Deadly Intent (36 page)

Under the unsurmountable weight of despair, she felt her shoulders sag. “This is all my fault.” There, she had said it. She had finally voiced the thought that had been on her mind all afternoon. “If I had gone to the police when Ian approached me with his crazy scheme, Ben would be home right now.”

“’You were protecting your mother,” Claudia reminded her. “You had no way of knowing it would go this far.”

Claudia’s remark brought her no comfort. She twisted and untwisted her hands. “What about that forensic team you sent to check the parking lot?”

“They didn’t find much, and it’s doubtful the kidnapper left any evidence behind, but they’re examining every scrap they picked up. They’ll keep me informed.”

John gripped her shoulders. “We’ll find him, Abbie. No matter who took him, we’ll find him.”

She wanted to believe him. Oh, God, how she wanted to believe him. But what if it was too late? Like it had been too late for Eric Sommers. She scolded herself for having such thoughts. She had to keep faith.

“Why don’t you let Claudia take you home,” John said gently.

“I can’t. I need to be here when Ben...”

“Brady will be here if he calls. You need to go home, Abbie.”

She nodded obediently and let Claudia take her hand.

Thirty_Seven

It almost seemed like old times, John thought, the three of them sitting around the dining-room table—Clarice didn’t like eating in the kitchen—and Jordan doing all the talking. He was thrilled to have John home, and totally unaware that this unscheduled visit came with a heavy price—the disappearance of his friend.

The Boston Market chicken, with all the trimmings, was good, a lot better than the burrito John would have grabbed on the way. At Clarice’s insistence, he took seconds, then waited until all three were finished with their cherry pie before standing.

“Why don’t we go in the family room,” he told Jordan. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Already halfway out of his chair, Jordan stopped. “Did I do something wrong?”

John laughed. “You’d better not have, because I couldn’t take another scolding from Mrs. Rhinehart. The woman scares me out of my wits.”

Jordan laughed. “She does not. Nothing scares you, Dad.”

“That’s what you think.”

One hand on Jordan’s shoulder, he walked him into the tidy family room with its navy upholstered furniture and brick fireplace, and made him sit down on a cushiony footstool while John took the chair. There was no easy way to

break the news to him, so he said it straight out. “Ben is missing.”

Clarice, who had followed them, let out a short gasp. “Are you talking about Ben DiAngelo?”

John nodded.

Jordan’s expression was a mixture of concern and confusion. “What do you mean, he’s missing?”

“He’s been kidnapped.”

Jordan sprang up. “No way! It’s not true.”

“I’m afraid it is, kiddo. There’s a statewide search for him—“

“But why? Who took him?”

Clarice came to sit on the footstool next to Jordan, and wrapped a protective arm around the boy’s waist. “My God, John. How could something like that happen?”

It was easier to answer Jordan’s question first. “According to his teacher and a couple of classmates, someone driving Ms. DiAngelo’s SUV was waiting outside Ben’s school. When Ben came out, he recognized the Acura, ran to it, thinking his mother was behind the wheel, and got in. He hasn’t been seen since. Or heard from.”

“But you’re looking for him, right, Dad? You’re going to find him.”

“We’re doing everything we can.”

“Is he being held for ransom?” Clarice asked.

“No one has come forward with a demand yet, but I suspect they will.” He wasn’t about to tell them that if Eric Sommers’s killer had taken Ben, ransom would not be a concern.

Suddenly, Jordan broke free of his mother’s hold and ran out of the room and up the stairs. John heard the slam of a drawer, then Jordan was racing back down and into the room.

“I was saving this for a new skateboard.” He handed

John two ten-dollar bills and a five. “But I’d rather give the money to Ms. DiAngelo.” He blinked, fighting back tears. “Tell her I want to help with the ransom.”

John had a hard time keeping a dry eye himself. He took the money, folded it carefully and put it in his wallet. “That’s very nice of you, son. I know Ms. DiAngelo will appreciate it.”

He drew Jordan close to him and held him, wondering what Abbie would give to be able to hold her own son in her arms. “But now you’ve got to do something for your mom and me.”

“Sure.”

He could tell from Clarice’s slight nod that she knew what he was about to say, and for once they were in agreement. “I want you to be extra careful for a while. Don’t talk to strangers and don’t go near anyone’s car, even if you think that it’s mine or your mom’s. If it is one of us, we’ll get out of the car so you can see us plainly. Understood?”

“You think I’m going to be kidnapped, too?”

“No, because your mom and I will do what needs to be done to make sure that doesn’t happen. But you’ve got to do your part, too. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Satisfied Jordan would keep his promise, John stood up to leave. As he did, his gaze fell on the end table, where something caught his attention. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing.

Jordan picked up the model-railroad car. “It’s a refrigerator car from the Santa Fe Railroad.”

“Where did you get it?”

“The professor gave it to me.”

“Professor?”

“Professor Gilroy. You remember him, don’t you, Dad?

He took my class to a field trip to Northlandz last Saturday to visit the railroad display.”

“Yes, I do.” John took the small car from him and looked at it closely. Where had he seen it before? Not the identical car but something similar. Then he remembered. Abbie. One of her customers had given it to her the day he had gone to Campagne with Tina.

“He builds them himself, out of tiny pieces of wood.” Jordan sounded excited, and for a moment his friend’s kidnapping was forgotten. “He has several sets of trains already built in his house. One is a garden display. He said I could go see it one day after school if I wanted.”

