Lisa Gardner - Gone

“You said it yourself: His primary motivation isn’t money.”

“He’s playing a game.”

“Son of a bitch,” Kincaid agreed.

“But all games have an end.”

“Theoretically speaking.”

“Then where is this game headed, Sergeant? What don’t we see?”

Kincaid didn’t have an answer. He shrugged, just as Candi appeared in the doorway.

“We have activity,” she reported.

“The UNSUB’s made contact?” Kincaid was already running for the conference room.

“No, but Trooper Blaney just radioed in. He’s at the Wal-Mart. He can’t find any trace of Detective Grove.”

“What?” Kincaid drew up short.

“He’s searched inside and outside the store,” Candi reported. “Best he can tell, Alane is gone.”

Wednesday, 11:13 a.m. PST

KIMBERLY WAS PACING IN FRONT of the pay phone when her walkie-talkie crackled to life. It was Mac:

“We got a situation at Wal-Mart. We need to rendezvous there, ASAP.”

“Contact with the kidnapper?” Kimberly jerked away from the phone and headed across the parking lot, already ramping up on adrenaline.

“More like Detective Grove appears to be missing.”

“Say what?”

“Exactly.”

Kimberly found her car, and headed for Wal-Mart.

Wednesday, 11:18 a.m. PST

ACROWD OF CURIOSITY SEEKERS had already gathered outside the Wal-Mart, blocking access. Deputy Mitchell chirped the surveillance van’s hidden siren three times, and the throng reluctantly gave way.

Following behind the van, Kimberly counted half a dozen patrol cars and three unmarked detectives’ sedans clogging the front of the lot. No reporters on the ground yet, but when she glanced up, she spotted the first network chopper in the air. The situation wasn’t about to become a media circus, it was already there.

Deputy Mitchell parked the van in the middle of a lane; Kimberly followed suit. As she climbed out of her car, she could see the deputy craning his neck and pointing up at the chopper.

“Is that what I think it is?” he was asking Mac.

“Yep.”

“Ah hell, that’s not fair. Most of us haven’t even had a chance to shower!”

Mac and Kimberly exchanged glances. They tugged on the tired deputy’s arms, navigating him to the front of the store. Sheriff Atkins was already there, in a huddle with Lieutenant Mosley and a heavy woman wearing a red floral-print dress. According to her name tag, Dorothy was the manager.

“Yes, we have cameras all over the store. Of course you can check the tapes. I don’t see what could’ve happened though. I mean, it’s midmorning. I didn’t get any word of anything or anybody acting strange.” Dorothy was rocking from side to side, sending her red dress into billows of distress.

“I understand,” Shelly consoled. “But that’s the beauty of security cameras. They’re always paying attention, even on a routine day.” She spotted their approach and beckoned them closer. “Deputy Mitchell, this is Dorothy Watson. Dorothy is going to take you to the back office and show you the security tapes. I want you to check all the film starting at nine forty-five this morning and ending at ten-thirty. In particular, pay attention to the footage of the pay phones. I want to know when Detective Grove arrived on scene, and if we can catch any sign of where she went. Got it?”

Mitchell nodded. He was still eyeing the news chopper, tugging nervously at the collar of his shirt. Clearly, he didn’t feel ready to make his film-at-eleven debut. Sometimes, it was tough to be a cop.

As Dorothy and Mitchell disappeared back inside the store, Shelly brought Mac and Kimberly up to date. “We don’t know diddly,” the sheriff said bluntly. “Detective Grove arrived on time. Radioed Kincaid to provide a description of a man talking on one of the pay phones. Kincaid advised her that backup was on its way. And that’s the last we heard from Alane Grove.”

“What time did she radio Kincaid?” Kimberly asked.

“He logged it at ten twenty-eight.”

“And the backup arrived?”

“Well, that’s the bad news. It took Kincaid ten minutes to find an available officer, then another ten minutes for Trooper Blaney to get his butt over here. Upon arrival, Blaney didn’t see any sign of Alane or the gentleman outside, so he parked his cruiser and went into the store. It’s a big store. He walked it another fifteen minutes, before getting nervous.

“That point, he radioed back in to the task force. Kincaid advised him to initiate full lockdown. Blaney paged the manager, had Dorothy lock up the store. The employees and customers were lined up in the front. Then Blaney and Dorothy did a full-scale search aisle by aisle, including the employees’ lounge, rest rooms, stockroom, everywhere. There’s no sign of Detective Grove.”

“Her car?”

“Still in the lot.”

“Shit.”

“It’s a public relations nightmare,” Lieutenant Mosley spoke up. “Danicic just held a news conference reporting that our own ineptitude led to the kidnapping of Dougie Jones. If word gets out that the subject is now snatching members of the task force in broad daylight…”

“I’m sure Detective Grove isn’t thrilled about things either,” Kimberly snapped. “Let’s not lose perspective here.”

“The media controls perspective; that’s all I’m trying to say. Our UNSUB is playing to the media. A Daily Sun reporter is playing to the media. We are doing nothin’. How the hell many people have to be kidnapped before I get to do my job?”

Kimberly got a little wide-eyed. The color in her face rose alarmingly.

Mosley, however, refused to be rattled. He had his cell phone out and was working the numbers. “Look, you all set?” he asked Shelly.

“I think we can handle things here.”

“Fine, then I’m heading to the county field office. I might as well see if I can talk some sense into Danicic, or get really lucky and issue a formal statement to the press. We gotta start taking control of the situation. This kind of thing”-Mosley pointed up to the hovering chopper-“is bullshit.”

Mosley stalked off, cell phone glued to his ear. Kimberly worked on getting her blood pressure back under control.

“Can you believe-” she started.

Mac laid a soothing hand on her arm. “He’s doing his job. Just like we gotta do ours. So, first things first: Did any of the pay phones receive a call?”

“Not that we know of,” Shelly said.

“So the only person who reported any activity at all was Detective Grove, and now she’s vanished.”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Gets the little hairs on the back of my neck standing up, too.”

A beep sounded at Shelly’s waist. She frowned, checked the digital display of her pager, then unclipped her police radio from her utility belt. “Sheriff Atkins,” she said.

The crackling sound of a police dispatch operator came over the airwaves. “We have a male caller, identity unknown, who is demanding to speak with you. He will not give us his name or reason for calling. Just keeps insisting you’ll want to have the conversation.”

Shelly arched a brow at Kimberly and Mac. “All right, I’ll bite. Put him on the line.”

Mac and Kimberly huddled closer. There was a moment of silence, then a male voice boomed over the airwaves: “I have information on the missing woman and child. I want to know what the reward is.”

“For being a good citizen?”

The man continued talking as if he hadn’t heard her: “I read in the paper ’bout a woman who got seventy thousand dollars for helping catch a cop killer. I got information on saving two people’s lives. I figure that’s worth at least one hundred grand.”