Lisa Gardner - Touch & Go

TESSA WOKE UP AT FIVE THIRTY. Her room was still dark. She’d been asleep three, four hours tops and couldn’t figure out what had woken her. Then, she watched her door soundlessly open, Sophie’s pale form appearing.

Her daughter drifted into the room, moving so quietly Tessa wasn’t even sure she was awake. Sometimes Sophie sleepwalked. Sometimes, she also talked in her sleep. Or, more like sleep-screamed.

Now Sophie materialized at the edge of Tessa’s bed, her eyes round and alert in her face.

“Mommy?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find the family?”

“Not yet.” Tessa drew back her covers. Sophie climbed aboard.

“You checked the cold, dark places?”

“Some of them.”

“What about the mountains? Did you try all the cabins in the mountains?”

“Tomorrow…today, actually… I’m going to head north. We’ll check more.”

“Bring cookies.”

“Absolutely.”

Sophie tucking against her. “That girl needs you.”

Tessa, hesitating. Her daughter was identifying with the victim, and given how things might turn out… She should hedge her bets, better manage her daughter’s expectations. And yet, in a case like this, was such a thing even possible? She found herself saying: “Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me, Sophie. Returning home, discovering that you weren’t there. It hurt. Like someone had punched me in the stomach.”

“I didn’t want to go. They made me.”

“Of course. I knew you never would have willingly left me. I hope you know, I never would’ve willingly let you go.”

“I knew, Mommy. Just like I knew you were coming. And I knew you’d make them pay.”

Tessa, wrapping her arms around her daughter’s bony shoulders. “We were lucky, Sophie. It sounds funny, but we got each other back. That makes us lucky.”

“And Mrs. Ennis.”

“And Mrs. Ennis.”

“And Gertrude.”

Sophie’s doll. With the eye they had carefully sewn back on. “I want this family to be lucky, too, Sophie. I’m going to try very hard to help them. There’s a whole bunch of detectives, in fact, who are working hard to help them. But sometimes, it also takes a bit of luck.”

“Cold, dark places.”

“Got it.”

“Bring cookies.”

“Yep.”

“Carry your gun.”

“Yes.”

“Then, please come home. I miss you, Mommy. I miss you.”

WYATT DIDN’T SLEEP. He worked his phone, clearing messages, catching up with the rest of his department. His deputies had some news: a break-in at a methadone clinic in Littleton, sometime Saturday night. Could be related to their case, or then again, maybe not. Gas station attendant had called in about filling up a white van on Saturday morning. Driven by two tough guys. Made him nervous, he said. Figured they were running drugs, given the plain white van, the dead man stares. They’d headed north on 93, all he could offer. One had three tears tattooed under his left eye. Definitely, the dude had served time.

Fish and Game had found another van parked off road by Crawford Notch. Older model, painted dark blue. Abandoned when they found it, the back littered with empty beer cans and smelling strongly of marijuana. Sounded like it belonged to some people up to no good, but probably not trained professionals up to no good.

And so it went. A string of a dozen or so possible sightings or maybe leads, if only they knew what they were sighting or leading.

At 2:00 A.M., Wyatt gave up on calls, stared at their map instead. He fell asleep with his head upon it, dreaming of Xs and Os and Ashlyn Denbe telling him to hurry up, there wasn’t much time left.

Six A.M., he was up, showered and back in yesterday’s uniform. He met Kevin downstairs, both of them checking out, grabbing coffee, then heading for the Denbes’ town house. They arrived thirty minutes early and were still the last ones to arrive.

Special Agent Hawkes already had the Denbe family cell phone. Nicole already had the picture.

Nothing new to report. Agents were still working the financials, while a pair of uniformed officers now sat outside Anita Bennett’s house. Feds were in place at the insurance company headquarters in Chicago. Cellular company still awaiting final go-ahead for the 3:00 P.M. EST call.

They knew what they knew. They had what they had. It was what it was.

They headed north, reaching the county sheriff’s department by 11:00 A.M. By noon, the Denbes’ picture was on the wall, and they’d run through half a dozen ransom scripts. Nicole would handle the call, with the rest of them providing backup.

Twelve thirty, they ordered lunch.

One o’clock, Wyatt finished debriefing local PDs as well as the state police. They’d set up a designated channel through dispatch, ready to broadcast information the second they had any.

He once again reviewed the map.

One thirty, two o’clock. Two fifteen. Two thirty.

What’d they miss, what’d they miss? Always something. You planned, you prepared and yet, in the end, it was always something.

Wyatt, back to staring at his map.

Two forty. Two forty-eight. Two fifty-two. Two fifty-five.

What if the suspects never called? What if this was how the case ended, not with a blaze of glory but in total radio silence? The family was already dead, an embezzler covering his or her tracks. There wouldn’t be any rescue. Just a sad, drawn-out search that would consume days, weeks, months, maybe even years.

Three P.M.

Three oh one.

Three oh two.

Justin Denbe’s phone rang to life.

Chapter 37

ZMATERIALIZED OUTSIDE OUR CELL DOOR. For the first time since this ordeal started, he appeared tense, and his wired alertness immediately put our own nerves on edge. He was bearing a black plastic garbage bag that turned out to be filled with our original clothing. Now he fed each item through the wrist slot in the door with terse orders for us to change.

Our first step back into the real world, I wondered, our Boston garb? But I already doubted it. Ashlyn and I had also been commanded to change for our segment of the ransom demands; not because Z had wanted us to look our best on video, but because he hadn’t wanted to give away any information on our whereabouts, such as prison jumpsuits. I had a feeling the same logic applied here.

If the ransom demand was met, the police would learn of our location soon enough. But it wasn’t Z’s style to give away any advantage before he had to.

Once we were changed, it was time to exit the cell.

“Denbe first.” A barking command.

Z indicated to the slot in the door. Justin presented his wrists, which were immediately bound with zip ties. I went next. Then Ashlyn. When we were all secured, Z made a motion with his hand, and with a buzzing snap, our steel door swung open.

Z kept his gaze on Justin, who walked out with his shoulders back and chin up, his bruised face clearly defiant.

Immediately the tension ratcheted up another notch.

Don’t do anything stupid, I found myself thinking. Please don’t do anything stupid.

Except I wasn’t sure what that was anymore. Here we were, once again bound and helpless. Stupid only applied if our captors really were going to let us go. They had other options, of course. For example, placing a bullet through each of our heads the second the ransom funds appeared in their account. Not like we could stop them. Not like the police were standing by to help us the moment the money was delivered.

One way or another, we were still on our own, and I could feel the tight restrictions of the plastic zip tie digging into my wrists.

Z took Justin by the elbow. He indicated for the ladies to walk first. Once Ashlyn and I ventured uncertainly forward into the shadowed dayroom, he and Justin fell in step behind us. Clearly, Z had pegged Justin as the primary threat, to be monitored at all times. I wish I could disagree, chortle gleefully to myself that if only he knew. Instead, I felt a rising sense of hysteria and had to suppress the ridiculous urge to tug on my freshly washed hair.