“Did he really?” John turned the miniature car in his hands, remembering the well-dressed man who had sat alone. “Tell me about this professor.”

Jordan shrugged. “Tell you what?”

But Clarice seemed to know exactly what John wanted to hear. “I met him when I drove Jordan to the school parking lot. He seemed very nice. He’s a former professor of English literature. I believe he taught at Wesley College. He retired a few years ago and now builds model railroads.”

“What’s his connection to Jordan’s school?”

Though visibly shaken, Clarice did her best to sound unfazed by the questions. “I’m not sure. I think he just contacted FitzRandolph, told them about Northlandz, and offered to escort the children there. He seems to be well known and highly regarded by the teachers I spoke to that morning.”

“Describe him for me.”

“He’s about fifty-five, maybe sixty, slender, with short gray hair, a thin mustache. He speaks with a British accent.”

John didn’t need to hear any more. Clarice had definitely

described the man in Abbie’s restaurant. But so what, he thought, knowing how his suspicious mind worked. Why couldn’t a respectable former professor have a hobby he wanted to share with young boys? FitzRandolph Academy didn’t seem to have a problem with that, so why should he?

Because you ‘re a cop. Suspecting people is what you do.

“Why do you want Professor Gilroy’s description, Dad?” Jordan was watching him intently. “Did he do something wrong?”

“No.” John cupped the back of Jordan’s neck. “I thought I knew him, that’s all. Now I realize I don’t.”

Jordan and Clarice walked him to the door. Both were looking at him anxiously, though for different reasons.

Jordan was the first to speak. “You’ll let me know when you find Ben, right, Dad?”

“You bet.” He kissed Jordan on the cheek. “Now go finish your homework. I want to talk to your mom for a second.”

He waited until he had disappeared before turning to Clarice. “I don’t want Jordan within five hundred feet of Professor Gilroy. Not until I’ve run a thorough check on him.”

“My God, John.” She threw a quick glance toward the kitchen to make sure Jordan wasn’t listening. “You can’t possibly think he’s the one who took Ben. He seems so...unthreatening,” she added.

“They usually do,” John said grimly.

“Should I alert the other mothers?”

John shook his head. “There’s no need to alarm them until I know more about the man. I think the news of Ben DiAngelo’s disappearance will be enough to make parents take a few additional precautions. You do the same, Clarice.”

Thirty_Eight

As always at this time of night, Jose’s Tapas & Bar on Lalor Street was filled with smoke, sweaty bodies and the sound of salsa music blaring from the jukebox. Tony sat at the end of the bar alone, sandwiched between a burly construction worker and a gabby blonde. He had hoped to stay home and keep an eye on Arturo, but his brother had left the apartment in the middle of the afternoon and told Tony not to worry. He was keeping a low profile, and the people he hung around with could be trusted. By people, Tony knew Arturo meant women. How much they could be trusted was debatable.

There hadn’t been any more talk on Arturo’s part about Abbie DiAngelo, and for that Tony was grateful. Maybe talking tough to him was just what his brother had needed.

When the TV sitcom Tony had been watching on and off was suddenly interrupted by a special announcement, Tony looked up at the screen. He immediately froze, his beer halfway to his mouth.

On the upper right corner of the screen was the photo of a young boy. Underneath was his name: Ben DiAngelo. Tony set his bottle of Dos Equis down as the announcer began to speak.

‘ ‘Nine-year-old Ben DiAngelo of Princeton, New Jersey, was abducted from his school earlier today. He was last seen getting into a red Acura SUV, which was later re

ported stolen by the child’s mother, Abbie DiAngelo. Police have refused to comment on the possibility that this latest incident is connected to the abduction and consequent killing of young Eric Sommers, also of Princeton. The township police has scheduled a press conference for seven o’clock this evening. Stay tuned for further developments. In sports...”

Tony felt as if a fifty-pound weight had suddenly lodged itself in his stomach. Not even the beer, which he badly needed right now, would go down. He kept staring at the broadcaster while Arturo’s words replayed in his head.

“Did you know she had a kid?”

That bastard. He had kidnapped the boy! In broad daylight. Was he crazy? Did he have some kind of death wish?

Tony reached into his pocket, took out a few dollar bills and dropped them on the counter. He had to get out of here. He had to find Arturo and make him return the boy, or both he and Tony would find themselves behind bars.

After sending Tiffany home and forcing Abbie to sit in one of the chairs by the fireplace, Claudia had busied herself in the kitchen, pulling food out of the refrigerator and pots from the cupboard. She was making soup, another of her cure-alls, even though Abbie had told her she wasn’t hungry.

“It gives me something to do,” Claudia had replied.

Abbie hadn’t fought her. She needed every bit of energy she had to stay calm. It wasn’t easy, not with reminders of Ben in every nook and cranny of this house. Her gaze fell on the coffee table where a stack of baseball cards lay, the same cards Ben and Jordan had oohed and aahed over not so long ago. Abbie spread them out and found Ben’s favorite—Scott Rolen, with the third baseman’s signature scrawled on the bottom. She remembered Ben’s excitement

last year when Brady had taken him to a Phillies game and, through a friend he knew, had managed to get an introduction to Ben’s hero. Ben had talked of nothing else for weeks.

Abbie took the card and touched it gently, remembering the last time Ben had looked at it, touched it. This morning. This morning, when everything had been so normal and wonderful.