F Wilson - Deep as the Marrow

“Look what we’ve done by educating people about the perils of smoking. In the 1950s the average American consumed thirteen pounds of tobacco per year. The per capita consumption is now down to seven pounds a year and falling. Yet tobacco is legally available. The exact opposite trend has occurred with illegal narcotics. The conclusion is obvious: We can address the problems and focus public education on a legal addictive substance far more effectively than on an illegal one. Using antismoking campaigns as a model, there’s no reason we can’t cut U.S. consumption of legalised drugs by an equal percentage.”

Great, Poppy thought. Just when I’m like getting off the stuff.

The newswoman went on to read stories about protests against the President’s drug decriminalization proposal and closed with a tape of the Reverend Bobby Whitcomb calling down Holy Fire upon the head of President Winston.

Damn. Not a word about a double murder in Falls Church.

Maybe she’d been wrong—maybe no one had called the cops. That meant Paulie could still be lying there, and would keep on lying there until the landlord came looking for his rent check or somebody reported the stink.

Poppy couldn’t bear the thought of that. If she didn’t hear something by tomorrow, she’d phone in a “tip” to the Falls Church fuzz. Of course, maybe the murder of two nobodies couldn’t like compete with all the stuff the President was doing.

“Okay,” she said. “Hit that button to your heart’s content.”

But the channel didn’t switch. Poppy looked over and saw big tears rolling down Katie’s cheeks. She moved closer and put her arms around her.

“Whatsamatter, little Katie?”

“I want to go ho-home,” she said.

Poppy held her tighter. “I know you do, honey.” But I don’t want to let you go, she thought. Paulie’s gone and you’re all I’ve got now.

But she knew she had to. She just had to figure out a way to get her back where she belonged without like landing herself in a jail cell.

Poppy gave Katie another squeeze. But maybe she could keep her a little while longer. Just until— She stiffened as a terrifying thought struck her. The cops wouldn’t be the only ones looking for Katie. As soon as the people Mac had been working for found out he was dead and his precious “package” missing, they’d be out looking for Katie too.

And me.

No choice. For Katie’s sake. Poppy was going to have to get her back home tonight. Suddenly, Poppy wanted to cry.

She couldn’t believe how attached she’d become to this little girl. Like she’d filled an empty place within her, an emptiness she never even knew she had. And when Katie was gone, Poppy knew she’d leave an even bigger empty place, so big it might swallow her up.

Dammit, she thought, stop thinking of yourself for once. Katie doesn’t belong with you, and she’ll only get hurt or killed if she stays. Whoever’s after us will be looking for this pierced-up gal towing a little girl. We’ll both be better off if we split up.

“You know what?” she said as brightly as she could. “We’re gonna make your wish come true. We’re gonna figure out a way to get you back to your Daddy.” Katie straightened and looked at her.

“Really? I’m going home?”

“Yes, baby. You’re going home.”

Katie threw her arms around her and squeezed. “Oh, thank you, thank you!”

Poppy felt the tears start. “I’ll miss you, little Katie,” she said, sniffing.

“Don’t cry,” Katie said. “You can come visit me. We’ll play Chutes and Ladders and I’ll show you all my dolls.”

“Right,” she said dully. “That’ll be great.” I’ll never see you again, little Katie…

Poppy pulled free and stood up. She wiped her eyes and said, “Okay. First step is to get in touch with your dad. You wouldn’t just happen to like know your phone number, would you?”

Katie rattled it off.

“You’re one smart girl,” Poppy told her.

“My Daddy made me memorize it, in case I got lost.”

All right. But what next? She wondered if she was smart enough to figure out how to work this without getting caught. What would Paulie do… ?

16

John picked up on the first ring, almost knocking the receiver off the kitchen wall in his mad rush to get to it. He didn’t want it waking Mom.

“Mr. Vanduyne?” A male voice, low-pitched, official sounding.

“Yes? Who’s this?”

“This is Sergeant James Waltham, Falls Church Police Department. Sir, do you have a daughter named Katie?” Oh, no. Oh, please, God, no!

He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. He reached out blindly with his free hand, found the back of a chair, and dropped into it.

Finally… “Yes?”

“We found a bottle of pills that seem to belong to her.”

“Pills? What about Katie? Do you have Katie?”

“No, sir. Just her pills. Do you know where your daughter is?”

“She’s been—” No. Don’t tell him. “She’s been on a trip. Where did you find them?”

“At a murder scene.”

“A murder—? My God! She’s not—?”

“No, sir. No child victim there. But we did find some children’s clothing—a Holy Family school uniform and—”

“Oh, God!”

“Sir, just where is your daughter?”

“Look. I’ll be right down. Just tell me where you’re located and I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Sgt. Waltham spelled his name and gave John the police department’s address. John hung up and called Decker’s private number. He repeated to Decker almost word for word what he’d been told.

“What’s it mean, Bob?”

“I wouldn’t even hazard a guess right now. But this might be a major break for us. You stay put. I’ll go down there and see what—”

“Not on your life! I know her clothes! I can identify them!” Didn’t Decker realize that he had to see that blazer and jumper with his own eyes, touch them, bunch them in his hands?

“No. Stay there. You might get e-mail—”

“I gave you my password—you monitor my e-mail. I’m going to Falls Church. See you there!” And he hung up.

As John stepped toward the hall closet to grab a jacket, his cellular phone began to trill. He snatched it off the counter.

“Is this Mr. Vanduyne?” A woman’s voice this time— young but husky.

Two calls in a row with the same question. But who had his cellular number?

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Got someone who wants to talk to you.” A rustle, a rattle, and then a child’s voice.

“Daddy?” John knew that voice, but for an instant his mind refused to identify it. Wasn’t possible, couldn’t be… some sort of cruel trick…

“Daddy, it’s me—Katie.” And then the kitchen swam around him.

“Katie! Dear God, Katie, is that you?” He realized he was shouting but he couldn’t help it. He thought he’d burst with joy.

“Is this really you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where are you—how are you?”

“Fine.” Fine… she always said fine. The bastards had cut off her toe and she was fine. “I’m coming home.” John sagged against the wall and tried to keep from sobbing. “Oh, Katie, I’ve missed you so! Where are you? I’ll come and get you right now!”

“Now’s not a good time.” The woman was back on the line. “You can get her tonight.” John’s mind whirled in confusion. What was going on? Where was the catch?

“But how… why?”

“Let’s just say the real kidnapper is dead and I’ve got Katie and I wanna give her back. But I don’t like wanna get locked up, know what I’m saying?”

The real kidnapper is dead… ? She has to mean that murder scene in Falls Church where they found Katie’s pills… what has that poor child gone through?