Forsaken: A Fallen Siren Novella (13 page)

“Emma?”

I’m pulled back to the present. “Nineteen forty-nine. We’re running out of time. They should be calling about the ransom drop in about an hour.”

Zack is texting.

“Updating Torres?” I ask.

“Asking a favor of someone I trust. We need to keep this place secure until forensics can get here. The chances of Benson showing up to remove evidence are slim. But I’ll feel better if someone’s watching the house.”

“How do you want to play this?”

“Mrs. Benson is eight months pregnant with their third. I don’t want to upset her further.”

“She’s got one on the way, another she’s about to lose.” We walk in tandem up the sidewalk. “That’s going to be impossible to avoid. Unless…”

“What are you thinking?”

Before I have a chance to answer, the front door opens. “Can I help you?”

Benson’s wife is a pretty woman with red hair and rosy cheeks. She’s dressed casually in an embroidered smock and leggings, her hands rest atop a very pregnant belly.

“Follow my lead,” I whisper to Zack. Then I pull out my badge and approach with confidence. “Olivia Benson?”

“Yes,” her response is hesitant.

“I’m special agent Emma Monroe. This is my partner, Zack Armstrong.”

Olivia glances at my badge. “FBI?”

“Is Burt home?”

She shakes her head. “He’s working a case. He couldn’t come home last night. Are you working with him? Is something wrong?”

“May we come in?” I ask.

She steps back. “Of course.”

“When did you and Burt last talk?” Zack asks.

“Yesterday afternoon. He called from a payphone to tell me he lost his cell phone and wouldn’t be home until late tonight.”

We follow Olivia to a parlor off the entryway. Polished wood floors and period furniture make the room both attractive and comfortable, a fire lends warmth. All together, it’s a picture of domestic tranquility.

I take a seat next to Zack on the sofa. “Are your children home?”

Olivia’s yet to sit down. Her anxiety is rising. “Madeline’s at daycare. Joey’s with my folks. I started having some contractions this morning. My doctor says I need to rest. Has something happened to Burt?”

“We believe he’s safe,” I assure her. “But he’s mixed up in something dangerous. We think he’s over his head. Things have gotten out of hand. We’d like you to take you into protective custody until we know for sure. He’s going to be calling us, and we want you to help convince him to come in.”

“What about the children?”

Zack answers, “Can your mother pick Madeline up from daycare?”

Tears start to well up in her eyes. “Probably. Yes. I’m sure she can. Is Burt going to be all right?”

“We hope so,” Zack says. “Will you help us help Burt?”

“Of course.” She wipes at the wetness on her cheeks. “Let me get my purse.”

Zack rises. “We’d also like to a piece of clothing. Something he’s recently worn. A T-shirt maybe.”

She looks at us, a puzzled frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Why would you need that?”

“If we need to track him, it will help the dogs.”

“Track him?” Alarm sends color into her cheeks. She clutches her belly.

I take her hand. “We don’t expect to have to use it. It’s just a precaution. I promise.”

She doesn’t look relieved, but does rise. “I’ll get one from the hamper.”

Once we’re alone, I ask Zack, “Do you think she’ll be able to convince Benson to turn himself in?”

He looks at me. “I do. But the real question is whether Benson will be able to convince Imperiale.”

Chapter Eleven

It’s a quarter to three when we pull into Maitlan’s garage.

“Is this a safe house of some kind?” Olivia asks.

Zack is driving, I’m in the passenger seat. It’s time to lay it on the line. “Have you heard anything on the news about the kidnapping of Roger Maitlan’s son?”

“Of course, it was on the front page of the paper today and all of the stations are covering it.” She stops abruptly, turns and looks back toward the entrance to the garage. “This is the building. The one Maitlan lives in.”

“That’s right,” I say.

“Why would Burt be working a kidnapping case?” she asks.

Zack jumps in and answers. “We said we were worried Burt was mixed up with something dangerous. Olivia, he’s been identified as an accomplice in the crime. He and his partner Chuck. They’re demanding twenty million dollars ransom.”

The color drains from her face. “That’s impossible. Burt would never do that. Not ever.”

“Not even for Joey? We’ve seen this before,” I say. “A good guy in a desperate situation is presented an opportunity and—”

She shakes her head vehemently. “No.”

