Nothing to Fear (49 page)

“No. All Evie could tell us was some kids came in to smoke pot.”

“That narrows it down a bit,” Spinnelli said dryly. “Mia, you’re weaving on your feet and this case is too close now. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll have Murphy cover for you.”

Mia looked over her shoulder to where Abe was diligently reviewing the old case files. “Abe’s still here, I’m still here. I’m sticking, Marc. But thanks.”

Abe looked up with a frown. “I keep coming back to the time gap—the two days where Sue was unaccounted for right before her arrest. The anonymous call came on a Tuesday reporting a ring using a child to smuggle drugs. We know now the anonymous caller was Randi Vaughn. Narcotics found a neighbor who could match visitors to the apartment with suspected dealers from a photo array.”

“That was Jackie Williams, the woman who was murdered yesterday,” Mia said.

“Well, that Wednesday they got a warrant for Randi’s apartment and found the stacks of empty baby formula cans, but no coke. That night they picked up Donnie Marsden and six other men in Marsden’s apartment, all cutting coke into dime bags. They found two cans of formula packed tight with coke that they hadn’t even started cutting, but Sue wasn’t there. Marsden and the others swore they didn’t know who she was or anything about a baby.”

“Even though they were surrounded by baby formula cans,” Spinnelli said dryly.

Abe slanted him a look. “Drug dealers lying? Tell me it isn’t so.” He riffled through the papers, found the one he was looking for. “Conway isn’t arrested until two days later. She came slinking up just after midnight on Friday and Jackie Williams called the cops.”

“She’d been hiding.” Mia blinked at the words in the report. “Where was she hiding?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. The report doesn’t say. Narcotics was afraid she had a hiding place for the baby they hadn’t found yet—or that the baby was dead. They wanted to catch her with the child. They found her pulling the stove away from the wall, but she wasn’t looking for the baby, just for cash she’d stashed, which was gone.”

“It makes sense that she’d go back for money over her son,” Mia said. “Sue hid somewhere for two days—that’s symbolic. Let’s find out if the arresting officer remembers something that could help.” But before she could pick up her phone, Abe’s rang. “I’ll call,” Mia said, grabbing the old case file. “You get that.”

She’d rounded the other side of their desks to her chair when Abe abruptly stood up, sending his own chair rolling backward. “You’re kidding,” he said, motioning to Mia to wait. “We’ll meet you there.” He hung up with a grin. “Guess who just tried to break into the Vaughns’ room at the Excelsior? Donnie Marsden, the leader of Sue’s drug running ring. He had a hotel passkey. Murphy’s bringing him in as we speak.”

Spinnelli took the case file from Mia’s hands. “I’ll have someone track down the arresting officer. You two go find out what Marsden knows now that he didn’t know then.”

Chicago, Friday, August 6, 3:20 P.M.

Ethan stopped in the doorway of Alec’s room, grateful for Clay’s steadying hand on his back. His legs trembled beneath him, but they would hold him up. So many had paid such a price for Sue Conway’s revenge. Grimly Ethan wondered how much more they’d have to pay before this was over. How much he’d have to pay. Dana was still gone.

But Alec was safe. Evie was safe. And Ethan knew that’s exactly how Dana would choose it to be. She hadn’t gone meekly, like a lamb to slaughter. Or blindly, as if it meant nothing. She’d gone kicking and screaming and fighting. Afraid. A shudder convulsed him and he had to lean against the door frame for support, his skin had gone clammy and cold.

“Don’t think about it,” Clay murmured. “For now focus on the fact that Alec is alive. The doctor says he’ll make a full recovery, even though he doesn’t look like it now.”

What Alec looked like was a small ghost lying there in the bed, his skin nearly as white as the sheets. Tubes seemed to run everywhere. But his chest did move, shallowly. Stan was standing to one side, his expression unreadable. Randi looked up from her place at Alec’s side and gave Ethan a watery smile. “You shouldn’t be out of bed,” she said softly.

“I tried to tell him that,” Clay said. “He doesn’t listen. He wouldn’t even sit in the wheelchair I appropriated.”

Ethan ignored them both, slowly shuffling to the bed, careful not to jar his right arm, immobilized in a sling. “I needed to see him myself,” Ethan murmured. He sank into a chair, light-headed from the trek to the pediatric ward. “He woke up?”

“For a little while,” Randi said. “The doctor said he’d sleep a lot still. Ethan . . .” Her voice wobbled. “How can I thank you?”

