Madman on a Drum (11 page)

It should have been cold and gray with a hard, wet wind that plucked at the heart—a morning to match my mood. Instead, it was one of those golden days that remind Minnesotans why they live here. The air was warm and clear, the sky a rich blue, and a light breeze made the leaves tremble with the promise of autumn.

I was in my backyard, drinking coffee, watching the ducks, trying to remember which one I had named Victoria. My muscles ached from lack of rest, and my stomach murmured uncomfortably. For some reason, when I don't get a full night's sleep, I feel nauseous until I've had something to eat. I didn't feel up to facing a plate of eggs, so I drank my breakfast. Coffee and Jim Beam.

Several times I checked to make sure my cell phone was fully charged, several times I scrutinized my watch, several times I debated calling H. B. Sutton, all within a few minutes. I could have gone to Shelby and Bobby's place, only I didn't want to intrude. I might have claimed them as family, but their pain, their anguish, belonged to them alone. It was fueled by blood and couldn't be shared.

I would have called Nina. Despite the late hours she keeps, she always rises early to help Erica get off to school. I could have caught her before she returned to bed. Only I was afraid of tying up the phone.

Eleven, H. B. had said. She'd transfer the money and call by 11
A.M.
I studied my watch yet again. Three and a half hours to go. Two hundred and ten minutes. Twelve thousand, six hundred seconds. Sonuvabitch.

 

I convinced myself that the Dunstons would be anxious to hear from me—or at least the Feds would—so I drove over there. I parked in front of the house. It looked exactly as it had the day before. So did the park across the street, and I wondered briefly how that was possible. The kidnapping of Victoria was beyond terrible, yet the world had not changed because of it. Only Shelby's world and Bobby's world and my world had changed. I flashed on the lyrics of an old country-western ballad. Like Skeeter Davis, I couldn't figure out why the sun kept on shining. It didn't make a lot of sense to me.

I met Harry on the porch. He had changed clothes, so he must have gone home. For how long I couldn't say.

“Anything?” he asked.

My cell phone was in my hand, and I held it up for him to see. “Any minute now,” I said. “Have you heard from the kidnappers?”

“No.”

“What about Scottie?”

“He left the halfway house at seven forty, walked to University, took the bus to Dale, walked the rest of the way to work, arrived ten minutes before it opened. He's been there ever since. Our agents don't believe he's used a phone.”

“Terrific.”

Harry was holding a mug emblazoned with the logo of the Girl Scouts of America. “Fresh coffee inside,” he said. “Shelby made it.”

“How's she holding up?”

“She's…” Harry sighed as if he were disappointed he couldn't find the right adjective to describe her. “Yesterday there were a couple of times when I thought we might lose her. Today… today she seems to be gathering strength. Bobby's the one I'm worried about now. He's burning so much fuel trying to keep it together, to maintain control. I have to think the tanks are getting close to empty.”

“What can I do?”

“A couple hours of sleep would make a big difference. He hasn't been to bed yet.”

“I'll talk to him,” I said.

I stepped inside the house and looked for Bobby. I couldn't locate him, but I found Katie standing on the staircase. Damian Honsa and the tech agent both said, “Good morning,” from the dining room table. I blew them off when she waved me over.

“They kept me out of school,” Katie said.

“Probably a good idea,” I told her.

“I don't mind missing school, only we have soccer practice afterward. I hate to miss that.”

“I understand.”

“Victoria won't mind missing practice. She's getting bored with soccer, I think. She'll miss going to school, though. She likes school, I don't know why. They gave her an award, you know.”

“I know.”

“Student of the quarter. Nobody had better grades. Nobody in the entire school. Even the eighth graders. I think it's because Victoria likes to read. McKenzie?”

I brushed the hair out of her eyes.

“They keep telling me not to be afraid,” Katie said. “They say I should stay in my room as much as I can and keep out of the way and not be afraid because they're going to get Victoria back and she's going to be okay and I shouldn't be afraid. McKenzie, are you afraid?”

