By Any Means (12 page)

B
efore Ash could say anything further, Mike Bowers held up a hand, stopping him.

“Everybody clear out of the room,” he said, shooing the technical support staff and other detectives out. Ash stayed put by the conference table while Reddington closed the door and glanced at Captain Bowers.

“Are you worried about any staff member in particular?” asked Reddington.

“No,” said Bowers. “But our people have talked to the media enough. I don't want to give anyone else temptation. Ash occasionally has lucid moments, and I'd rather keep his idea off the TV for a while.”

Occasionally lucid. Ash's stock had moved up in the world. Reddington nodded and leaned against the conference table.

“What do you think, Detective?”

Ash took a deep breath, forcing his disparate thoughts into some semblance of order.

“Palmer's not interested in the ransom money. He's trying to tie us up and waste our time.”

“Why do you think that?” asked Bowers.

“Because he only asked for twenty thousand dollars. That's nothing. More than that, he doesn't even know if Rebecca's family can afford it. I don't have twenty grand sitting around, and I have a decent job, my own house, and a retirement fund. Rebecca lives with her parents. If this guy was after money, he'd go to the Geist reservoir and kidnap one of those rich guys who lives on the waterfront.”

Reddington blinked and glanced at Bowers before looking at Ash again.

“Even if you're right, our plans stay the same. I'll raise your concerns with Agent Havelock and make sure he takes them into advisement. We're going to get this guy. There's no doubt about it in my mind.”

Ash had more than a few doubts of his own, but he decided against raising them. “I can talk to the Cooks. They know me.”

Reddington hesitated. “I appreciate that, Detective, but if Mr. Palmer calls back, I need you by the phone, not twenty minutes away.”

Ash wanted to protest, but Reddington was right. “Who's going to talk to the family, then?”

“We'll get the chaplain,” said Bowers. “It's not ideal, but they'll be fine.”

“We're settled,” said Reddington. “Everybody get to work.”

“So my job is to just sit around?” asked Ash. Reddington looked at him for a moment but then picked up a notepad and pen from the conference room table. He scribbled something down quickly, tore the page out, and handed it to Ash.

“You want a job, that's a drink order. Get me some coffee.”

Before Ash could protest, Bowers escorted him from the conference room and shut the door behind him. Ash crumbled the note and threw it into the nearest trash can.

“Asshole.”

With nothing to do but wait, Ash went to the floor's break room and turned on the television. It took almost an hour for Bowers to call him again, and by that time, a dozen people stood outside the conference room conversing. Reddington and Bowers stood next to a tall, thin man with graying hair and a black suit. Bowers waved Ash over, but Reddington hardly looked at him.

“The Cooks are on board,” said Bowers. “They'll get the money together if we think that'll get Rebecca back.”

“Great,” said Ash. He nodded toward the thin man. “And who is this?”

“Kevin Havelock,” he said, extending his hand. “I'm the special agent in charge of the local FBI field office. You must be Detective Rashid.” Ash nodded, and they shook hands. “I'm glad you're here. In our experience, continuity of communication is important in cases like this.”

“Have you handled many kidnappings?”

“Four, and we got three of our victims back safely. If we need him, we have an agent in Chicago who handles two or three kidnappings a year.”

“And in those cases you've investigated, how many involved ransom demands of less than twenty thousand dollars?”

Havelock furrowed his brow. “None, but my cases involved fairly wealthy individuals. Why?”

Reddington answered before Ash could. “Detective Rashid believes the ransom demand is some kind of ruse.”

“And why do you think that?” asked Havelock.

“It just doesn't feel right,” said Ash. “Twenty grand doesn't feel like enough money.”

Havelock straightened and nodded, resuming his commanding posture. “In the scheme of things, it's not. Twenty grand might be all our subject needs, though. When dealing with street thugs, you can't assume they think like you do.”

