The Guardian (18 page)

Now Nat was walking faster, pushing her, and when Janine forced herself to concentrate, she saw the woman looking over her shoulder, looking scared, and Janine turned and saw a big man after them, and she got scared, too.

Until she realized it was a policeman. Wearing a uniform and a badge. Walking up to them from what Janine realized was the bus station.

She suddenly remembered that she’d been scared that she might get lost that time she was with her mother at Christmas. And her mother had repeated then what she’d said since Janine was a little girl.

“If you get lost, walk up to a policeman, and tell him that your name is Janine Stearns, 233 Ridge Road, Lincoln.”

The policeman whistled. Nat hesitated, and then started to cross the street.

“Hold it, miss. I’d like to talk to you.”

Janine stopped, but Nat tugged her on.

“Miss!” The policeman had a radio on his shoulder, and his face was very serious.

“Could I see some identification, ma’am?”

She laughed, but her voice was all shaky. “You’re talking to me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“What is this—Russia? I’m going to meet my husband.”

“Is this your daughter, ma’am?”

The woman dug her hands into Janine’s shoulder. Janine could see how scared she was, and felt sorry for her. The way the policeman looked at Nat, it was like he was angry at her. Janine felt confused. She started to say what her mother had told her and froze. “She’s my girl,” Nat said, hugging her close. “This is my little Leanne.”

“Awful early to be out,” the cop said, putting out his hand. “I’d really like to see that ID, ma’am.”

He looked down at Janine and said, “So what’s your name again, sweetheart?” To her, his voice was different. He seemed very nice. She saw him looking at her very closely, and then his right hand went to rest on his gun. “She’s soaking wet,” he said. “Where’s that ID?”

“Really,” Nat said in a rush, “I’m supposed to be meeting my husband on the corner—”

And then Janine saw a car glide up behind the cop, and it was the man, it was Lee inside, and he opened the door and said, “Honey,
there
you are.”

Nat’s face turned white.

The policeman looked at the man and woman and said, “Mister, I’d like you to step out of the car.” He glanced at Janine and said, “Right now, honey, what’s your name?”

The words broke out of Janine: “My name is Janine Stearns! My name is Janine Stearns! My name is Janine Stearns!”

The policeman reached over with his left hand, and before Janine knew what he’d done, she was on the ground, and he stepped between her and the open car door, his gun out.

But from inside the car there was the yellow flash, and the sound that had reverberated in Janine’s nightmares sounded again, and the policeman was down on the pavement, too.

Someone was screaming, and Janine looked up at Nat and saw it wasn’t her. Janine realized that it was her own voice. The policeman’s eyes fluttered open, and she both wanted him to get up and wanted him to stay down on the ground. Because she wanted him to save her, but she also knew Lee would get out of the car and shoot him like he’d shot her father.

Then there was another gun going off. Nat had the pistol out and through the bright flashes Janine could see big, cracking holes in the front window of the car. And over it all, Nat was yelling for Janine to run, to run as fast as she could.

Chapter 31

Ross heard Turner, the FBI agent, say to Olsen, “Lucky you.” They were standing at the edge of the cliff watching divers go down with hooks for the BMW.

Allie and Ross were standing under the tree while the medical examiner knelt beside Greg’s body. Beth was back at the house with the FBI and wiretapped phones.

“Lucky
Babcock,”
Olsen said. “Not all the beat cops wear the vest. Got himself some broken ribs, some pellets in the leg, but he’s a hero. He can tell his grandkids someday how he survived a shotgun blast.”

“I meant
you’re
lucky that he didn’t die,” Turner said, opening a carton of yogurt. The breeze was blowing in from the cove and Turner’s voice was perhaps more audible than he’d intended. “It’s bad enough that the kidnapper now knows the police are in on it. You couldn’t have a photo of the girl at the bus station. Even after Stearns asked you, and you recorded his request on videotape.”

“Babcock had a description over the radio,” Olsen said, glancing over at Allie. “And it’s not like either of them are going to be able to step foot inside the bus or train station or airport from now on. Cops tend to look out pretty good for guys who shoot cops.”

Turner snorted. “You’ve heard the story about the barn door, right? And who knows what Babcock’s going to give us for a description?”

“He’s good. He’ll come through.”

“Turner might just be playing a game,” Allie said quietly to Ross. “He probably knows we can hear them.” She looked back at Greg’s body, and a single tear slipped down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. “I’m supposed to be tougher than this.”

Ross put his arm around her.

“Babcock’s good?” Turner was saying. “I don’t think he gets the hero prize unless he saves the girl. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.” Turner raised his voice to include Ross. “What do you think, Steams? Is Babcock a hero or a bum?”

Ross didn’t answer him. Turner was in his late thirties, impeccably dressed in a blue suit, white shirt, red tie. After a few minutes, he and Olsen drifted over to Ross and Allie. Turner finished the yogurt while he watched the medical examiner go over Greg’s body.

Ross watched Turner eat, knowing that it was a conscious display for his benefit.

After a few minutes, Turner put the carton in a paper bag and stood directly in front of Ross. “OK. You and I can both smell your brother from here. You’ve screwed up fourteen ways to Sunday. What you’ve got to do now is convince me.”

Turner waited.

Neither Allie nor Ross gave him his straight line.

“You’ve got to convince me that all you are is a screwup,” Turner continued. “That you didn’t pull this for profit, or maybe to get back at an older brother you never liked.”

“You’re out of line, Turner.” Allie’s tears were gone, and the cool professional was back. She stepped forward, and he withdrew slightly. “You’ve got nothing on Ross except for burying Greg. And he told the desk sergeant that the minute he walked into the station.”