Ethan looked up at her, took her hand, and squeezed it. “You just did. We’re clear.”

Stan cleared his throat, his words forced and hard. “Thank you, Ethan.”

They were the first words Stan had spoken to him since that night on the dock at Wight’s Landing when he’d begged his help. Do it for Richard, he’d said. You owe him that much. But sitting here, looking at this child, Ethan knew it had been as much about what he’d owed Alec than what he’d owed Richard. He’d been given a responsibility he’d neglected. For two years he’d been Alec’s godfather, but he’d wasted that time. He’d claimed that Stan wouldn’t let him be part of Alec’s life, but that had been an excuse. The truth was he had closed the door to his emotions. Until Dana had opened it back up.

Ethan looked up at Stan. “You’re welcome. We’re clear now, too.”

Alec’s eyes fluttered open, widened at the sight of Ethan sitting by his bed.

Ethan took one of Alec’s thin hands in his left hand, gently. The bones in the boy’s hand were like brittle sticks. Regret slashed through him when he realized he couldn’t communicate with his godson face-to-face. He’d had two years. He should have learned sign language by now. It was a mistake he would soon rectify because when this was over, he would be part of Alec’s life. “Randi, can you tell him something for me?”

“Of course.”

“Tell him that I’m proud of him.” He waited while Randi signed the words. Alec’s eyes flew to his, large and gray and haunted. “Tell him that Evie is all right.” Alec sank into the pillows, relieved. “Tell him that Evie told us how he spoke to her, that that was how we found him. Tell him Cheryl would have been proud of him, too.” Alec’s lips trembled and his eyes filled with tears, but he blinked them away, his expression becoming hard. He tugged his hand free of Ethan’s and signed something back to Randi.

“He wants to know if they caught the woman with white eyes.” Randi expelled a breath on a shaky laugh. “He calls her the Bitch. I can’t scold him for it.”

“Tell him not yet. We will, though. Ask him if she kept him anywhere except the motel.”

Alec watched, then shook his head. Signed something, his eyes too old for his face.

“He wants to know why she took him. Why she killed Cheryl and Paul,” Randi said. “I don’t want him to know about Sue, Ethan.”

Ethan looked up at her with a frown. “He’ll know sooner or later, Randi. But when you tell him is your choice. For now, my priority is getting Dana back alive.” He turned back to Alec, met the boy’s wary stare. “Ask if he remembers the lady with short red hair.”

Alec nodded. “She was Evie’s friend. She was nice,” Randi interpreted. “Why?”

“Because she’s gone now, too.” Alec’s eyes flew from his mother’s hands to Ethan’s face, shocked. “I need to know anything else he remembers.”

Alec went still. Then his hands moved slowly. And Randi’s voice thickened as she voiced every vile thing her son had seen. “Ethan, he doesn’t know any more. I’m sorry.”

Ethan squeezed the boy’s arm lightly. “I’ll be back to see you later.” He stood up, met Stan’s stony expression. “I will see him, Stan. I’ve more than earned the right now.” He waited until he and Clay were in the hall. “Later, can you do me a favor?”

Clay looked suspicious. “I’d say anything, but an hour ago that got me in trouble with the nurses for buying you a fresh shirt and helping you out of bed.”

“This one won’t get you in trouble. When the dust clears, can you run to a bookstore and buy me a sign language book? It’s about time I started being that boy’s godfather.”

Clay looked back at Stan. “He’s going to need one. And you’ll be a good one, Ethan. So now you’ll go back to your room and lie down?”

“No, next I’m going to see Evie, then I’m walking out of this place to see Mitchell and Reagan and you’re not going to say a word when I do. In fact, you’ll drive me there.”

“Ethan—”

Ethan was focusing on walking the length of the hall. “I’m serious. I don’t want—”

“Ethan, wait. I have a call coming in.” Ethan turned to see Clay pulling his cell from his jacket pocket. “Mitchell just called,” he said. “They might have a break.”

Chicago, Friday, August 6, 3:55 P.M.

The alarm woke her up. Yawning, Sue hit the snooze. This hotel room wasn’t as nice as the one she’d reserved in the Excelsior, but that place was crawling with cops. This place was still nicer than the dump where she’d stashed the kid. She’d drive out to Gary and get him in a few hours, hide him in the basement where Miranda would meet her end.

