Silent Night (15 page)

*   *   *

Bud Folney got back to Chris. “I think you have him, but for God's sake remember, he's threatened to kill the child before he lets himself get captured. So be careful.”

M
ichael was so sleepy. All he wanted to do was lean against Gran and close his eyes. But he couldn't do that yet, not until he was sure that Brian was okay. Michael struggled to suppress his growing fear. Why didn't he grab me if he saw that lady pick up Mom's wallet? I could have run after her and helped him when he got caught by that guy.

The cardinal was at the altar now. But when the music stopped, instead of starting to offer Mass, he began to speak. “On this night of joy and hope . . .”

Off to the right, Michael could see the television cameras. He had always thought it would be cool to be on television, but whenever he had thought about it, the
circumstances he envisioned had to do with winning something or with witnessing some great event. That would be fun. Tonight, when he and Mom were on together, it wasn't fun.

It was awful to hear Mom begging people to help them find Brian.

“. . . in a year that has brought so much violence to the innocent . . .”

Michael straightened up. The cardinal was talking about them, about Dad being sick and Brian being missing and believed to be with that escaped killer. He was saying, “Brian Dornan's mother, grandmother, and ten-year-old brother are with us at this Mass. Let our special prayer be that Dr. Thomas Dornan will recover fully and that Brian will be found unharmed.”

Michael could see that Mom and Gran were both crying. Their lips were moving, and he knew they were praying. His prayer was the advice he would have given Brian if he could hear him:
Run, Brian,
run
.

*   *   *

Now that he was off the Thruway, Jimmy felt somewhat relieved, despite a gnawing sense that things were closing in on him.

He was running low on gas but was afraid to risk stopping at a station with the kid in the car. He was on Route 14 south. That connected with Route 20 in about six miles. Route 20 led to the border.

There was a lot less traffic here than on the Thruway. Most people were home by now anyway, asleep or getting ready for Christmas morning. It was unlikely that anyone would be looking for him here. Still, he reasoned, the best thing to do was to get on some of the local streets in Geneva, find someplace like a school where there'd be a parking lot, or find a wooded area, somewhere he could stop without being noticed and do what he had to do.

As he took the next right-hand turn, he glanced in the rearview mirror. His antennae went up. He thought he had seen headlights reflected there as he made the turn, but now he didn't see them anymore.

I'm getting too jumpy, he thought.

A block later it suddenly was like they'd sailed off the edge of the earth. As far as he could see, there were no cars ahead. They were in a residential area, quiet and dark. The houses were mostly unlit, except some of them still had Christmas-tree lights glowing from bushes and evergreens on the snow-covered lawns.

He couldn't be sure if the kid was really asleep or faking it. Not that it mattered. This was the sort of place he needed. He drove six blocks and then saw what he was looking for: a school, with a long drive-way that had to lead to a parking area.

His eyes missed nothing as he carefully searched the
area for any sign of an approaching car or someone out walking. Then he stopped the car and opened the window halfway, listening intently for any hint of trouble. The cold instantly turned his breath to steam. He could hear nothing but the hum of the Toyota's engine. It was quiet out there. Silent.

Still, he decided to drive around the block one more time, just to be sure he wasn't being followed.

As he put his foot on the accelerator, and as the car slowly moved forward, he kept his gaze glued to the rearview mirror. Damn. He'd been right. There
was
a car behind him, running without lights. Now it was moving, too. The lights from a brilliantly lit tree reflected on its rooftop dome.

A squad car. Cops! Damn them, Jimmy swore under his breath. Damn them! Damn them! He tromped on the gas pedal. It might be his last ride, but he'd make it a good one.

He looked down at Brian. “Quit pretending. I know you're awake,” he shouted. “Sit up, damn you. I shoulda ditched you as soon as I was out of the city. Lousy kid.”

Jimmy floored the accelerator. A quick look in the rearview mirror confirmed that the pursuing car had also speeded up and was now openly following him. But so far there seemed to be only one of them.

Clearly Cally had told the cops he had the kid, he reasoned. She'd probably also told them that he said he'd kill the kid first if they tried to close in on him. If that cop behind him knew that, it explained why he wasn't trying to pull him over right now.

He glanced at the speedometer: fifty . . . sixty . . . seventy. Damn this car! Jimmy thought, suddenly wishing he had something more powerful than a Toyota. He hunched over the wheel. He couldn't outrun them, but he still might have a chance to get away.

The guy chasing him didn't have backup yet. What would he do if he saw the kid had been shot and pushed out of the car? He'd stop to try to help him, Jimmy reasoned. I'd better do it right away, he thought, before he has time to call in help.

He reached inside his jacket for his gun. Just then the car hit a patch of ice and began to skid. Jimmy dropped the gun in his lap, turned the wheels in the direction of the skid, then managed to straighten the car just inches away from crashing into a tree at the edge of the sidewalk.

