He knew that, sooner or later, something would go amiss. It was why they’d taken all the precautions, multiple vehicles, using a safe house, burying the girls out of town, prepping the boat and campsite. They were flexible, untethered to any one place or path. If need be, they could adjust on the fly, as they were doing now.
The police would search the house, but he wasn’t sweating it too badly. As long as Monica did her job earlier — and he trusted she did — there would be little for the police to find and certainly no way to trace them.
Smith exited the interstate and traveled east on a county road toward the college town of Northfield, home of St. Olaf College and prestigious Carleton College. Smith fell in with the early evening traffic of the town. The gas gauge on the van was low, so he pulled into a service station.
Smith pre-paid for the gas with cash and then went back to the pump. He took inventory of his situation as he filled the tank. The first order of business was to check on Dean. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.
Dean answered on the third ring. He was well north of Minneapolis, pulling into the small town of East Bethel. Best Dean could tell, he didn’t have anybody on his tail. He had changed roads frequently, doubled back twice as directed, and had yet to find a common vehicle or vehicles following him. He felt he was clean.
Smith pulled the gas nozzle out and placed it back in the pump.
“Besides, what are the police going to be looking for?” Dean said. “Plain white vans? There are hundreds of these in the Cities and thousand all around. We’re fine.”
“Just the same,” Smith replied, “Find a place to dump the van. I’d prefer someplace it won’t be found, like a lake or something.”
Next, Smith dialed Monica. She already was on the move, driving toward East Bethel to rendezvous with her brother.
Smith contemplated his options and emptied his pockets. He had the keys for the Chevy at the Park amp; Ride. The police were looking for plain white vans. Who knows, the police might start pulling them over at random. While it was a little bit of a risk, he decided to drive back into the city and dump the van for the Impala at the Park amp; Ride. Then he would drive up to the northern suburbs for the evening’s meeting.
Carrie’s watch told her it was 6:05, which she assumed was PM. In the dim light of their flashlight, the two girls had assessed their situation. A search of the box revealed nothing other than the flashlight and the Dictaphone. They tried together to again push the roof on their box, hoping against hope that their captors lied about burying it. The top didn’t budge.
For lack of a better option, they listened to the tape again and again, listening for anything that could help them: a slip of the tongue, information to help them get out. It was a pipe dream. There was nothing.
“We’re stuck, plain and simple,” Carrie said, now lying flat on her back with her eyes closed, trying to breathe slowly.
“I’m not feeling well,” Shannon replied with a little sniffle.
“Me neither.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Shannon answered. “I’m diabetic. I haven’t had insulin for awhile.”
“How long?” Carrie asked.
“I haven’t had any since Saturday night after dinner. I usually take it when I eat. I was out super late on Saturday night with some friends. I overslept on Sunday so when I got up, I grabbed some quick breakfast but I forgot to take my insulin. I usually bring my insulin with me, but I was running late Sunday and I accidentally left it at home. Then after work I was going to run home quick and take some. But before I could do that…”
“You were taken,” Carrie finished for her.
“Yes. And I didn’t have any with me in my purse, so I didn’t get to take any while we were at that house.”
“So what happens to you if you don’t get the insulin?” Carrie asked.
Shannon sniffled again. “Depends how long I go without. My doctor said I have a sensitive system. There are a few times in the past where I went a couple of days without insulin and I got really sick. I tend to get disoriented and once I passed out. If I go long enough, I could lapse into a coma.”
“Has that ever happened before? The lapsing into a coma part?”
“Almost. One time, a few years ago, I got frustrated with the whole Type I deal. My boyfriend broke up with me, and I thought the reason he did was because I always had to take insulin. All my friends were leading a normal life, and my boyfriend was leading a normal life, and here I was stopping to take insulin three to four times per day.”
“Was that really the reason he broke up with you?”
“Later on I asked him and he said no. He met someone else,” Shannon answered. “But at the time, I thought that had something to do with it so I said ‘screw it’ I wasn’t going to take the insulin anymore.”
“So what happened?”
“I went a couple of days without it. I became disoriented and didn’t really realize what was going on. Eventually, I fell asleep on the couch with nobody around. My roommates came home and they couldn’t wake me. They rushed me to the emergency room. I ended up in the intensive care unit. Thankfully, the doctors were able to revive me, but it was a close call. I could have easily died if they hadn’t found me. I’ve gone a couple of days now. I’m worried what’s going to happen to me. I could die in here before they find us.”
“Shannon, that’s not going to happen,” Carrie replied, summoning all the confidence she could muster into her voice. She grabbed Shannon’s hand.
“I wish I had your confidence,” Hisle replied, her eyes welling with tears.
Carrie squeezed Shannon’s hand. “Don’t you worry, Honey. I know who’s looking for us.”
“Who?”
“Our fathers for one. Those are two men who can make things happen.”
“They’ve got to be going crazy about now,” Shannon answered. “How can they possibly find us?”
“I don’t expect my dad or yours would,” Carrie answered. “But my dad’s boys on the other hand…”
“His boys?”
“Yeah. Mac McRyan, Pat Riley, Big Bobby Rockford, and Lich. I know them. They are relentless. They will do anything to find us, and they will not stop until they do. They will not let anyone stand in their way. We’ve just gotta have a little faith, Sister. They’ll find us.”
Plain-clothes cops had already spread out down the street, knocking on doors and asking questions, as well as distracting neighbors. Mac and Lich climbed over the fence into the backyard again, this time moving to the back door to the garage. Down on a knee, Mac went to work picking the lock on the ancient doorknob. He fiddled with it a minute, and then he heard a little click and felt the lock pop open. Mac opened the door, and he and Lich quickly moved inside the garage and closed the door.
“Let’s clear the house quick,” Mac said, his Sig in his right hand.
Lich nodded as he pulled his Smith. Neither of them expected to find anyone, but this needed to be done. Mac pushed into the house, and he and Lich quickly moved throughout the first floor and then quickly down to the basement. There was nobody inside.
Mac grabbed the radio on his belt as he walked back up the stairs from the basement. “The house is clear. Come on in.”
Lich yelled from the front of the house, and Mac hit the garage door opener. As it opened, the white police surveillance van backed into the driveway. The back door of the van opened, and four forensics techs, two each from the department and the FBI, exited the van. With everyone out, the van pulled out and rolled down the block as the garage door closed. Mac slipped on rubber gloves while everyone else got their equipment together.
With everyone ready, Mac opened the door and let them into the one-story house. The group stood in the eating area, which was separated from the dark wood cupboards and mustard yellow Formica of the 1970s kitchen by a waist-high counter. The card table that Riley saw was the only furniture in their immediate view. Mac pointed to an FBI and St. Paul tech, “I’ll work up here with you two.”