Sue felt a tingle of excitement. Soon she’d be able to watch Miranda Cook writhe in pain, forced to commit acts she never dreamed possible with men who had years of anger stored up. Six angry men could do a hell of a lot of damage to one woman. It was smart to have Dupinsky as a second course. Once those guys got started, one victim would not be enough. She’d give them Dupinsky while she went on to deal Miranda her final hand.

Miranda would be broken and bleeding, but conscious. Sue would make sure she was conscious. Because, when it was Sue’s turn, she’d bring out the kid. Sue hoped he’d still be alive after making him take all those pills. She wished she’d shown a bit more restraint, but at the time she’d been so damn mad that he’d tried to escape . . . She lost her head. If he died, though, it wouldn’t matter. Sue could say the kid was alive and make Miranda believe it. She’d always been able to make Miranda believe anything she wanted her to.

Sue would lay the kid where Miranda could see him as she endured her last moments on earth. Sue would torture Miranda as she’d tortured Miranda’s mother in Florida, with small painful slices and bone-crushing blows. Miranda would beg for mercy, but there would be none. And then, when the pain was so great, so . . . immense, she’d give Miranda the most crushing punishment of all.

One little pill. Guaranteed to kill one person quickly. Miranda would then have the choice. End the kid’s life mercifully or her own painlessly. A true “Sophie’s choice.”

If she knew Miranda, the woman wouldn’t make the choice. She’d lie there slowly bleeding to death as Sue sat back and watched. But that would be okay, too, because perhaps worse than the physical pain would be Miranda’s knowing that she would die and that afterward the boy would continue to lie beside her. Unprotected. For hours, days maybe. Alone. Starving, dehydrating. The seizures would come without his meds. The kid would die and Miranda would die knowing she could do absolutely nothing to stop it.

Then, and only then, Miranda would truly know the meaning of being powerless.

It was a good plan, if Sue did say so herself. She hopped out of bed, a spring in her step. The nap had refreshed her. Tonight would be busy and tomorrow she was driving to Toronto where she’d reserved a flight to Paris under the name of Carla Fenton, an ID there was no way the cops could trace. And by five o’clock Eastern time today I’ll be rich.

With the time difference, that was only a few minutes away. Smiling, she pulled her new laptop from her backpack, paid for with cash from the Vaughn trial deposit. The laptop was equipped with everything a wealthy woman would need, including Internet access so she could gain easy access to her own accounts without relying on Internet cafés. And without having to show ID every time she wanted to take a quick peek at her millions.

She’d been careful with the IDs she’d stolen, she thought as she powered the laptop up and plugged it into the phone. She never actually used any of the credit cards, so they couldn’t trace the dead bodies back to her. The Internet cafés just held the card for insurance. They only ran the card through their register if you didn’t pay with cash and she’d always been sure to pay with cash. Therefore, she’d never be traced to the pediatric nurse or the waitress. If Bryce kept his mouth shut, she’d never be connected to any of it.

It was nearly five on the East coast. The Vaughns would have put the money in the first account by now. She got to the bank’s website, tapped in the account number, then Walter1955. Good old dad. If he could only see me now. He’d botched a tiny job, a convenience store for God’s sake. And she had just pulled off a heist worth five million. And better still, Miranda Cook would finally get her just desserts. She’d—

The hourglass stopped turning and Sue frowned. The money wasn’t there. The account was empty. They should have deposited it by now. Her heart started to pound heavily. Maybe they wouldn’t pay the ransom after all. Dammit, she needed that money. Wanted that money. She set her teeth, hard. They owe me that money.

Compulsively she brought up the second account, the one only she knew about. Walter1987. And froze. Stared. Impossible. The account was empty.

Impossible. There had been over nineteen thousand dollars. It was all gone.

They knew. Somehow they’d found her second account. Her blood ran cold as her brain raced. How had they found her? How had they known? She’d told no one about the second account. No one. But somehow they knew just the same. Her stomach settled and once again she knew calm. She needed to get the kid. A promise was a promise after all. The kid would be returned to the Vaughns in five million pieces.

Chicago, Friday, August 6, 4:15 P.M.

“So what has he told you?” Ethan asked as he made his way into the detective’s bullpen, leaning on Clay’s arm.

Reagan looked up from his computer screen and exchanged a look with Mitchell. “You’re only encouraging him, Mia. He needs to be in the hospital.”

Mitchell shrugged. “They were here. It seemed more trouble to send them back to the hospital than to sign them in with a guest pass. Sit down, Buchanan, before you pass out.”