“I've worked with bad guys a few times, so I realize that,” said Ash. “I don't think Palmer is just some jerk off the street. He seems to know what he's doing.”

Havelock flashed a weak but still patronizing smile. “I think you're overestimating his ability.”

Ash glanced at Bowers for support, but the captain shook his head slightly.

“What's the risk if I am? I'm suggesting that we be cautious. Maybe we should start questioning why he's making such low demands instead of acquiescing to them.”

Havelock took a deep breath. “I appreciate your concern. We will proceed with the utmost caution.”

Chief Reddington glanced at Havelock and then at Ash again. “Does that satisfy you, Detective?”

“No. Does it satisfy you?”

Reddington started to say something, but Havelock held up a hand, stopping him.

“I appreciate your point of view,” he said, folding his hands. “This is a partnership between my people and yours. We need to work together, and I need you to understand that I will keep your concerns in mind.”

A representative from the Public Employee's Retirement Fund, the government agency that oversaw IMPD's pension, gave Ash a similar answer when he asked about some questionable investment decisions the fund had made. It had sounded like paternalistic bullshit then, too.

“Whatever,” said Ash, pushing his way through the throng of people around the conference table. “Let's just get to it.”

Reddington and Bowers exchanged glances before joining Ash around the phone. Ash had told Palmer that he'd call back in an hour, but they had blown past that timeline.

“Are we ready?” asked Ash. Havelock glanced up, and one of the technicians he brought nodded.

“Go ahead, Detective,” said Havelock. “We've rerouted the phone through our equipment so our techs can remotely activate the GPS chip on his phone and get his coordinates. If he had a standard cell phone, we'd be able to do it without an issue. Since he's got a satellite phone, we're going to have to do some work.”

Ash hesitated. “I'm a little fuzzy on what we're doing. What do you mean we're going to remotely activate the GPS chip on Palmer's phone?”

Havelock looked at his technician. “We'll piggyback a signal through the satellite and crack his phone's security,” said the technician. “That should allow us to access the phone's functions, including its GPS chip.”

“I see,” said Ash, nodding. “So you're going to break in. And you guys are sure this is legal?”

Havelock glanced at him but then looked back at his technician. “It's the position of the federal government that an individual's location is not information subject to Fourth Amendment protection. We won't access other parts of his phone.”

“Okay,” said Ash, still nodding. “But let me just get this straight. You're going to break into Palmer's phone and electronically trespass on his private property in order to track his location. That kind of sounds like we should get a warrant.”

Havelock narrowed his eyes at Ash. “Are you a legal expert as well as a detective now?”

“That's what my law school diploma says. That and
cum laude
and a bunch of other Latin words.”

“If you have a concern,” said Havelock, “you can take it up with my boss. He's the president of the United States, and he lives in Washington, D.C. Make sure to make an appointment. In the meantime, can we get to work?”

“I'm just looking out for this case. Once we catch Palmer, I want him to go to jail. I don't want the case thrown out because we cheated.”

“Why don't you let the Department of Justice handle that?” asked Havelock. “We have some pretty good lawyers.”

“You'd better.”

Havelock looked at his technician. “Dial.”

The phone rang twice before Palmer picked up. “For a while there, I didn't think you would call me back, Detective. I'm glad to hear you're still cooperating.”

Havelock mouthed something, and all but one of the technicians crept out, making the room feel better almost instantly.

“We are cooperating, and the Cook family has agreed to your request. Twenty thousand dollars for Rebecca. That's what we talked about, right?”

“I'm glad to hear they're open to my reasonable request.”

“And we're glad to hear that you're so reasonable,” said Ash. “Most men in your situation would have asked for more money.”

Palmer chuckled. “You want me to ask for more? I can, you know.”

“No. I didn't say that,” said Ash. “The Cooks don't have a lot of money. Twenty thousand is all they could get together in such a short amount of time. Thank you for not asking for more.”

