“Don’t bet on it. There’s a power war going on above this, and both sides have a short trip to the door if they fail,” Clayton said. “That is fascinating, but irrelevant. I could expound on it if you’d like.”
“I couldn’t care less,” Winter said.
Clayton Able couldn’t hide his surprise that someone didn’t crave more information. “But. .”
Winter locked eyes with Clayton. “I could care less where who is doing what to whom unless they are going to be doing it between me and the Dockerys. Anything that doesn’t impact what Alexa and I have to do is drama for somebody with too much time on their hands. The only thing I want to know is where do we start.”
“If we don’t find them, Lucy and Elijah will be killed,” Alexa said grimly. “Even if Judge Fondren did call the FBI, they’d be too late to break this open.”
“But Mr. Able does,” Winter said.
“I do,” Clayton said, smiling. “I put it together from several different sources that, despite what the government says, do not share information with each other unless specific requests are made through proper slothish channels. Don’t worry about M.I. They can’t afford to interfere with your investigation. They will want you to succeed. Well, those of them who want Bryce to take the fall for a murder he committed will. Nobody else knows where the Dockerys are being held, or even who took them.”
“M.I. is aware of what we are doing?” Winter asked.
Clayton removed the pipe from his mouth. “Dear boy. What I do is trade intelligence. I only get it as long as I give it back.”
15
Seated on a sofa in the corner of the lobby of the Westin Hotel, Click Smoot played games on his laptop while he monitored the pedestrian traffic. Just about the time the power indicator on the laptop was down to a single bar, someone of interest arrived. A lone man entered carrying a black nylon bag. The man picked up a key folder from the desk clerk, got into the elevator, and went directly up to the fourth floor.
Click was sure the man was connected to the two other people on four. The stranger was close to the woman’s age, was just south of six feet tall, and was built like a man who stayed active. He walked with an erect fluidity that brought to Click’s mind a feral tomcat that made a living catching and eating rodents at the hunting camp. This animal wasn’t afraid of anything on four legs or two, Click was sure of it.
The bastards could sit up there in a room and plot and plan solving this until hell froze over. Even if there were hundreds of FBI agents looking for the Dockery woman and her kid, they’d have to be honest-to-God psychics to connect the Smoots to the kidnapping.
16
Five-letter word for darker than dark.
P-i-t-c-h
The trailer’s windows were covered with something that totally blocked outside light. The constant darkness allowed Lucy Dockery no sense of time, but since she knew the difference between the noises generated by daytime and nighttime television, she could sort of judge her place in a twenty-four-hour cycle.
Periodically a central unit would kick on, causing the trailer to vibrate violently for a few seconds. The forced air made a hissing sound as it exited the register and smelled like a vacuum whose bag was overfilled with dog hair and dust.
So far they hadn’t drugged her again, so maybe they planned to let her and Elijah go as soon as her father paid a ransom. As far as Lucy was concerned, the captors could have every penny she owned. It had to be obvious that she was unaccustomed to violence, and she posed no threat physically to her larger and stronger captors. They had to know she wouldn’t try anything that would risk getting Elijah harmed.
Keeping quite still, fighting back tears, she listened for her son’s voice, hungry to know that he was all right. Sometimes she could hear both the television and a radio, like audio combatants. She could, when the radio and TV both lulled at the same time, hear her son jabbering. The word “no” was prominent in his recent communications. She could also hear the big angry woman barking or cooing at him, but she knew none of it contained any useful information about their circumstances.
Elijah, who walked with confidence, hadn’t been afraid of strangers lately, having passed through a couple of stages where he would react badly to them. Lucy had employed several babysitters and he was long accustomed to strangers caring for him, having his mother in bed, weeping and disinterested. Grief for Walter and for her mother had been like a weight that, for weeks at a time, had made moving beyond her bedroom a Herculean challenge.
Lucy wasn’t afraid for herself. The worst they could do was kill her. And dying couldn’t be any more painful than living without Walter. She wouldn’t have been as terrified if Eli wasn’t there, but his well-being mattered like nothing in her life had ever mattered. Against the terror of Eli being harmed, no fear she had ever felt even rated a mention. She figured that was just how nature wired mothers.
The woman said they were in a trailer. What’s the difference between a mobile home and a modular home? Wheels. It dawned on Lucy that not once in her twenty-six years on earth had she ever before set foot inside a mobile home.
Lucy had always believed that, with the possible exception of Gypsies, nobody but people without any alternative would choose to live in a flimsy aluminum-sided crate with a foundation by Goodyear. She wondered if she should regret being prejudiced against something that was merely foreign to her world. No. The woman who seemed at home here was a poster child for the worst examples of the trailer-park-trash stereotype. Lucy understood on a visceral level that the violent woman shared the pathology of the aristocratic-hating Madame Defarge depicted in A Tale of Two Cities. The woman captor hated Lucy because she wasn’t toothless white trash.
She wished she could stop thinking like that. This wasn’t about class, but about human decency-about choices. She knew deep in her heart that she couldn’t depend on their captors’ humanity. If this was about revenge, they were dead. If the kidnappers’ motives weren’t related to gain, and if the authorities had no way to find them, she couldn’t just sit there and wait to see what happened. Since she had seen their faces, she had to assume they didn’t think she could identify them because she’d be dead. And if she died, what would happen to Elijah?
When the woman had opened the door earlier, Lucy had seen that the bedroom she was in was cluttered and wooden crates were stacked against one wall. Might there be something there she could use to facilitate an escape? She doubted she could take on any of them, but could she use her brain to get Elijah away from this place?
Some abductees did escape their captors. The news was filled with examples of all kinds of people getting away from armed captors.
But Lucy knew she wasn’t ever going to get free.
So she wept.
17
Clayton Able’s top-opening valise was so jam-packed with file folders he had trouble at first prying enough of them out to free the stack. He piled the entire stack on the bed, opened one of the folders, and started flipping photographs faceup on the coverlet like playing cards.
The first picture Clayton flipped was that of a thin individual wearing an expensive suit and carrying an overnight bag. The shot had obviously been taken in an airport and, based on the angle, by a fixed security camera.
“This is from airport surveillance yesterday,” Clayton told Winter and Alexa. “A little out of focus for my taste, but it’s been blown up and had gone through a couple of generations before I acquired it. The face triggered some flags in the NSA mainframe. They sent the information to another computer at the Homeland Security center, and because of the location of the individual involved, my friends plucked it out of the stacks. Thank God for biometrics.”