Cure (43 page)

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“You can speak with me,” Jack ordered. “I’m the father and the husband.”

“I need to speak to her, not you but her,” Brennan insisted. “Don’t argue with me. Otherwise, I’ll go out to the car, drag the bloody bastard kid back in here, and make you regret giving me a hard time.”

“Okay,” Jack offered, obviously not pleased but unwilling to put JJ at any additional risk. Jack laid the phone onto the side table and rushed back to the bedroom. When he pushed open the door, Laurie was sitting on the side of the bed. She was leaning forward, head in her hands, elbows on her knees.

“I’m sorry. It’s him, and he insists on speaking with you.”

Laurie nodded, reached over, and put her hand on the phone, but she didn’t answer immediately. Rather, she took a deep breath to try to prepare herself.

She had a wicked bi-temporal headache as if she had drunk herself into a stupor the evening before.

“Hello,” Laurie said with a voice as tired as she felt.

“Tell your husband that when I call in the future, I want to speak to you and no one else. Is that clear? He tried to insist that I talk to him. Tell him if that happens in the future, something will happen to the tyke. Your kid will lose something, like I said last night, such as an ear or a finger, which I’ll be happy to send to you to make sure you know we are serious.”

“Is my child there with you now?”

“No, not this time. He’s out in the car. But later this afternoon, when I call again, I’ll bring him to the phone. Now I’m ready to give you our demands. Remember, no police or the kid gets hurt. We want a million dollars, but not in cash. Cash is too bulky, and it can be marked. We want a million dollars in D perfect diamonds. We don’t care about the size, but the diamonds have to have a combined wholesale value of a million dollars. They are easy to get in New York City. Any questions?”

“What do we do if we don’t have a million dollars?” Laurie asked in a matter-of-fact fashion.

“You and your husband are doctors,” Brennan said. “You can get a million dollars.”

“All our money is tied up in our house.”

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“Whatever,” Brennan said, and then hung up.

Laurie replaced the receiver slowly and looked up at Jack. “Could you hear his side of the conversation?”

“Pretty much.” Jack said.

“It sounds like he’s role-playing to me.”

“I think Grover was right about these people being novices and that the ransom is of secondary importance,” Jack said. “Otherwise, why would he be so insistent about talking with you? He wants to make sure you are here and not back at OCME.”

“Maybe so,” Laurie said. The fact that these goons, whoever they were, had her son and were threatening to harm him was the only issue she was at all concerned about, and she desperately wanted him home.

“Can I bring you anything?” Jack asked.

“No,” Laurie said, a flood of despondency washing over her.

“Why don’t you come and take a shower? Then maybe you might want to eat some breakfast. Remember, we didn’t eat at all last night.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“That’s the point. Why not shower? Maybe a shower will make you hungry.”

“Leave me alone,” Laurie snapped. “I don’t want to shower or eat. I just want to lie here.”

“Okay,” Jack said. “Meanwhile, I’m going downstairs to see how the police guy did with that call. Do you remember his name?”

“I never learned it in the first place,” Laurie commented, sounding like a true depressive, falling back onto the pillow. She would have loved to have slept, but she knew it was out of the question. She felt exhausted, depressed, and hopped-up all at the same time.

Jack went down the stairs to the first floor and knocked on the guest-room door.

It was quickly opened. The plainclothes officer staying in the room immediately introduced himself. His name was Sergeant Edwin D. Gunner.

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“It just dawned on me,” Jack said guiltily. “You haven’t had anything to eat.

Would you like some breakfast?”

“Some coffee would be nice,” Edwin said. “I’m not much of a breakfast guy.”

“Did you catch that recent phone call? It was the kidnapper.”

“I did catch it,” Edwin said, following Jack back up the stairs.

“Could you trace it?” Jack asked.

“Absolutely,” Edwin said.

“To where?”

“To one of the remaining thousand or so public phones in the city. This one is in a twenty-four-hour Laundromat on the Lower East Side. Of course a squad car was dispatched as soon as the trace was completed, but don’t be optimistic. The kidnapper would have been long gone.”

“No doubt,” Jack answered. He quelled a fantasy about being there clutching something like a crowbar the moment the goon hung up the phone.