“You're a funny man, Detective Rashid. I didn't expect to receive your thanks.”

“What are you going to do with the money?”

“I was thinking about blowing some on cheap booze and fast women. Beyond that, I don't think it's any of your business.”

“I respect that,” said Ash. “Didn't mean to offend you. Let's talk about Rebecca. How am I going to get her back?”

“Under the auspices that you're telling the truth, I'll be honest with you. Put the cash in a backpack and take it to the northeast side of the park in front of the Central Library downtown at eleven tonight. And just to keep you honest, if I see anybody other than you, Rebecca's brain is going to get intimate with a forty-five auto.”

A computer recorded the call, but Ash wrote the information down anyway.

“That's a pretty big firearm. I thought you were more into small weapons after the twenty-two you used on the people in the Mercedes.”

Palmer chuckled. “You use different tools for different projects.”

“I guess so. Where will I get Rebecca?”

“You'll receive further instructions at the park, and if you cooperate, everything will be fine. One of my partners will drop her off near the Scottish Rite Cathedral. If you want, I'll even put a nice, pretty bow around her neck. How's that sound to you?”

“It sounded fine until you mentioned your partners. How do I know I can trust them?”

“Probably can't, but you don't need to. They won't screw you as long as you cooperate with me.”

“You trust them that much?”

Palmer chuckled again. “No, but I know where their families live. In my business, that's usually all it takes to ensure compliance. You have any more questions?”

“What guarantees will you give me for my own safety?”

“Other than my solemn pledge that you won't come to any harm?”

“Yeah,” said Ash. “Other than that.”

“I suppose you can pray.”

“Great, thank you.”

Palmer hung up, but Ash stayed still, his heart rate elevated. Palmer's assurances to the contrary, Ash couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how careful they were, this wasn't going to end well for anyone.

“We've got him,” said Havelock once Ash exited the conference room. “We tracked his phone to the Eagle Creek Airpark. Our officers are en route.”

It took a second for that to register. Eagle Creek Airpark was a small municipal airport with one runway on the far northwestern quadrant of Indianapolis. It mainly serviced private aircraft and the occasional charter flight, so it didn't get a lot of traffic. Ash had been there only once because someone thought he spotted a body in the Eagle Creek Reservoir nearby; it turned out to be a log. Aside from a plane or a boat, the airport had few exits, making it a poor spot for a hideout. It did have hiding places, though; maybe they had just gotten lucky.

Ash didn't like admitting it, but they should have brought in the FBI earlier. Havelock's crew was able to find Palmer with one phone call. If he had called them the night before, maybe they wouldn't have had to go to the home off Shadeland, and maybe Madison wouldn't have been shot. The realization came like a punch to the gut.

“Rashid.” Ash looked up to see Mike Bowers waving at him. “Let's go.”

The drive to the airpark didn't take long. Ash rode in the back of an FBI SUV with Havelock and Bowers while a long stream of patrol vehicles followed. Members of IMPD's SWAT team planned to breach the hangar first and subdue everyone they found inside while uniformed officers surrounded the building to prevent suspects from running. Ash, Bowers, and Havelock would remain outside as part of the command structure.

Their driver parked on the street several blocks from the target. The airpark had been built on an open field bounded by a lake and marina on one side and middle-class housing developments and apartments on the other three. According to the FBI's technicians, Palmer had called from a hangar east of the runway. They had him cornered even before he moved. It didn't seem right.

Ash climbed out of the SUV and immediately smelled the nearby lake. No one with half a brain would pick such a bad hiding spot. Ash could spot five planes from where he stood, which meant there were likely at least an equal number of mechanics, FAA administrators, pilots, and security guards in the area. What's more, he stood on the only road out of the area. He couldn't shake the feeling that they had made a misstep somewhere.

“How much surveillance have we done on this place?” he asked.

“Enough,” said Havelock, barely glancing at him. He took a two-way radio from the car. “Are all units in place?”