“Yes.”

“I'm afraid, too.”

“I know.”

“Do I have to go back to my room?”

“Not if you don't want to.”

“It's just that I don't want to wake Daddy.”

“Is your dad in your room?”

“He came in a little while ago to talk to me and he fell asleep.”

“Don't wake him,” I said.

“Where should I go?”

“Have you had breakfast?”

Katie nodded. “I wasn't hungry, but Mom made me eat a bunch of waffles. Not the ones you put in the toaster. The real kind. Mom made waffles and eggs and sausage. I only ate the waffles. Do you think it would be all right if I went into Victoria's room? I won't touch anything. I just like sitting in there.”

“I'm sure she won't mind.”

“I don't know. Victoria got real mad the last time.”

“Times change.”

“I'm glad you're afraid,” Katie said. “I tried hard not to be afraid, but I couldn't help it. I thought maybe there was something wrong with me.”

“There's nothing wrong with you,” I said.

 

I found Shelby in the kitchen. She was washing a platter that she normally would have placed in the dishwasher.

“Hey,” I said.

“Good morning.” I rested my hands on her shoulders, and she lifted her cheek for me. I kissed it, and she said, “So, how are you holding up, McKenzie?

“As best I can.”

“Good. I need all my men to be strong today.”

All my men,
my inner voice repeated.

“I expected you over an hour ago,” Shelby said.

“I didn't want to get in the way.”

She stopped washing the plate and looked at me as if I were a tourist attraction, something odd and improbable that she had never seen before. “In the way?” she said. “You're family, McKenzie. You were family long before you agreed to give us a million dollars.”

“Yeah, well, once we bring Victoria home I expect to get the money back.”

“Amen,” Shelby said. She finished washing her plate and set it on a rack to dry.

“You okay?” I asked.

“No.”

“You look better.”

“That's because I'm holding it in. Like Bobby. If I start to let it out again, I'll never stop.”

“Katie said you made waffles.”

“I made breakfast for everybody, including the FBI. It was the least I could do. Besides, it helped me keep my mind off of things. Are you hungry? I could make you an egg sandwich. With shredded cheese. And a couple slices of tomato. I know that's one of your favorites.”

“If it's no trouble,” I said.

Shelby began making preparations, pulling out a carton of eggs and a block of cheddar from her refrigerator and the remains of a loaf of bread that she had baked using a machine that I had given her for Christmas. She stopped after she retrieved a skillet from her drying rack and turned toward me. “You're not just trying to humor me, are you?” she said.

“I swear I haven't had a bite to eat all morning. Just coffee.”

“With a slug of bourbon in it, I bet.”

“Shelby. We're going to get Victoria back. I promise.”

She didn't say if she believed me or not.

 

The Feds were listening in on Scottie's, Tommy's, and Joley's phone conversations. Agents watched Scottie and Tommy from afar. Nothing happened. Bobby and Shelby's phone didn't ring.

“The kidnappers know it'll take time to assemble the money,” Honsa said. “They're not going to call every five minutes to check on it. I wouldn't be surprised if we didn't hear from them until later this afternoon.”

“In the meantime,” I said.

“In the meantime we try to keep the lid on. It seems every cop in the St. Paul PD knows what's happening. It won't be long before the media finds out, too. The daughter of a top cop is kidnapped—do you think there's a TV station in town that wouldn't broadcast the news, even though we ask them not to, even though it might jeopardize the girl's life?”

“I'd like to think so.”

“So would I. But I don't. The networks are launching their new fall schedules, and they'll do anything to attract eyeballs.”

I studied Honsa over the remains of my egg sandwich. His eyes were heavy, his face unshaven, and his reassuring smile seemed wilted. His clothes were wrinkled—he was wearing the same shirt and slacks as the day before. He reminded me of an unmade bed.

“Maybe you should take a break,” I said.

He shot me a look that could have flash-frozen ice cream. “Have you been speaking to Wilson?” he said. “I'm the case agent. I'm in charge here. I'm fine.” The tech agent rose from his chair at the dining room table and excused himself. Honsa called after him as he disappeared into the kitchen. “I'm fine.”

