Murder Inside the Beltway (33 page)

“I do have something to ask of you, Kevin,” Rollins said.

“If I can.”

“As you know, there are two embarrassing episodes on the tapes. I suppose you can call them ‘episodes.’ While one will suit your purposes, to use the other will smack of nothing but the vilest of motives.”

“I understand what you’re saying, Jerry, and you may be surprised that I totally agree with you.”

“Good. Now, my daughter.”

“Before we get to the specifics of that, Jerry, you must understand that her abduction had nothing to do with me, our campaign, or the president and his people.”

“I don’t believe you, Kevin, but that’s irrelevant. I’ve delivered the tapes. I want my daughter back and I want her back now.”

“Of course. But you do understand that for you to sit here and think of me as being even remotely capable of such a heinous act is saddening. I’ve always known you as a man who could compartmentalize the personal from the professional. You and I are both professionals, Jerry. Neither of us have within us the level of evil necessary to use an innocent child to achieve political advantage.”

Rollins sighed. He didn’t want to hear this sort of self-serving lecture, this blatantly dishonest attempt to salve Ziegler’s conscience. Not that it was surprising. The Pyle machine had set the standard for lying away its misdeeds, a callous economic policy leaving millions behind, disastrous foreign incursions sold to the American public through out-and-out falsehoods, abject corruption in myriad agencies and departments, a litany of disasters that would seem to ensure a one-term presidency. Ziegler’s disavowal of having knowledge of the plan to kidnap Samantha in order to obtain the tapes was business as usual.

“My daughter’s return, Kevin. These people you say are behind it, when will they return her?”

“It is my understanding, Jerry, that she will be back in your loving arms tonight. I have been told through these other parties—and I emphasize that I do not know their identities—that you are to tell no one of her imminent release, not the police, not your lovely wife, no one. You are to be by your phone tonight. That’s all I can tell you, because that is all I know.”

Rollins grabbed his briefcase from the floor, stood, and walked to the door. He paused, his hand on the knob, turned, and asked, “How did you know that I had the tapes, Kevin?”

“How else, Jerry. The person who sold them to you was quite forthcoming with us. Enjoy your reunion with your daughter, Jerry. And forget this ever happened. It didn’t.”

Rollins returned to his office and announced that he was leaving for the day and could be reached at home. No one questioned him, although Caroline was tempted. He seldom took part of a day off. Of course, these were different times. Perhaps he needed to be close to Sue as the days dragged on without word or sign of Samantha. It was good, she decided, that he gave in to what must be exhausting and unending mental anguish. As he was leaving, she did mention that Mr. Scraggs had called to ask the status of his book proposal.

“Did he ask about Samantha?” Rollins asked.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Call him back and say that I have been unable to find a publisher and no longer wish to represent his book. Send his ridiculous proposal back to him. Call me if you need me.”

“Yes, sir,” Caroline said, smiling.

When Jackson was told that Rollins had left for the day, he called Kloss, who instructed him to return to the house. The afternoon was spent as all afternoons were—waiting for a fateful phone call that never came. Jackson observed that Rollins seemed unusually tense. He did a lot of pacing. When he wasn’t in motion, he sat close to the phone in the living room, staring at it as though to will it into action. Afternoon turned to dusk and early evening.

“When will it end?” Sue asked at one point.

No one had an answer, except perhaps her husband, and he was mute.

T
he call from Y-man came at 7:30 that night. The man who answered to “Paul” took it.

“Time to move,” Y-man said. “Deliver her.”

“All right.”

“You’re sure of every detail?”

“Of course.”

“Good.”

“What about the money?”

“It will be at the planned place at midnight, provided everything goes as planned on your end.”

“It will.”

The click in Paul’s ear was loud and final.

Greta had been with Paul when he took the call. He told her to prepare Samantha to leave. Greta slipped on her homemade mask before entering Samantha’s room. “Hi, honey,” she said in her nicely modulated voice. “I have good news for you.”

