"Don't let anyone pay it. I've got my daughter right here, Detective. Emma, say hello to the detective."
"Hello, Detective Mecklin. I'm with my mom and Ram-sey. He saved me and then my mommy found us.
We're okay."
"Ramsey? Who the hell's this Ramsey?"
Molly pulled the phone back up. "That's not important for the moment, Detective Mecklin. Listen to me.
I've got three names and addresses that go with these license plate letters and numbers. You need to see which of these fits with Emma's kidnappers. One of them does, count on it."
"I don't understand this, Mrs. Santera. You need to come back to Denver and talk to us. If you really have Emma, you need to bring her in to see us. We've got doctors here for her, a shrink trauma team, everything she'll need. Was that really Emma? Are you all right, Mrs. Santera? Where are you?"
"Will you do anything with the information if I give it to you, Detective Mecklin, or am I wasting my time?"
There was another long pause with very controlled breathing. "Give me the info," he said.
She read out the names and addresses very slowly, occasionally repeating. "I don't recognize any of these names myself, but one of them has to be involved with the kidnappers. Now maybe you've got a chance to catch them. Surely there's a drop site indicated on the note. Well, now you don't have to worry about Emma. You can forget the trauma team. Do your job, Detective. Nail the bad guys. Oh yeah, the guy who kidnapped Emma took her to a cabin not far from Dillinger. I'm sure he's not there anymore but you may find out something."
"Are you in Dillinger, Mrs. Santera?"
"No, Detective, I'm not, so please don't bother siccing any local cops on me."
"This sure puts a mighty different spin on things, Mrs. Santera."
"Sure does," she agreed. "You're sure you've got everything?"
"Yeah, I've got it. But you've got to tell me what's going on. The FBI agents just walked in. They want to talk to you. They don't think-"
She spoke over him, slowly and clearly. "The license is on a dirty black pickup truck. It's fairly new. A Chevy. You've got that?"
"Yes, yes. Hold on. Don't hang up, Mrs. Santera. You need us. Here's Agent Anchor."
"I don't think so, Detective. Give them the information. They'll drool, if they bother to believe it."
"We would have gotten this information in a very short time. Now, I believe you, Mrs. Santera, but… well, you see, this is very irregular." It was Agent Anchor, a man with a great deal of experience with kidnappings. He was also a dictator who believed everyone except himself had a brain the size of a pea.
He'd ordered the Denver cops around as if they were his personal chattel.
"No buts, Agent Anchor. Catch the men who took my daughter."
"You have no idea if any of these license plates has anything to do with the kidnappers, do you? Look, I don't understand any of this. Tell me where you are. Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Mrs.
Santera? You may be in danger. Tell me where you found Emma. You can't just call in and order us around and-"
"Agent Anchor, go catch the kidnappers. Ah, that pickup truck was last seen just west of Rappahoe on Highway 70." Molly smiled as she pushed the Off button. "I hated to tell him that because he's not stupid and he'll know that's where we are, too. But I had to, otherwise, how could they catch them? I hope they can locate that cabin quickly, maybe find something helpful."
"No, you're right. You had to tell them. By the time they get themselves together, we'll be tucked safely away in Aspen. They really shouldn't care all that much about us, and where we are, but who knows? At least our perps don't know we got them tagged. They shouldn't be hiding out. Were the Fed agents a big pain?"
"Yes. If I hadn't been so terrified about Emma, I would have felt sorry for the local cops. The Feds treated them like gofers. Detective Mecklin isn't really all that much of a jerk, but he's also not what you'd call very flexible. He's got this big handlebar mustache, dyed really black, you know? It droops around his mouth, makes him look something like a basset hound. He's also very fat. I hope he doesn't have a heart attack." Then she just shook her head. "He didn't want to believe that I had Emma. He even asked me if that was really Emma who'd spoken to him. As for Agent Anchor, he has a God complex."
A lot of the Federal people did, but they were getting better, or at least some of them were, like Dillon Savich. He'd like to meet this Agent Anchor when this was over. He'd like to pin Agent Anchor's ears back. "You did well, Molly. At least we had to do that much. Let's go to Aspen. Let's forget both of them for now. We'll call Detective Mecklin back tomorrow and see what he's got."
"A ransom note arrived last night. The kidnappers wanted a half a million."
"Their bluff," he said. "It's a good try." He looked quickly at Emma, who looked to be nearly asleep, but he wasn't fooled for an instant. "Just a bluff," he said again. "But it gives the cops a real chance at them now. So there are at least four other guys besides the kidnapper. I wonder how many people are involved in this? And why? It isn't just a kidnapping, Molly."
"I don't like it," Emma said, snuggling close to her mother. "I don't like it at all."
Their eyes met. "Neither do we, Emma. Neither do we," Molly said.
Ramsey pulled back onto the highway. There was no sign of the black pickup, thank the good Lord.
9
AFTER MOLLY SHOWED him a weighty wad of one-hundred-dollar bills and assured him she had lots more in her bra, Ramsey got them a junior suite at the Jerome, providing them a false name.and paying cash. They were shown to a huge single room filled with Victorian furniture, long red or gold fringe on the lamps, and wall-to-wall carpeting woven with big cabbage roses and copious vines. There was violent red wallpaper in the bathroom, which had been updated to a rich pink marble. The old with the new-it was a fascinating combination. There was a sitting area at one end of the big room, with the bed, dresser, and a couple of more chairs at the other. There were tall windows with rich velvet draperies. "I always wanted to stay here," Ramsey said, standing back. "I saw the place way back when I was a kid here on a ski break. It's something, isn't it?"
"Yes," Molly said. "They didn't have two beds? Just this king?"
"We're married, remember? Don't look at it too long, it'll make you bilious. Also, don't worry about it.
They're bringing up a cot for me." The spread was a bright blue velvet with red tassels that screamed Victorian Wild West.
Emma said, "What's 'bilious'?" "Bad liver stuff."
He saw her repeat the word a couple of more times beneath her breath. He smiled as he watched Molly go down on her knees and hug Emma until, suddenly, she squealed. Molly let her loose and the both of them began to laugh. "It's a game we play," Molly said. "If Emma can let me hug her for a whole minute without making a single sound, then she gets an ice cream. Actually, she usually wins. Are you feeling sorry for me, kiddo?"
"I just wanted to see you smile really big, Mama."
"Then you won the smile out of me."
Molly had a single duffel bag, Emma had her stuffed pillowcase, and Ramsey had two suitcases. He'd locked his mom's old Olivetti typewriter and all the pages he'd managed to write during his stay before Emma, and some books and novels in the Jeep. The hotel brought up a cot for him, too short, but he just shook his head at her when she would have protested.
Actually, Ramsey didn't care if he slept on the floor. His leg hurt like hell, he had a headache, and he felt as if he'd hit a brick wall. Molly looked as if she had her nose pressed against that same brick wall. She was standing in the middle of the room, running her hand through her rioting red hair.
He smiled. "You want me to give Emma a bath? No, I take that back. She can bathe herself."