Nobody can drive like I can, he thought grimly. Then he picked up the gun again and released the safety catch. If the cop stops for the kid, I'll make it to Canada, he promised himself. He released the lock on the passenger door and reached across the terrified boy to open it.

C
ally knew she had to call police headquarters to see if there was any word about little Brian. She had told Detective Levy she didn't think Jimmy would try to reach Canada through Vermont. “He got in trouble up there when he was about fifteen,” she'd said. “He never did time there, but I think some sheriff really scared Jimmy. He told him he had a long memory and warned him never to show up in Vermont again. Even though that was at least ten years ago, Jimmy is superstitious. I think he'd stick to the Thruway. I know he went to Canada a couple of times when he was a teenager, and both times he went that way.”

Levy had listened to her. She knew he wanted to trust
her, and she prayed that this time he had. She also prayed that she was right and they got the boy back safely, so she could know that in some small way she had helped.

Someone other than Levy answered his phone, and she was told to wait. Then Levy came on. “What is it, Cally?”

“I just had to know if there's been any word . . . I've been praying that what I told you about Jimmy taking the Thruway helped.”

Levy's voice softened even though he still spoke quickly. “Cally, it did help, and we're very grateful. I can't talk now, but whatever prayers you know, keep saying them.”

That means they must have located Jimmy, she thought. But what was happening to Brian?

Cally sank to her knees.
It doesn't matter what
happens to me
, she prayed.
Stop Jimmy before he
hurts that child
.

*   *   *

Chris McNally had known it the minute Jimmy spotted him. The radio was open between him and headquarters and was tied in to One Police Plaza in Manhattan. “He knows he's being followed,” Chris reported tersely. “He's taking off like a bat out of hell.”

“Don't lose him,” Bud Folney said quietly.

“We've got a dozen cars on the way, Chris,” the dispatcher snapped. “They're running silent and on dim
lights. They'll surround you. We're bringing in a chopper, too.”

“Keep them out of sight!” Chris pressed his foot on the accelerator. “He's going seventy. There's not many cars out, but these streets aren't completely cleared. This is getting dangerous.”

As Siddons raced across an intersection, Chris watched in horror as he barely missed slamming into another car. Siddons was driving like a maniac. There was going to be an accident, he knew it. “Passing Lakewood Avenue,” he reported. Two blocks later he saw the Toyota skid and almost hit a tree. A minute after that, he yelled, “The boy!”

“What is it?” Folney demanded.

“The passenger door of the Toyota just opened. The inside light's on, so I can see the kid struggling. Oh God . . . Siddons has his gun out. It looks like he's going to shoot him.”

“K
yrie Eleison,
” the choir sang.

Lord have mercy
, Barbara Cavanaugh prayed.

Save my lamb
, Catherine begged.

Run, Dork, run, get away from him
, Michael shouted in his mind.

*   *   *

Jimmy Siddons was crazy. Brian had never been in a car before that was going so fast. He wasn't sure what was going on, but there must be someone following them.

Brian looked away from the road for a moment and glanced at Jimmy. He had his gun out. He felt Jimmy tugging at his seat belt, releasing it. Then he reached
across Brian and opened the door beside him. He could feel the cold air rushing in.

For a moment he was paralyzed with fear. Then he sat up very straight. He realized what was about to happen. That Jimmy was going to shoot him and push him out of the car.

He had to get away. He was still clutching the medal in his right hand. He felt Jimmy poke him in the side with the gun, pushing him toward the open door and the roadway rushing beneath them. Holding on to the seat-belt buckle with his left hand, he swung out blindly with his right. The medal arced and slammed into Jimmy's face, catching him in his left eye.

Jimmy yelled and took his hand off the wheel, instinctively slamming his foot on the brake. As he grabbed his eye, the gun went off. The bullet whistled past Brian's ear as the out-of-control car began to spin around. It jumped the curb, went up into a corner lawn, and caught on a bush. Still spinning, it slowed as it dragged the bush back across the lawn and out onto the edge of the road.

Jimmy was swearing now, one hand again on the wheel, the other aiming the gun. Blood dripped into his eye from a gash across his forehead and cheek.

Get out. Get out
. Brian heard the command in his head as though someone were shouting it at him. Brian dove
for the door and rolled out onto the snow-covered lawn just as a second bullet passed over his shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, the kid's out of the car,” Chris yelled. He jammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop behind the Toyota. “He's getting up. Oh my God.”

Bud Folney shouted, “Is he hurt?” but Chris didn't hear him. He was already out of his car and running toward the boy. Siddons was in control of the Toyota again and had turned it, clearly planning to run over Brian. In what seemed like an eternity but was actually only seconds, Chris had crossed the space between him and Brian and gathered the boy in his arms.