Turner gestured down to the house. “Hell, that can be enough. We called the new owner, Geiler.”

“Geiler knows the story,” she said. “I doubt very much he’ll press charges.”

“You think so?” Turner grinned. “When we told him Mr. Stearns was dead, it didn’t take him too long to start squawking about how he still needed to close on the property.”

“All the more reason for him to not press charges against Ross.”

“Have you got a sketch yet of the man’s face from this officer’s description?” Ross asked.

Turner shook his head. “Boston Police are doing that one. It’s on the way.”

“And Janine looked all right?”

“Yeah,” Olsen said. “I told you. Babcock said she was soaked, and she didn’t look too steady on her feet. But he saw her run away. We’ve got no way of knowing whether or not the guy caught up to her five minutes later.”

“Anything on the car the kidnapper had been using?” Allie said.

“We found it an hour later in an alley. The owner in Back Bay didn’t want it back with all the bullet holes. There was a little bit of blood, and we’re having tests run on that.” Olsen looked at Ross carefully. “If we’re in luck, it’s his, not your niece’s. Which will be helpful for identification if we get our hands on the guy later. Prints were wiped clean up front.”

“You seem so calm,” Turner said to Ross. “Doesn’t it bother you? Your brother over there, like that?”

“What’ll it take?” Allie said.

“How’s that?”

“All my client wants is to get his niece back. What’ll it take to get you to believe that?”

Turner raised his eyebrows. “Damned if I know. I’m a suspicious guy. That’s why I got in this line of business. I see an ex-con who’s about to lose his half of a substantial piece of land to pay for his niece’s ransom … and I can’t help but wonder how he’d feel about that.” Turner watched Ross intently as he spoke. “I also find myself thinking, what if that ex-con wasn’t just trying to hold onto his half, but what if he had been trying to get his brother to sell? And the brother wouldn’t. The brother sang this old song about keeping the land intact for his daughter’s grandkids, or some such shit. And what if this ex-con found a friend to help him. And together, by abducting the daughter, they’d force the brother to sell the land, and they’d get
both
the ex-con’s half of the cash
and
the brother’s half.”

“Your math is weak,” Ross said. “After splitting it all with my ‘friend,’ I’d still end up only with what was mine. Besides which, Greg and I had already made up our minds to sell half the land.”

“And I’ve got the correspondence to prove it,” Allie said.

Turner waved that way. “Means nothing.”

Olsen joined them. “Here he comes.”

“Who?” Allie said.

An old Ford pulled off the dirt road and followed the tracks left by the other police vehicles. A tall, dark-haired man with a leather jacket got out of the car and joined them. He held out a manila envelope. “Sketches of the two suspects based on Babcock’s descriptions.”

Ross reached for them. After a slight hesitation, the man relinquished them. Ross opened the envelope and pulled out the penciled drawings. There were two, of the man and woman. The man’s face was just the barest outline: a narrow face, thin slash of a mouth, short hair.

“That could be anyone,” Allie said.

The sketch of Natalie showed an attractive woman with wide-spaced eyes and a soft jawline. There were lines about the eyes and a note to the side indicating her age was estimated at about thirty and her hair was blond.

“Recognize them?” the man who’d brought the sketches asked.

Ross glanced up sharply. “I never saw them before.” He looked closely at the officer for the first time.

The cop was rangy and hard-looking. Black hair and eyes. He wore a razor blade on a gold chain about his neck. “I met your brother, once,” he said. “In court.”

Ross recognized him then. The man hadn’t had the beard before; that was the difference. And he seemed even thinner than he had five years ago, down to just muscle and bone.

Detective Byrne, the man who’d sent him to prison.

Ross saw Olsen and Turner grinning over to the side, so he kept his expression even. He didn’t want to give them the pleasure of seeing the unpleasant shock that was rolling through him. He said, “Did you pass along our thanks?”

“Yeah, I did,” Olsen interjected. “How about you, Byrne? Did you do what I said and extend the Stearns family’s thanks to Babcock for almost getting himself killed?”

“I did,” Byrne said mildly. “He said you’re welcome.”

Allie took Ross’s arm. “This is the officer who testified against you last time?”

“That’s right.”

“What is this nonsense, gentlemen?” she said. “You’re wasting time with my client when you should be looking for Janine.”

“Let us figure out what’s a waste, Counselor,” Turner said.

“What are you up to?” Ross asked Byrne. “Are you looking for a chance to put me away again? Or are you here to help find Janine?”

“That all depends upon what happened before I got here.” Byrne gestured to his car. “Let’s go for a ride, and you tell me.”

“Not a chance,” Allie said. “Ross, they’re looking for someone to hang this on.”

A white van with a small radar dish on the roof pulled up the driveway. “Ah, Christ,” Olsen said. “The fourth estate.”

Byrne took his jacket off and tossed it to Ross. “Come on. Put that over your head and let’s get out of here before your face is all over every television screen in town.”

“My client is not under arrest!” Allie snapped.

“Your choice,” Byrne said. “I suggest you tell Mrs. Stearns to hold onto any photos of Ross here. And, Turner, you make sure Concord doesn’t release a file photo of him either.”

“Did the Boston Police get in charge while I wasn’t watching?” Turner said.

Byrne looked at him and Turner glanced at the van and shrugged. “All right, get out of here.”

Ross took a deep breath. He remembered Byrne’s testimony five years ago just fine. But he also remembered that Byrne had been the one to take off the handcuffs so Ross could hold Giselle’s body.

He took the coat. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 32

Turner’s a putz and so’s Olsen,” Byrne said. “But finding your niece would look good for both of them, so they’ll try to make it happen.”