“Tired people make mistakes,” I said.

“I'm not tired.”

“I am.”

“We'll have to keep an eye on you, then, won't we?”

I was contemplating my reply—it involved several four-letter verbs and an equal number of seven-letter nouns—when my cell finally rang. “Talk to me, H. B.,” I said after reading the name on the display.

“The money has just now been deposited into your checking account.”

“You're early,” I said.

“So I am.”

“You really are a heavenly love.”

“Let's keep that to ourselves, shall we?”

“Thank you, H. B.” I folded my phone and dropped it into the pocket of my black sports jacket.

“And?” Honsa asked.

“We're good to go.”

“Agent Wilson,” he called. A moment later, Harry was standing next to me in the dining room. “You know what to do,” Honsa said. “Use as many people as you need.”

Harry set a hand on my shoulder. “Have you ever seen a million dollars in cash in one place, McKenzie?”

“Can't say that I have.”

“It's a sight to behold.”

“Well, then, let's go behold it.”

Harry pulled a nine-millimeter SIG Sauer from the holster on his belt and checked the load. Lately the FBI had been encouraging its personnel to switch over to .40 Glocks. Harry was an old-timer, though, and he preferred to carry the gun he broke in with. He returned the SIG Sauer to his holster and buttoned his jacket over it. “I'll drive,” he said.

 

A young woman with a full chest and a tight shirt staffed the reception desk at the main branch of my bank. Her eyes looked startled behind her glasses and didn't change during our entire conversation; it was as if life were a continuous surprise to her. Certainly she seemed surprised when Harry flashed his photo ID and announced, “FBI,” like it was the most fun he'd had in days. She stammered and hemmed and hawed and wrung her hands and abruptly stood and said she would fetch help without once asking what we wanted or why we were there. While she scurried away in search of a supervisor, I glanced at Harry.

“You big bully,” I told him.

“I pick on hostesses in crowded restaurants, too. ‘FBI. I need a table by the window.' Never fails.”

“To serve and to protect.”

“That's the cops. I work for the federal government.”

The senior vice president of branch administration was a tall woman who wore a matching pinstripe jacket and trousers over a body that looked like it spent a great deal of time in a gym. Her cotton-blond hair was artfully disheveled, and her face, although not pretty, was animated with the rosy glow of excitement. She stood in front of the reception desk while her assistant reclaimed the chair.

“FBI,” she said. “Wow. To what do we owe the pleasure?” She was speaking to me, I presume, because I was better-looking.

Harry got her attention by flashing his ID again. “Special Agent Brian Wilson,” he said. “This is McKenzie.”

She shook his hand first and then mine. “Lauren Onberg. Please come with me.”

Lauren led us to an office with glass walls. There were chairs in front of a large, cluttered desk and a single chair behind it. After everyone was made comfortable, she asked, “How may I help you?”

“I need a million dollars in cash,” I said. “Five hundred thousand in fifties, the rest in twenties.”

She smiled the way a woman might smile at another woman's child that is misbehaving. “You're kidding, right?” she said.

“Do we look like we're kidding?” Harry said.

“Gentlemen, we don't have a million dollars on-site. Not in twenties, not in fifties, not in any denominations.”

“It's a bank,” I reminded her, and she smiled some more.

“You guys watch too many movies, too many television shows where characters withdraw huge sums of money from a cashier and then carry it around in a black attaché case. It doesn't work that way. This is the real world.”

“Ms. Onberg, this isn't my first rodeo,” Harry said. “I know how the real world works. Let's get the process moving.”

“If you want a million dollars in cash, you'll need to get it from the Federal Reserve Bank in Minneapolis. Now, I can help you with that, but it'll take three days—assuming, of course, that one of you has an account with our bank. Otherwise…” She spread her hands wide in a gesture of unconcerned helplessness.

“Ms. Onberg,” Harry said.