One-Way Ticket (19 page)

“That’s about right,” I said. “But let me finish. This morning I confronted Paulie Russo. He denied knowing anything about the kidnapping or the ransom money.”

“Are you saying you believe him?” said Adrienne.

“I don’t really know,” I said. “He’s a terrible man who lies easily and without conscience. But he did seem genuinely surprised when I accused him of kidnapping Robert. I actually think I hurt his feelings.”

Nobody said anything. I allowed the silence to hang there.

After a minute, Teresa said, “So now what do we do?”

“That,” I said, “is the question.”

“All along,” said Dalt, “Mike has said we’re making a mistake not going to the FBI. Brady, that’s what you recommended, too.”

“What could they have done?” said Adrienne. “These people had it all figured out. Dropping the money off a bridge to a waiting boat? Clever, if you ask me. Brilliant, really. You think the FBI would have anticipated that?” She shook her head. “I love my money, but now this is all about hoping that Robert is still alive and getting him back. It’s not about money. We did what they asked. Now we have to hope that they’ll arrange another clever way for us to retrieve him.”

“We should be prepared for another ransom demand,” I said.

They all looked at me.

I shrugged. “It’s what I’d do. I’d get greedy. Last night went so smoothly, and it really wasn’t that much money. I’d be thinking that we didn’t ask for enough. I’d think,
These people will do anything we say.
I’d think we could scheme out another tricky way to drop the money. I’d think we should demand more this time. A million would be a nice round number.”

Adrienne was nodding. “They’d know I can get it,” she said, “and they’d figure we’d just continue to follow their instructions.”

“How could they know you have it?” said Jess. It was the first thing Dalt’s wife, Robert’s stepmother, had said since they arrived. I guessed she was deferring to the blood relatives.

“They seem to know everything, don’t they?” Adrienne smiled at Jess. “It doesn’t take much research, dear, to learn that Dalton’s father was a very wealthy man, and that what he left to me, unlike what he left to your husband, has been invested well, and that I can convert a large amount of it to cash in a short amount of time. Why else would they have specified on their recording that I would be the source of the payoff? They know. They’ve done their homework. They are obviously very good at what they do.” She paused. “And that’s why I say, absolutely no FBI. These people are smarter than the FBI.”

“If they’re so smart,” said Dalt, “what are the odds that they’ll release my son?”

“If,” said Adrienne, “he’s still alive.”

“Sure,” said Dalt. He gave her a hard look. “Jesus.”

I said, “I don’t think the question is really about the odds.”

Dalt nodded. “Because the odds are bad.”

“I agree with the judge about one thing,” I said. “These people are very slick. Everything they’ve tried so far has worked perfectly. This has been a great success for them. It’s possible that they’re confident they can devise a slick way to return Robert to us, too.”

“Is that what you think?” said Teresa. “That they’ll return him?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s what we all want, and if you refuse to go to the authorities, we have to play it that way.”

Adrienne said, “We must not go to the police.”

“We need to decide,” I said. “The four of you, you’re the ones who have to make this decision. I have my own opinions. But Robert isn’t my son or grandson or stepson, and it’s not my money we’re talking about.”

“No police,” said Adrienne again.

“Why?” said Dalt. “To protect your reputation?”

Adrienne’s head snapped around, and she glared at her son. “How dare you? My reputation is not an issue. I am willing to pay more money, if that’s what happens, because it might get my grandson back. This is not about me. I simply believe that these kidnappers are smarter than the police. If you want Robert back, we’ve got to keep the police out of it.”

“I’m not comfortable with that,” said Teresa. “I mean, we know who it is, don’t we?” He turned to me. “That Russo man? Shouldn’t we just tell the police and have them arrest him?”

“We don’t know that it’s him,” I said.

“Well,” she said, “who else could it be?”

I shrugged. “That’s the question, all right. It’s something we all need to think about. Look. Paulie Russo is most likely behind it. He’s a seasoned criminal and a smart, greedy man. He’s got the motive, not even to mention the means and the opportunity. This morning he swore to me he didn’t do it. But that’s what he’d say anyway. I’m just saying, we need to remember that it’s possible somebody else is behind it.”

“Like who?” said Dalt.

I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“Brady,” said Teresa, “we need your advice.”