Samantha was sitting up in her bed. Her ankles were fastened together with tape. A tray containing the remnants of her dinner—a hot dog in a bun, cole slaw, potato salad, and a black-and-white milk shake purchased by Greta from a luncheonette and deli a few miles away—rested next to her.

Greta joined her on the bed and placed her hand on the girl’s bare knee. “You’re going home, honey,” she said.

Samantha squirmed to face her captor. “I am? When?”

“Tonight.”

Samantha cried. Greta pulled her close and massaged her slender back. “There’s no need to cry, honey,” she said, “but I understand. Tears of happiness.” She held the child at arm’s length. “Now,” she said, “there are a few things I have to say, and you have to promise to listen to me closely. Okay?”

Samantha wiped her eyes with her hands and nodded.

“First of all, do you agree that we’ve never hurt you? Oh, I know, the tape we use hurts a little when we pull it off, but we never hit you, do we?”

Samantha agreed that they hadn’t.

“We never beat you. Right?”

A nod.

“And we fed you good. I ran out many times to buy you what you said you liked, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“It’s important that you know this, Samantha. When you get home, lots of people will ask you lots of questions about how you were treated. I just want you to be honest when you answer them.”

“I will.”

“Good. And I also hope you realize that this was just business. We have nothing personal against you or your family. The business had to be finished before we could take you home.”

“Okay.”

Greta stood. “All right, my little friend, I’m going to take the tape off your ankles, but you’ll have to wear something over your eyes. I won’t use tape, provided you promise not to try to remove what I put there. Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good. You’re not only a very pretty young lady, you’re very smart.”

A half hour later, Greta sat in the back of the tan four-door sedan with the blindfolded Samantha. Paul drove. They meandered toward the District, obeying all traffic signals and speed limits. Eventually, they turned onto Fourth Street, SE, and pulled to the curb, four blocks from the U.S. Capitol. It had started to rain hard during their trip, which pleased them. Fewer people on the streets.

“We’re almost there, honey,” Greta said. “Now, this is when you really have to listen to me and do everything I say. Understand?”

“I think so.”

“Oh, no, sweetheart, you have to do
exactly
what I say.”

“All right.”

“When I take off your blindfold and let you out, you have to promise not to look back at us. Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Say ‘I promise.’ ”

“I promise.”

“We’ll be right in front of a very nice church. You are to walk into the church—no looking back—and sit down in a pew. You know what a pew is?”

Samantha nodded.

“I want you to sit there for five minutes. You can count to five minutes, can’t you?”

“Yes.”

“After five minutes, you can use this.” She placed a stolen cell phone in the girl’s hands. “This is a simple cell phone. It’s all charged up. You know how to use a cell phone, I’m sure. All kids your age know how. After five minutes, you can use it to call your parents and tell them to come pick you up. The church is called the Capitol Hill Presbyterian Church. It’s on Fourth Street and Independence Avenue. That’s in the Southeast section of the city. Can you remember that?”

Samantha affirmed that she could, but Greta had her recite what she’d been told, which she did perfectly.

“All right. Ready?”

“Yes.” Samantha started to cry again.

“No tears,” Greta said, “or we won’t be able to let you go.”

The girl drew in a deep breath and brought herself under control.

“You’re a very good girl, Samantha,” Greta said. She kissed the girl’s cheek as Paul pulled directly in front of the church. There was no one on the street. Greta opened the door, turned Samantha so that she faced away from her, pulled off her blindfold, and gave her a nudge out the door.

“Go!” Greta said.

Paul waited a few seconds to be sure that the girl did as she’d been told, walked directly to the church’s front doors without even a glance back.

Jackson, Hall, another detective, and two FBI special agents were stationed in various parts of the Rollins house. Kloss had returned to headquarters for yet another briefing on what steps might be taken next. Jerry sat near the phone, his attention ostensibly on a magazine. His wife had been upstairs napping, but had just returned to the living room when the phone rang. Jerry had gone to the kitchen for a glass of water, leaving the phone for Sue to pick up. “Hello?”

All eyes were on her as she gasped, “Oh, my God!”

“What is it?” Jerry said, racing from the kitchen.

“It’s Samantha,” Sue said.