Zack unbuckles and gets out of the car. I do too. By the time I walk around to their side, he’s opened the back door and is offering her a hand. “For your sake, I hope we’re wrong. I really do.”

She accepts Zack’s assistance and clumsily climbs out. “The person who identified him?”

“Also an accomplice, “ he replies. “She’s in custody and hoping her cooperation will result in some kind of a deal.”

“Will it?”

We head for the elevator. “I doubt it. She was the instigator. There’s something important that I’d like you to remember, Olivia. According to our information, Burt was not the one who pulled the trigger that night. If we can get him to come in, to return Robby and testify against his co-conspirators, it could go a long way toward getting him a shorter sentence.”

“Look, I don’t know who did this, but I do know my husband. It’s not Burt!”

We’re inside the elevator now and it’s climbing. In a couple minutes, Olivia is going to be in the conference room. A few minutes after that, she’s going to hear her husband’s voice, and her world is going to come crashing down.

“As you said earlier,” Zack reminds her. “Your husband hasn’t been himself for quite some time. He hasn’t been sleeping. He’s been anxious, depressed, stressed out of his mind. In a few minutes a call’s going to be coming in, and we want you to listen in on it. Agent Monroe and I will be there, along with a couple other agents and Mr. Maitlan. We believe the call will be either from Chuck Imperiale or your husband.”

The elevator door opens into the Penthouse. When we emerge, Roger is waiting for us.

His eyes dart from Olivia Benson’s face, to her belly, and back again. His expression softens and he extends his hand. “Roger Maitlan.”

“Olivia Benson.” She winces. Her hands move to her stomach. “I’m afraid I need to sit down.”

Roger and Zack exchange worried looks.

I place my hand on Olivia’s back and wave her in the direction of the staircase. “There’s a conference room downstairs. Maybe a cup of tea will help?”

She nods and moves in the direction of the stairs. “What is it, exactly, you want me to do?”

“When the call comes in, we just want you to listen. If you hear anything you recognize, we want you to tell us. If you identify the caller as your husband, we may want to put you on the line. At that point, you’ll just need to talk from your heart. Ask him to give up his location, to let Robby go and turn himself in. Assure him we all understand what he’s been going through. That he’s not himself,” I tell her.

Olivia’s head is bobbing up and down.

When we enter the conference room, Bradley stands up. “Torres is pulling into the garage. She’ll be here any minute.” He extends his hand to Olivia. “Agent Bradley. We appreciate your help, Mrs. Benson.”

I pull out a chair. “Why don’t you take this one, Mrs. Benson?”

Zack moves to the console table that has the coffee and tea and begins to fill a cup with hot water. He holds up two tea bags. “Chamomile or Jasmine?”

“Chamomile, please.”

“One minute to go.” Bradley passes out headphones. “You’ll be able to hear through these. Mr. Maitlan, pick up the handset on that landline when I tell you. Insist on speaking with Robby. As always, we’ll coach you through.”

“Did I miss it?” Torres enters just as the shrill sound of the phone’s ring cuts through the air.

I make a quick introduction as I slide on a headset. “Agent Torres. Olivia Benson.”

The cup of tea Zack made for Olivia hasn’t been touched.

The phone rings again.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” she asks.

Maitlan places his hand on the receiver. His eyes are on Bradley.

“Go ahead. Pick up.”

“Maitlan here.” His voice is shaky. Whether from exhaustion or anxiety, I don’t know.

Probably a bit of both.

The voice on the other side sounds almost as weary.

“Do you have the money?”

There’s quite a bit of background noise—people having conversations, laughter—an undecipherable cacophony.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, here’s what you’re going to do. You know that little coffee shop down the street from you? When we hang up, you’re going to head over there. There’s a burner taped under the table in the corner, the one farthest from the door. Get it and wait at the table for my next call.”

“I’m not doing anything until I speak to my son,” Maitlan says.

I’m watching Olivia. She’s listening intently, her eyes wide, her breath shallow. “It’s not Burt, but you recognize the voice.”

She turns toward me and whispers. “It’s Chuck. I’m sure of it.”

Maitlan continues, “I have your money. We’re close. You’re close. I want to talk to my son. I
need
to talk to my son. Give me that and we have a deal. I’ll go get the phone. Follow your instructions to the letter.”

Imperiale snorts. “You’ll follow my instructions to the letter regardless.”

