‘You mean consistent. And dedicated. That’s getting harder to find. You like that Oreos and Cream, don’t you?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Maybe you ought to catch up with the times, son. Duty isn’t everything anymore.’
‘I’m here for the kids. And even for you, old woman.’
‘Never said you weren’t. Well, not lately anyway. How’s Jamilla?’
‘We’ve both been busy.’
Nana nodded her head, up and down, up and down, like one of those dolls that people keep on the dashboards of their automobiles. Then she pushed herself up and started to gather the ice-cream dishes the kids had left around the porch.
‘I’ll get those,’ I told her.
‘Kids should get them. They know better too.’
‘They take advantage when I’m around.’
‘Right. Because they know you feel guilty.’
‘For what?’ I asked. ‘What did I do? What am I missing here?’
‘Now that is the main question you have to answer, isn’t it? I’m going in to bed. Goodnight, Alex. I love you. And I do like Oreos and Cream.’
Then she muttered, ‘Hopeless.’
‘Am not,’ I said to her back.
‘Are too,’ she spoke without turning. She always gets the last word.
I eventually moseyed up to my office in the attic and made a phone call I’d been dreading. But I’d made a promise.
The phone rang and then I heard a man’s voice say, ‘Brendan Connelly.’
‘Hello, Judge Connelly, this is Alex Cross,’ I said. I heard him sigh, but he said nothing, so I continued. ‘I don’t have any specific good news about Mrs Connelly yet. We have over fifty agents active in the Atlanta area, though. I’m calling because I told you I’d keep in touch and to reassure you that we’re working.’
Because I made a promise.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Something about the abductions wasn’t tracking for me. The early kidnappings had been committed carefully, then suddenly the abductors began to get sloppy. The pattern was inconsistent. Why? What did it mean? What had changed about the abductions? If I could figure that out, we might have a break.
The next morning, I got to Quantico about five minutes before the Director touched down in a big, black Bell helicopter. The news that Burns was on the grounds circulated quickly. Maybe Monnie Donnelley was right about one thing, this was the Information Age, even inside the Bureau, even at Quantico.
Burns had ordered an emergency meeting, and I was informed that I was to come. Maybe I was back on the case? The Director acknowledged a couple of agents when he entered the conference room in the Admin. Building. His eyes never made contact with mine, and, once again, I wondered what he was doing here. Did he have news for us? What kind of news would warrant a visit from him?
He sat in the first row as the Behavioral Analysis Unit Chief, Dr Bill Thompson, walked to the front of the room. It was becoming clear that Burns was here as an observer. But why? What did he want to observe?
An administrative assistant to Dr Thompson passed out stapled documents. At the same time, the first slide of a PowerPoint presentation was projected on a wall screen. ‘There’s been another kidnapping,’ Thompson announced to the group. ‘It occurred Thursday night in Newport, Rhode Island. There’s been a sea change here. The victim was a male. To our knowledge, he’s the first male that they’ve taken.’
Dr Thompson gave us the details, which were also projected on the wall screen. An honor student at Providence College, Benjamin Coffey, had been abducted from a bar called The Halyard in Newport. It appeared that the abductors were both males.
A team.
And they had been spotted again.
‘Anyone?’ asked Thompson once he had given us the basics. ‘Reactions? Comments? Don’t be shy. We need input. We’re nowhere on this.’
‘Pattern’s definitely different,’ an analyst volunteered. ‘Abduction at a bar. Male taken.’
‘How can we be so sure of that at this point?’ Burns spoke up from the front of the room. ‘What is the pattern here?’ he asked.
Burns’s question was met with silence. Like most chief executives he had no idea of his own power. He turned and looked around at the group. His eyes finally settled on mine. ‘Alex? What is the pattern?’ he asked. ‘You have any ideas?’
The other agents were watching me. ‘Are we certain it was two males at the club?’ I asked. ‘That’s the first question I have.’
Burns nodded in agreement. ‘No, we are not sure, are we? One of them had on a sailor’s cap. Could have been the woman from King of Prussia. Do you agree with the opinion voiced about the disconnection between this abduction and the others? Has the pattern been broken?’
I considered the question, trying to get in touch with my gut reaction to what I’d heard so far.
‘No,’ I finally said. ‘There doesn’t even have to be a behavioral pattern. Not if the abduction team is working for money. I’m inclined to think they probably are. I don’t see these as crimes of passion. But what bothers me are the mistakes. Why are they making mistakes? That’s the key to everything.’
Chapter Thirty-Six
Lizzie Connelly had no sense of time anymore, except that it seemed to be moving very slowly, and that she was pretty sure she was going to die soon. She would never see Gwynne, Brigid, Merry or Brendan again and that made her incredibly sad. She was definitely going to die.
After she was locked away in the small closet-room, she’d spent no time feeling sorry for herself, or worse, feeling panic, letting it rule her for whatever time she had left. Certain things were obvious to her, but the most important was the reality that this horrible monster wasn’t going to let her go. Ever. So she had spent countless hours plotting her escape. But, realistically, she knew that it wasn’t likely to happen. She was bound with leather straps, and though she’d tried every possible maneuver, every twist and turn, she’d never be able to break loose. Even if she did, by some miracle, she could never overpower him. He was probably the strongest man she’d ever seen, twice as powerful as Brendan, who had played football in college.
So what could she do? Maybe try something during a bathroom or food break – but he was so attentive and careful. At the very least, Lizzie Connelly wanted to die with dignity. Would the monster let her? Or would he want her to suffer? She thought about her past history quite a lot, and took comfort in it. Her growing-up years in Potomac, Maryland, spending nearly every spare hour at a nearby stable. College at Vassar in New York. Then the Washington Post. Her marriage to Brendan, the good times, and the bad. The kids. All leading up to that fateful morning at Phipps Plaza. What a cruel joke life had played on her.
During her last few hours locked up in the dark, she’d been trying to remember how she had gotten through other terrifying experiences. She thought that she knew: with faith; with humor; and with a clear understanding that knowledge was power. Now, Lizzie tried to remember specific examples… anything that might help.
When she had been eight years old she’d needed surgery to correct a straying eye. Her parents were always ‘too busy’ so her grandparents had taken her to the hospital. As she watched them leave, tears had streamed from her eyes. When a nurse came in and saw the tears, Lizzie pretended that she’d bumped her head. And somehow she got past the lonely, terrifying incident. Lizzie survived.