“I’ll do whatever you folks want,” I said. “I’ll go to the police, or I will not go to the police. I’ll deliver some more ransom money. I’ll negotiate with Paulie Russo or anybody else. But I’m not going to make this decision for you.”

“We’ll decide,” she said. “Just tell us what you think. We need your opinion. Please.”

She looked at Dalt and Jess and Adrienne. Dalt and Jess both nodded. Adrienne shrugged.

“Okay,” I said. “Here’s what I think. I think that we don’t know what we’re doing. None of us has ever been through anything like this before. And what have we accomplished up to now? We’ve given them a pile of money, and we’re no closer to getting Robert back. We don’t even know if he’s still alive. We are amateurs. We’re outclassed here.” I shrugged. “My advice is, you should call the FBI right now.”

Adrienne was shaking her head. “Calling in the FBI or the police is the conventional thing to do. It’s what they do in the movies, on TV. Those make-believe agents are heroic and smart and competent. But for one thing, that’s probably what these kidnappers expect, and they’re prepared for it. Anyway, I know law enforcement bureaucracy. I know how it works in the real world. I’ve seen the posturing, the politics of it, the image-polishing, the reluctance to make decisions, the fear of making a mistake.” She paused and glowered at all of us. “If you turn this over to them, we’ll be giving them responsibility. Then when it all goes wrong, you can say, ‘Oh, well. It wasn’t our fault.’ Is that what you want?”

“But listen,” said Dalt. “I don’t—”

“No,” said the judge. “You listen. Let me finish. I, for one, am willing to take responsibility. I don’t agree with Brady. I think we should at least hold off for a couple of days before we call in the authorities. Robert’s still alive. Let it play out: See if these people call again. See what we can figure out.”

Dalt started to say something, but Adrienne held up her hand. “Listen. Calling the FBI is irreversible. Once we call them, we can’t change our minds about it. Once they’re in, there’s no getting them out. We can call them anytime. I just don’t think this is the time.” She sat back in the rocker and glared at Dalt.

Teresa said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lancaster. I do understand what you’re saying, but I don’t agree. I’m with Brady. We should turn it over to the professionals.” She turned her head and looked at Dalt.

Dalt leaned forward. “I actually think my mother makes a good point,” he said. “If we wait, we have options. We can change our minds anytime. Assuming Robert is still alive, it’s what makes me feel most comfortable. If he’s not, well…” He looked at me. “So what’re we going to do?”

“It’s up to you guys,” I said. “I’ll do whatever you want. I’m just the lawyer here.”

Jess touched Dalt’s arm. “Whatever you say, I support you.”

Dalt gave his wife a quick smile, then turned to Teresa. “You’re outvoted.”

She looked at him. “You think we should decide what’s right by majority rule?”

He smiled. “Hard to believe we stayed married that long.”

Teresa smiled back at him. It was a sweet smile that struck me as poisonous. “I’ll go along with Mrs. Lancaster,” she said. “And you and Jessica. If we’re going to vote, it might as well be unanimous.”

Dalt looked at her for a minute, then turned to me. “It’s decided, then. So now what?”

“I guess that’s it for now,” I said. “Go home. Try to get some sleep. Let’s see what happens. We’ll stay in touch. Keep your cell phones with you. Any thoughts or conjectures or questions or brainstorms, let me know. I’ll do the same.”

“Like what?” Dalt said.

“Like,” I said, “see if you can think of anybody besides Paulie Russo who might have kidnapped your son, for one thing.”

He nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“Me?” I said. “I’ll wait and ponder, just like you. I’ll hope that somebody calls. As soon as you leave my house, I’m going to try to make up for a sleepless night.”

“Right,” he said. “We should all leave and let Brady get to bed. He was up all night trying to help us.”

We exchanged cell phone numbers. Then we all moved over to the door. Jess and Teresa both hugged me. Adrienne gave me a bony handshake. Dalt shook my hand, too.

Henry and I went out onto the porch and watched them drive away, Teresa alone in her Nissan Murano and the three Lancasters in Adrienne’s big Chrysler.

A
FTER THE CHRYSLER’S TAILLIGHTS
blinked out of sight up the hill, I sat on the steps beside Henry. The streetlights on Mt. Vernon Street had come on. Where they shone through the trees, they cast wavering shadows on the street and sidewalks. “I think that was a mistake,” I said to him. “What do you think?”

