but continued speaking without waiting for it.

‘Then you perhaps understand some small aspect of how this must feel for someone like me. My daughter is nineteen years old. She is barely more than a child herself. This man-’ Ducane glanced up towards the ceiling; he knew Perez was in the building on an upper floor. ‘This animal… this insane criminal psychopath that you have secured inside this hotel… he has taken my daughter. My daughter, Mr Hartmann, and I am in a position where I can do nothing but wait while you people fall over your own feet trying to find out what he has done with her. How would you feel if it was your child, Mr Hartmann? How would you feel then? I am sure that there would have been an awful lot more progress in finding her. Where is she? No-one knows but this man. Is she alive or dead? Huh? Is she dead, Mr Hartmann? Well, whaddya know… the only person that knows is this man Perez.’

Ducane glared at Hartmann, and then he turned and fixed Schaeffer and Woodroffe in turn with his gaze.

‘To hell with this!’ he suddenly said. ‘I am going up there to deal with this man myself!’

He made for the door.

Hartmann backed up a step, closed the door and stood in front of it.

‘Out of my way, Hartmann!’ Ducane snapped.

Hartmann said nothing.

Schaeffer looked like he was ready to implode. Woodroffe rose from his chair and joined Hartmann at the door.

‘You cannot go up there, Governor,’ Hartmann said quietly.

Ducane grimaced. ‘I can do any goddam thing I goddam well please. Now out of the way.’

Schaeffer stepped up behind Ducane and took his arm by the elbow.

Ducane turned suddenly. He wrenched his arm free and pushed Schaeffer back against the edge of the desk.

He started shouting, spittle flying from his lips. ‘You people!’ he screamed. ‘You people think you can come down here and play with my daughter’s life as if it holds no importance at all? You think you can do this to me? I am Charles Ducane, Governor of Louisiana…’

Ducane stopped suddenly. He turned back towards Hartmann. ‘You… you get out of my way right now!’

Hartmann shook his head. ‘No, Governor. I am not going to get out of your way. You are not going anywhere except back to Shreveport. You are going to leave us to handle this with the correct protocol and procedure. The director of the FBI has sent the people he considers best fit for this task, and they have done everything they are capable of doing, and will continue to do everything they can, until they have found your daughter and returned her safe to you. We have sixty men down here. Honest and capable men. They have spent every waking hour searching for any clue that might indicate where your daughter is being held. Already we have seen four men die as a result of this investigation, and we have no intention of adding your daughter’s name to the roster of dead. I am not familiar with standard FBI procedure in these matters, I am not in a position to judge whether everything has been done to the letter, but I can guarantee that in all my years working in such situations as this I have never seen a more dedicated and committed group of people. These people have given up their own lives for the duration of this investigation, and nothing, absolutely nothing, has dissuaded them from doing what they believe to be right. Now you have to leave, because if I let you go up there then I can guarantee that Ernesto Perez will say nothing further and he will let your daughter die.’

Ducane was silent for a moment, and then he backed up a step and looked down at the floor.

He turned and looked at Schaeffer. Was there a flicker of something apologetic in his expression? Hartmann could not be certain. He doubted Charles Ducane would ever allow himself to stoop so low as to apologize.

Clear in Hartmann’s mind were the things Perez had said regarding Ducane. The young New Orleans old-money compatriot of Antoine Feraud. Did Charles Ducane have any inkling of who Perez really was, and why he had done this? Did Governor Charles Ducane in fact know exactly why Perez had abducted his daughter? Was he here for the reason he stated – to ensure that everything was being done to find her – or was he here to ensure that the things he did not want known stayed unknown?

Hartmann was exhausted – mentally, emotionally, spiritually. He did not want to fight this man, and even as he thought those words Ducane spoke again. His voice was cold and direct. There was nothing human within it whatsoever, and in that moment Hartmann understood that what Perez had told them about this man could very well be the truth.

‘I will do as I wish, Mr Hartmann, and what I wish is to see this man-’

Hartmann closed his eyes. He clenched his fists. ‘Governor Ducane,’ he said quietly. He looked up and opened his eyes. ‘There are a great many things we do not know about this man. There have been a great many things he has spoken about, and your name has been uttered on numerous occasions.’

Ducane’s eyes flashed. Was there a flicker of anxiety there?