38

MARCH 27, 2010

SATURDAY, 10:30 a.m.

W
arren Wilson lived on the same block as Laurie and Jack but at the Columbus Avenue end. He’d taken the very first shift, starting at six a.m., to look for strangers watching Laurie and Jack’s building. Jack and Laurie’s building was several hundred yards in the direction of Central Park and stood out as one of the classiest buildings in the neighborhood, with neatly tended window boxes and a shiny brass knocker. At that time the window boxes were still filled with winter foliage.

To give himself a bit of cover, Warren had borrowed his downstairs neighbor’s dog. It was a pleasant little white thing that barked at everything, including cars.

His name was Killer. Since there were so few people in the street at six a.m. on a Saturday, Warren had wanted some reason to be strolling up and down the block, and Killer was happy to oblige, as long as he was permitted to smell every 267

tree and fire hydrant he and Warren encountered.

After Warren had left Laurie and Jack’s the previous night, he’d gone home and called five of his oldest friends, all of whom had lived in the neighborhood from birth. They all played basketball regularly and had gone to high school together.

All were African-American like Warren. All worked and lived in the neighborhood and knew most residents by their first names.

Since it was Saturday they were more than willing to help. With good weather in the forecast, they’d already planned to spend the afternoon on the basketball court almost directly across the street from Laurie and Jack’s house.

Exactly a half-hour late for his stint, which was supposed to have started at ten a.m., Flash showed up. “Hey, man,” Warren said as Flash approached, slouched over, wearing dark glasses and hip-hop clothes. “You look a little worse for wear.”

“Don’t give me shit,” Flash said. “I don’t know why I agreed to this torture. Who am I looking for again, and why?”

Warren explained the situation as he’d done the night before. “Now don’t go to sleep on me,” Warren advised. “Because if you do, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“You and who else?” Flash joked.

For the four hours and thirty minutes Warren had stalked the neighborhood, he’d seen nothing at all suspicious. There had been surprisingly few pedestrians, and those he did see had expressed no interest in Laurie and Jack’s house. Nor had any particular vehicle driven up and down the block. In every way it had seemed like a normal early-spring Saturday morning on 106th Street, with chirping birds, a few dog walkers, and not much else.

As soon as he’d been relieved and had returned Killer to his owner, Warren went back to Columbus Avenue, picked up a Daily News at the Korean sundries store, and ducked into one of the many local coffee shops for a coffee and a bagel.

He’d barely been able to read the headlines before his cell phone went off.

Checking the screen, he could see that it was Flash.

Feeling annoyed that Flash was already bothering him, Warren answered the phone with his emotions apparent. All he said was “Yeah!”

“Pay dirt!” Flash said simply.

“What do you mean ‘pay dirt’?” Warren questioned with growing irritation.

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“You’ve only been there for fifteen minutes.”

“I don’t know how long it’s been, but I got a bozo here who’s looking might suspicious!”

“Really?” Warren questioned dubiously. “There’s no way you can tell if someone is a watcher in fifteen minutes.”

“This guy is acting awfully suspicious, acting like he’s here for the day, and I’ve never seen him before.”

“Yeah, well, you watch him! If he’s still acting suspicious after a period of time, then call me back.” Warren rolled his eyes and broke the connection. “Jesus Christ Almighty,” he said under his breath, tossing his phone aside as if it had been its fault for bothering him.

Fifteen minutes later, after Warren had eaten half his bagel, drunk half his coffee, and had breezed through an uninteresting sports section, his phone rang again. Again, it was Flash.

“Okay,” Warren said, still highly suspicious. “What’s happening?”

“He’s still acting weird. He’s a Jersey guy, or at least he’s got Jersey plates on the black Caddy Escalade he’s driving. It’s like he’s advertising he’s a watcher. At one point he suddenly climbed out, went through a routine of calisthenics.”

“Don’t get too close. People who are acting as watchers are hypersensitive to being watched themselves. In fact, how far away are you now?”

“Fifty feet or so. I’m across the street.”

“That’s too close. Move away and don’t look at him! I tell you what—go over to the basketball court. I’ll meet you there with a ball. We can pretend we’re practicing.”