He cocked his head and looked at me. I was familiar with that look. He was wondering about food.

“Thanks for your input,” I said.

It was another pleasant June evening, and Henry and I sat there savoring the sweet-smelling breeze. I realized that I’d been so intensely involved in the Robert Lancaster situation that Evie had scarcely entered my mind all day.

But now thoughts of Evie came swarming. How weird it felt coming home to an empty house, sleeping in an empty bed, having nobody except Henry to talk to. How alien and unpleasant living alone had become for me even after just a few days, since I began sharing my life with Evie.

Tomorrow she would know her father’s fate. I guessed it was harder for her now, not knowing, than it would be after tomorrow.

I assumed that Ed Banyon’s fate would determine Evie’s fate, and mine, too. I tried to focus on her and what she was going through, and not on the hole in my own life that she’d left behind.

Get over it, Coyne,
I told myself.
It’s not about you.

I hoped she’d call tonight. It would be okay if she woke me up. It would be fine.

I gave Henry’s ears a scratch. “Well,” I said to him, “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for bed.”

He sort of shrugged, then stood up and pressed his nose against the door.

I had my hand on the knob when a voice from behind me said, “Mr. Coyne.”

I turned around. A man was standing on the sidewalk at the end of my front walk. He wore sunglasses and a green Celtics sweatshirt with the hood over his head. Black jeans, sneakers.

Beside me, Henry growled deep in his throat.

I touched the top of his head. “Sit,” I told him.

Henry sat. I couldn’t make him stop growling, though.

“What do you want?” I said to the man.

He held out his hands. He was presenting a rectangular cardboard box as if he were one of the three kings of Orient. It looked like a shoe box, and I suspected it did not contain gold, frankincense, or myrrh.

“This is for you,” the guy said.

“What is it?” I said. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”

He bent over and put the box down on the brick pathway leading up to my house. Then he turned and started to walk away.

“Hey,” I yelled. “Wait a minute.”

He stopped and looked at me from the darkness of the hood that shadowed his face.

“Come back here,” I said. “Take the top off that box for me.”

He seemed to think about it for a minute. Then he came back to the shoe box, leaned over, and took the top off. He held it up for me to see. “Okay?” he said.

“Thank you,” I said.

I was happy that the box hadn’t exploded, spewing shrapnel around our neighborhood and killing me and Henry. I figured the guy would have refused to take the top off if that’s what was going to happen. “Now,” I said, “tell me who I should send a thank-you note to for this gift.”

He fitted the top back onto the box, straightened up, and laughed. Then he turned and walked down the sidewalk in the direction of Charles Street.

Henry bounced off the front steps and started toward the shoe box. A growl rumbled in his chest. He moved stiff-legged like a bird dog that had smelled a pheasant hiding in the grass. Henry was, of course, a bird dog. On the other hand, I was pretty sure a pheasant was not hiding in that box.

“Stay,” I told him.

He stopped. But he kept growling.

I went to where the box sat on my brick sidewalk. It looked inoffensive. Just a buff-colored shoe box. I used the side of my foot to push it up my front walk to the bottom of the porch steps. Henry remained standing where I’d told him to stay. His growl had turned into a whine.

Under the bright porch light I saw a Nike swoosh logo on the side of the box. I also saw a dark blotch on the bottom corner. A bloodstain, it looked like.

I snapped my fingers at Henry. “Get in the house,” I said.

He stood up and came toward me. He stopped at the box, put his nose close to it, and growled.

“In the house,” I told him again.

He came up the steps, and we went inside.

I found my cell phone on the kitchen table and two dish towels in a drawer. I told Henry he had to stay inside, then went out to the front porch. I used the towels like oven mitts to lift the top off the Nike shoe box.

At first all I saw was a plastic zip-top storage bag. There were some wet rust-colored stains on the inside of the plastic.

Old blood.

I bent closer to see what was in the bag. It took me a minute to identify what I was looking at. It was a squarish slab of gray skin with some bloody flesh attached to it—part of a man’s upper lip with some bristly black hairs sticking out of it and a section of his cheek with a big pink mole on it.