Lisa Gardner - Touch & Go

“Nicole?” Wyatt fell in step beside Tessa and she led him away from the foyer toward what appeared to be the kitchen. “History is the operative word.”

“She good?”

“I’d say so. Smart, resourceful, ambitious. If I were missing, I wouldn’t mind her handling my case.”

“Good to know.”

Arriving in the state-of-the-art kitchen, first thing Wyatt spotted was the pile of personal possessions topping the granite island. The FBI had left the items intact, Tessa informed him, as they had some behavioral expert returning today to further study the scene. Not to mention, it wasn’t necessary to remove the mobile phones to analyze them; the cellular provider had already faxed over transcripts of messages, texts and call histories.

There was something about the cache of personal possessions that bothered Wyatt. It was more than simply removing items that could be used to call for help or potentially aid in a victim’s escape; it was dehumanizing. Divesting the fifteen-year-old of her metallic orange cell phone with her Swarovski crystal initials stickered on the back. Stripping off the wife’s engagement ring and wedding band. Taking the husband’s obviously well-used, well-loved, battered red Swiss Army knife.

It also invoked a sense of déjà vu. He had to think about it, circle the pile for a moment, consider multiple angles. Then, it came to him:

“Prison intake,” he said.

Tessa glanced up from her own inspection.

“When you’re first admitted into jail, they take all your personal possessions,” he continued. “Jewelry, wallets, money, keys, phone, cash, everything. You place it in a pile, slide it over. That’s what this looks like. Prison intake.”

Tessa nodded thoughtfully. “So possibly one or more of our offenders has a history.”

“Unfortunately, that doesn’t limit the suspect pool much,” Wyatt said dryly. “We were already thinking professionals, and many of them have logged time. You know, that way they can continue their education with even more experienced felons, while forming new alliances to assist with fresh criminal activities upon release.”

“But never call you cynical.”

Wyatt looked at her. “Versus your natural well of optimism?”

That smile again. Larger, more genuine. Made her look, for a second, like a woman still in her twenties. It occurred to him that Tessa Leoni’s natural state seemed to be almost wary, as if on guard against some danger he hadn’t identified yet. A story there. Definitely a story there.

“Pessimism is an occupational hazard,” she granted. “So, one of our suspects has probably served time. Most likely, the FBI is already on it, but I’ll mention it when they next emerge from their cocoon. Anything else?”

“For a crime we keep saying is financially motivated, there’s a lot of financial motive right here. I mean, as long as you’re grabbing a family for ransom, why leave behind the gold and diamonds? The kidnappers don’t want a bonus for their efforts?”

“Disciplined,” Tessa stated. “That’s my theory. The kidnappers had a plan, and they stuck to it. Which scares me a little as Libby’s diamond alone must be worth an easy hundred grand. If you think about it, when the other guys aren’t looking, you could simply slide it in your pocket…”

Wyatt saw her point and it worried him a little, too. Essentially, they weren’t just looking for a professional, well-disciplined predator. They were hunting a professional, well-disciplined team.

“I think they kidnapped the wife and daughter in order to better control Justin,” he said abruptly. “Guy like him sounds like a natural-born fighter. With the lives of his wife and kid at stake, however…”

Tessa nodded shortly, that tight look back on her face. “Limits his options,” she murmured. “Another argument that the abduction team did their homework and came prepared.”

“But no ransom?”

“Nothing yet. Come on. I’ll take you upstairs.”

Upstairs turned out to be the third floor. A lot more evidence placards and signs of a struggle. Tessa walked him through the scene, the Boston cops’ theories on the chain of events. It all sounded good to him. God knows, he’d never had the occasion to use urine drops to diagram a crime scene.

They completed their inspection, then Tessa once more headed downstairs. When they came to the second-floor landing, she was still walking, but he paused.

“What’s here?”

“Family room, guest bedroom, library.”

“I mean, in terms of the kidnapping.”

She shook her head. “There isn’t anything on this level.”

“And the top level, above the third floor?”

“Nothing.”

Wyatt frowned. “Meaning the activity was limited to the third floor, where the intruders got the girl, and the foyer, where they got the parents, then the kitchen, where they stacked the family goods after everyone had been subdued?”

Tessa nodded.

Wyatt looked at her. “Pretty precise, if you ask me. This is what, a six-thousand-square-foot town house? How many levels, how many rooms? And yet, to judge by the lack of evidence on certain levels, the kidnappers never wasted a step. In, out, done.”

She stilled slightly, and he could see the implications sinking in. “We already figure it’s an inside job—or at least, someone the Denbes knew gave out the security codes. But what you’re suggesting…”

“They’ve been here before,” Wyatt said bluntly. “Either as guests, or the same person who gave out the security codes also gave them a personal tour. Enough so they’d know exactly where to find Ashlyn’s bedroom and precisely where to stand to grab the parents walking in.”

“For that matter, they were briefed on the family’s habits,” Tessa added. “Because if Libby had driven, she and Justin would’ve entered from the lower-level garage, but he drove, meaning they used the front door.”

“Who would know such details?”

“The housekeeper, Dina Johnson. I would guess some close friends and acquaintances. Also Justin’s management team, the crew we met last night. I’m told they were all frequent guests in the home, plus it makes sense Justin might have given them security access in case they needed to fetch something for him, that sort of thing.”

“In other words, a decent-size pool of suspects,” Wyatt said. “Who’ve already fed us a bunch of stories.”

They’d arrived back in the main foyer. Kevin was no longer hunched over the floor, having probably worked his way to the kitchen.

“If this is about corporate gain,” Tessa said, “why kidnap? How does abducting Justin and his family assist with taking over Denbe Construction?”

Wyatt considered the matter. “Missing its leader, the company goes into crisis mode, meaning the management team can assume emergency control of Denbe Construction.”

“To what end? Justin is found, he takes it back over.”

“Unless he’s incapacitated. Hurt.” Wyatt paused. “Killed.”

Tessa nodded but wore a troubled frown. “It’s possible. God knows, there have been enough cases involving murder-for-hire by disgruntled business partners. It’s not always easy to understand what some people find worth killing over.” A chiming sound came from her pocket. She pulled out her cell, glanced at the screen. “Excuse me, I have to take this.”

Wyatt nodded, wandering to the family room, where he eyed the hand-carved mantel one last time, then pulled out the thick sheaf of papers from his bag, and set about reading.

Next thing he knew, Tessa Leoni was standing beside him, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Got it!”

“Got what?”

“The answer to my question. Wait, is that the evidence log?” She pointed to his stack of papers. “You got the FBI to share the evidence log?”