“What if he moves his car? Do I follow?”

“No, if he moves just try to get the plate number without being obvious.”

“Got it.”

With a gulp Warren downed the rest of his coffee. Snapping up his paper, he ran out of the coffee shop. When he reached 106th Street, he purposely slowed to a walk. As he headed for his house, he could see Flash entering the playground.

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He could also see a black SUV parked on the playground side of the street.

“Where have you been?” his girlfriend Natalie questioned casually when Warren came through the apartment’s front door.

“Out!” Warren said, opening the hall closet to get one of his several outdoor basketballs.

“This early?” Natalie questioned. Saturday morning was the morning of the week that she and Warren generally lazed around. “What time did you go out?”

“Around six,” Warren said, coming into the living room and giving Natalie a peck on the cheek.

“Six? What on earth were you doing outside at six?”

“Walking Killer. But look, I’ll explain it later. Flash is out on the court. We’re going to practice a bit.”

“Okay,” Natalie said indifferently. If Warren wanted to be enigmatic about his Saturday-morning activities, she could not have cared less. “Have fun!”

Warren descended back to street level and headed toward the playground. There were now many more people around, including a bunch of toddlers in the sandbox and preteens on the swings. As he got closer to the black SUV, he could see that it had heavily tinted windows that precluded any view into its interior.

He stayed on the right-hand side of the street until he was abreast of the car in question, then crossed directly in front of the Escalade. Although he could tell there was someone sitting behind the wheel, he couldn’t see any features at all, partly because he avoided looking directly.

Reaching the sidewalk, he waved and called out Flash’s name. Flash responded in kind. Warren made a point of not turning around as he continued on into the playground.

“Has he moved?” Warren asked, coming up to Flash.

“Are you asking about the guy or the car? I can’t see the guy, and the car hasn’t moved.”

Warren tossed the basketball to Flash. “Let’s do a quick game of one-on-one.

Don’t look at the car, but keep an eye on it just the same.

Warren was by far the better player and won easily, but Flash won the trash talk.

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Both were out of breath. Even though when they started they’d told each other they were just going to play easy, once the game started, their natural competitiveness had taken over.

“Let’s take a rest,” Warren said. He went over to the bench seat, sat down, and took out his mobile phone.

“Oh, yeah!” Flash teased. “He wins one lucky game and wants to retire.”

“Give me a sec and I’ll give you another chance to lose,” Warren teased back. “I want to call the big guys. As much as I hate to admit it, I think you found yourself the watcher.”

While Flash used the opportunity to practice his jump shot, Warren called Grover Collins. Warren told Grover that he believed they’d already identified a watcher at Laurie and Jack’s house.

“How long have you been keeping tabs on the individual?” Grover asked, acting as if he was not surprised in the slightest at Warren’s rapid success.

“Not long—fifteen to twenty minutes. He’s parked just across the street from Laurie and Jack’s house, and he’s not being subtle. I’ve been told he’s already gotten out and done calisthenics.”

Grover laughed. “Bloody confident, I’d say.”

“Bloody stupid, I’d say,” Warren countered humorously, trying to mimic an English accent.

“Try to keep an eye on him, but be subtle.”

“Will do. Actually, it’s very easy. We’re here using the basketball court as we do every Saturday.”

“If he drives away, don’t try to follow him. He’ll either return or someone else will undoubtedly come to take his place. I’ll pick up my partner. Are you armed?”

“Of course not!” Warren said, with a tone reflecting how crazy he thought the question was.

“Well, perhaps it would be better if you were. If both I and Colt would somehow mess up, which we never have, I wouldn’t want you to be vulnerable. I presume you have access to a weapon of some sort.”

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“I have something,” Warren admitted vaguely.

“We’ll be there as soon as possible. Remember, be subtle!”

“What’s the plan, if I may ask?”

“The plan is simply that we are going to come over and invite this gentleman to come with us for a short party and ask him what we need to know. Luckily, we just rented a convenient spot for the party. When we know what we need to know—namely, the address where the Stapleton child is being held—we will bring our friend back to his car, where we would appreciate getting a hand putting him back so he can sleep off his medication.”