Maitlan’s standing now, pressing Imperiale as Bradley instructed. Being insistent but cooperative. “I need to know that my son is all right.”

“You need to head over to the coffee shop. I’m hanging up now.”

“No, I’m hanging up. Until I hear my son’s voice, until I’m able to verify he’s alive and safe, I’m not going anywhere.” The receiver Maitlan’s been speaking into comes crashing down so hard it pops back out of the cradle.

“Mrs. Benson identified the caller as Chuck Imperiale,” I say.

Maitlan turns to Zack. “Did I just make a mistake?”

Zack gives his shoulder a squeeze. “He’s going to call back.” In three quick strides he walks over to the dry erase board in the front and picks up a marker. Let’s play back the recording. See what we hear.

Bradley cues up the tape.

“There’s a lot of noise in the background,” says Torres.

O’Neill chimes in, “Music.”

I close my eyes. Listen intently. “There’s a bell,” I add. “It sounds like an old-fashioned hotel bell. It’s coming from different directions.”

Zack’s writing it all down. “There’s more than one bell. I heard someone order a scotch rocks. That clunk, that’s a glass being set down on a table or bar.”

Olivia sits up suddenly. “I know where he is.”

Bradley shuts off the tape.

The phone rings.

Zack holds up his hand. Looks at Maitlan. “Pick it up. Be cooperative. Tell your son you’ll be seeing him shortly.”

Maitlan reaches for the phone. “Robby?”

“Dad! I want to come home, Dad! I’m scared. I don’t feel well.”

The boy’s speech sounds slurred. His response is slightly sluggish.

The billionaire pinches the bridge of his nose. “Listen to me, son. Everything’s going to be all right. I’m going to be seeing you shortly. Be—” Maitlan’s voice starts to crack. He takes a second to compose himself. “Be brave.”

There’s no response. The line is dead.

We all turn to Olivia. Maitlan is the first to speak. “Where are they?”

Olivia lifts the cup of tea to her lips and takes a sip, her hands are shaking. “When I first met Burt, I was fresh out of college and had moved back in with my parents. They live on the Island. We’d go to this dive motel off 112 called the Starlite. He mentioned it just the other day. Told me how a buddy of his busted a crack ring that had been dealing out of there. The Blue Moon bar is right across the parking lot. The bells. They have them on the tables so you can call your server over.”

Zack starts giving orders. “Torres, go with Maitlan to get that phone and meet us in the garage. Bradley, get HRT on the line. Let’s see how far out they are and if they can meet us at the location. O’Neill, I want you to follow in a separate car with Mrs. Benson.”

“Me? It was Chuck, not Burt.”

I place my hand over hers. “It’s likely that Burt’s with him. Until we know otherwise, that’s our assumption. We’ll want you to help us talk him out.”

Chapter Twelve

The Starlite is an old-fashioned motor lodge, two stories with doors opening directly onto the parking lot. I can imagine what the décor looks like. Worn chenille bedspreads, nightstands with a princess-style phone and one of those machines that will make the bed vibrate for a quarter, and a cathode ray TV hooked up to what used to be a state of the art VHS player.

Zack and I leave the rest of our team and Jastremski’s agents from the HRT a quarter of a mile down the street. We pull into the Starlite’s parking lot and select a space in front of the office. Dressed casually, we leave our vests in the SUV. I’m carrying a large tote bag. Zack is pulling a suitcase. The office smells like stale cigarettes and lemon Pledge. The knotted pine paneling covering the walls and reservations desk is gleaming. The linoleum floor, worn through in sections, is also clean and shiny. The Starlite may have seen better days, but someone has gone to lengths to keep the office spotless.

The woman behind the desk looks up when we enter. My guess is that she’s in her late sixties. Her face is wrinkled, the skin thin like paper. Holding a Danielle Steele novel in one hand and a cigarette in the other, she regards us with skepticism.

“Can I help you?”

Zack places his credentials on the desk alongside photos of Imperiale and Benson. “FBI. Where can we find these men?”

She shrugs, “I don’t know, sweet cheeks, what makes you think they’re here?”

Zack leans on the counter. “You give me their room number, we’ll limit our search and rescue to that room. Otherwise we’re going to have to sweep the entire building. The hotel will become a Federal crime scene. I heard the locals shut you down not too long ago. Bet that wasn’t good for business.”