Linda Fairstein - The Kills

"Where the hell were you? What was going on? Where's Dulles?"

"I was sitting in the stands on the side, watching him play. I didn't even see Andrew." She was beginning to whine now, seeing that Graham was getting frantic over something that she had not been able to control. "Next thing I know Dulles looks up and just freaks out. He saw his father standing twenty feet away, just staring at him, holding on to the wire cage."

Hoyt was looking all around now. "Where are they?"

"It's okay, Graham. Todd scooped Dulles up and started running. Right to the boat. I-I couldn't keep up. I decided to try to block Andrew, to get in his way so he wouldn't be able to catch them."

She pointed down at her torn slacks. She must have fallen and scraped her knee. There was still fresh blood. Hoyt didn't seem interested in her bruise.

"Todd and the boy?"

"I saw them get on the Pirate. I saw the captain pull out into the river."

"Which way?"

"North."

"You sure?"

She was pointing now, and the magnificent steel bones of the George Washington Bridge stood in the distant background as if they were painted against the sky.

Mike and I were more worried about the fact that Andrew Tripping had begun to stalk his own child.

He spoke before I did. "Tripping? Did you see which way Tripping went?"

"We got entangled in each other. That's how I fell. He got up and started running-"

"After Dulles?" Graham asked.

"No, no. The other way. He ran toward a black car that was parked near the taxi drop-off area," Jenna said. "Over that way."

"You see him get in?" Mike asked.

"Yeah."

"Driver's side?"

"No, no. Someone was already waiting there, in the car. Another man."

Mike and Graham Hoyt were speaking at the same time, with different concerns.

"That son of a bitch was coming after Dulles, to take him away from us. To kidnap him. Had a car waiting and everything," Hoyt said, turning away from his wife.

Mike wanted to know what the man in the car looked like.

"He was a white guy. Short hair, thin face."

"Lionel Webster."

"Who's got a gun, Mike," I reminded him.

"She's yours," he said, telling Jenna Hoyt to stay with me till he got back or got word to us later.

Mike jogged in the direction of the parking garage, talking into his cell phone as he did.

Graham Hoyt took off the other way, toward his sleek-looking speedboat, the Pirate 's tender tied up at the end of the dock. Jenna followed behind him, favoring her bruised leg. I ran after them, overtaking her quickly and trailing behind her husband.

Halfway down the pier, Jenna let out a groan. I looked back and saw her doubled over, kneading a cramp out of her calf. She waved us on.

Graham Hoyt took care of the slipknot and tossed the rope onto the clean white rear seat of the boat, bounding in after it. "We're going for the boy," he called out to his wife.

He held out his hand and I jumped on as he juiced the motor and headed upriver.

The bow of the Whaler crashed against the waves, and the second speed bump threw me down onto the seat. Graham Hoyt was holding the wheel, driving the powerful craft hard, running it between and around the river traffic. Spray from the cold river was splashing over the sides, carried by the wind, soaking my hair and face.

Hoyt looked back at me. "Stay down, okay?"

I nodded that I would.

With his left hand he picked up a walkie-talkie device, trying to raise his captain on it.

Seconds later came the reply that he could be heard.

"We're in the tender, trying to catch up to you. Is Dulles okay?"

The machine crackled as the answer was transmitted. I could hear the captain say that the boy was "just fine."

Hoyt asked how far ahead they were, and I thought I heard the words "Spuyten Duyvil," which was just a few miles north. He replaced the device on the dashboard and turned to me with a smile, slowing the speed a bit. My stomach had been churning as the boat slammed against the water over and over. Now I was able to let go of my firm grip on the edge of the seat.

"He's good, Alex," Hoyt said, flashing me a grin. I could barely hear him over the sound of the engine.

I called out from the back of the boat, "You're both really determined to get him through all this. That's clear."

He was relaxed now. "I only hope Jenna can put up with Andrew's nonsense until we get a judge to formalize the arrangement. I've raised a lot of money for children's organizations around the world, Alex. It's Jenna's passion, and we've been pleased to do it. All those orphans in Bosnia and Afghanistan and East Africa. What the hell else is there but kids, in the end? I've thrown a lot of my money into making kids' lives better."

Somebody had just been talking to me about a corporate lawyer who donated money to children's charities. The wind whipped my hair into my eyes and mouth, and I tried to recall the conversation. I remembered, too, there was a scam involved.

We had passed the Seventy-ninth Street boat basin and were parallel with the West Side Highway. I took my cell phone from my pocket and called Mercer Wallace to see whether he had any word from Mike.

"Hey, where are you?"

"With Graham Hoyt, trying to catch up to the big boat to find Dulles. Halfway between Hoboken and Harlem, on the water. You heard anything from-"

"I'm telling you right this minute, Alexandra, lower yourself into the drink if you have to, but get yourself back to shore this very minute."

"What's wrong?"

Hoyt must have heard the change in my voice and looked around at me. I smiled at him and shrugged my shoulders. "Just checking with my deputy to make sure nothing serious came up while I was on the Vineyard. She's home with her kids."

"Is anyone else with you?" Mercer asked.

"No."

"You close to any place he can dock or pull in?"

"Not far."

Hoyt kept checking back on me.

"Is it Mike? Did he get Andrew Tripping?"

"I haven't heard a thing from Mike. I got another glitch."

"Like what?"

"Just you come home."

"You've got to tell me so I know what I'm dealing with here," I said, hoping the concern in my whispered words hadn't been carried to Hoyt by the wind.

"After I left Kevin Bessemer at the hospital, I stopped by to see Tiffany's mother. Thank her for calling in the tip."

"Yeah."

"Remember Tiffany told us she took something from Queenie's apartment, after she got there and found the old girl was dead?"

"A photograph. She took a photograph of Queenie with her son."

"That's who all of us believed was in the picture, when Tiffany said it was a young boy, right? We just assumed it was Fabian because it came out of Queenie's apartment."

"It's not Fabian?"

"Mrs. Gatts had the picture at her place, 'cause she took her daughter's purse home with her the day Tiffany was arrested. It was a ten-year-old boy in the picture, all right, but it wasn't McQueen Ransome's son and it wasn't taken forty years ago."

"What?"

Hoyt had slowed the boat even further, and I continued to fake my lack of concern.

I needed to listen to Mercer and not panic. I needed to let him tell me what he knew.

"The kid in the photograph is Dulles Tripping-it's a Polaroid and he signed his name right on the back, thanking McQueen Ransome for something, maybe something she gave him."

"Um, hmm, I understand," I said, beginning to see the light.

"And it's dated. It was taken on the afternoon Queenie died, just hours before Kevin and Tiffany got there and claim she was already dead."

"I see," I said, still pretending to be talking to Sarah Brenner. "I'll take care of that next week."

"You'll take care of it right now, Alex. Whoever the agency had let Dulles go off with that afternoon, whoever he was allowed to visit with, might be the person who killed McQueen Ransome. Now maybe it's not Graham Hoyt, but until I can get an answer to that from the child welfare agency, I don't want you alone with him for another nanosecond."