The hand holding the phone trembled uncontrollably and Jerry grabbed it from her. “Samantha?” he said. He turned to others. “It’s her! It’s Samantha. Where are you, honey? Are you all right?”

Jackson picked up an extension and listened as the girl, sounding remarkably calm, recited where she was.

“Let’s go,” Jackson said.

A marked patrol car parked in front of the house led the procession of vehicles, its siren wailing and lights flashing. Jackson, Hall, and Jerry and Sue Rollins piled into Jackson’s unmarked sedan and followed. A call was put out for other units to rendezvous at the church. The media camped on the street was taken by surprise but managed to dispatch a few vehicles in an attempt to catch up with the police. By the time Jackson pulled to a screeching stop at the church’s entrance, three other police cars had arrived, their uniformed occupants fanning out along the sidewalk. Despite the heavy rain, the scene had attracted a sizable number of onlookers, who were kept at bay by the first officers to arrive.

The Rollinses, Jackson, and Hall raced up the steps and into the church’s interior. It took a second to acclimate to the dim lighting, but when they did, they saw Samantha seated in a pew off to the left. She seemed oblivious at first to their arrival, as though in shock, afraid to look anywhere but straight ahead. But the sound of her name from her mother broke the spell. She turned as Jerry reached her and scooped her up in his arms. Sue wrapped her arms around them and they held the embrace for what seemed an eternity to Jackson and Hall, who watched the reunion with wide smiles, and tears.

“Let’s get her back to the house,” Jackson suggested.

It took some navigating to move vehicles and people who clogged the street to allow the car driven by Jackson, and containing Mary Hall and the Rollins family, to make its way back to Foggy Bottom and into the dry sanctuary of the Rollins home. Rollins had started trying to elicit from his daughter details of her captivity, but Jackson suggested they wait until reaching the house.

“You’re right,” Rollins said. “This isn’t the time.”

Kloss had heard the news and was there when they arrived. He took Jackson aside and asked what had brought about the release.

“I don’t know,” Jackson said. “It was the girl who called from the church. She said where she was, right down to the address and quadrant. She was calm. Whoever dropped her there had obviously briefed her pretty good.”

“What did she call on?”

Jackson handed him the plastic bag in which he’d dropped the cell phone Samantha had given him.

“Hers?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to question her until you arrived.”

“I want to put her to bed,” Sue announced. “She looks exhausted.”

“Just hold up a second,” Kloss suggested. He took Jerry Rollins aside. “I’d like to ask her some questions,” he said.

“Now?” Rollins replied, incredulous. “She’s been through a hellish ordeal. Can’t it wait?”

“I understand your concern, Mr. Rollins, but I’d like to get from her anything she remembers while it’s fresh in her mind. It’s important, sir. You and Mrs. Rollins can be with her, and I promise I won’t prolong it longer than necessary.”

“All right, but keep it short.”

Kloss, Jackson, Hall, and one of the FBI men sat with Samantha in the living room. She was huddled on the couch, between her mother and father, Sue’s arm firmly surrounding her as though the questions might come as physical blows.

“You’re quite a brave young lady,” Kloss began. “We’re all very proud of you.”

Samantha looked up at her mother and smiled shyly.

“What can you tell us about the people who took you?” Kloss asked.

A puzzled frown crossed the girl’s face. She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “There was a man and woman.”

“Did you see them?”

She shook her head. “They wore things over their faces.”

“Uh-huh. Masks. Just over their eyes?”

“No. Their whole faces, like ski masks.”

“Did they call each other by name?”

“Once I heard him call her ‘Greta.’ ”

“Okay. What about Greta?”

“She was nice to me. She had a nice voice, and she bought me food I liked.”

“That’s good to hear,” Kloss said. “Do you remember how far you drove the day they took you from the Mall?”

“I don’t remember. It was a long time.”

“A long drive,” Kloss said. “You have no idea where they kept you, whether it was in a big building or a house?”

“A house. I had a small room with a bed.” Then, as though remembering something she was supposed to say, she said, “They never hurt me, never hit me. They were nice to me.”