Veiled Threat (15 page)

twenty-seven

Laurel opened the door
the next morning while Giulia’s knuckles were still on it.

“Come in, come in, it’s only 7:14, but we’re terrified they’ll call early, do you want some coffee? Holy cats, what did you do to your hair?”

Even though Laurel’s long hair was pulled back, it still looked wild. Her flowing clothes, which usually moved like calm waves on a pond, fluttered like bird wings on a windy day. Giulia grabbed her in mid-step and squeezed her until she stood still for a moment.

Laurel broke away. “Don’t do that. If I stop to think, I’ll lose it. I’ll pour your coffee. I’ve got gingerbread creamer. Your boss isn’t here yet. Turn around. I want to see the back.” She took Giulia by the shoulders and turned her around herself. “It’s so long. And wavy. You look like me—well, you would if you were taller and your hair was darker. I like it. Why the change?”

The doorbell rang on her last word. Laurel dashed to it. “Mr. Driscoll. Come in. I’ll pour you some coffee. We’re putting coats on the bed. Black or cream or sugar?”

“Black, please. Thank you.”

Anya came out of the bedroom and held out her hands for Frank’s and Giulia’s coats. Giulia squeezed her, too.

“Thank you for coming. Christ, people say that at funerals. I would spike my coffee with Black Velvet if I didn’t have to be alert. I would spike Laurel’s too. Giulia, your hair is lovely.”

“Anya, this is Frank Driscoll. Frank, Anya Sandov.”

“Pleased to meet you. Where have the police set up?”

“In the kitchen.” Her lip trembled but she controlled it. “I’ll put your coats away.”

Giulia started to move toward the kitchen, but stopped when Frank didn’t follow. His gaze was riveted to the framed print over the couch.

“Why is that tree warped?”

“It’s not a tree,” Giulia said. “It’s placenta art.”

“It’s what?” His voice rose on the last word.

“Shh. It’s an art print made from Katie’s placenta.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Drag yourself into twenty-first century natural art, Frank. Laurel and Anya attended Katie’s birth and brought a special container with them for the placenta. I plan to suggest this to Sidney when she gets pregnant.”

He looked down at her. “Good God, she’ll bring it in to show us.”

She smiled. “That’s the point. Perhaps I’ll take you to The Before and After Shop to buy her an appropriate gift.”

“The what?”

“Keep your voice down. It’s a new place that Laurel and Anya invested in. Two midwives run it. They sell placenta jewelry, breast-milk soap and lotion, and—my favorite—the hand-knitted anatomically correct pregnancy doll, complete with baby and birth canal.”

“Good God.”

She patted his hand. “Clear your mind. It’s twenty-five after.”

Jimmy and an officer Giulia didn’t know sat at the green-glass kitchen table. Jimmy was talking about triangulation and cell phone towers on his phone. Laurel’s phone sat on the edge of the table, next to a mini tape recorder with an earbud attached. Anya stirred creamer into a cup of coffee; Laurel handed Frank a Santa Claus mug.

Jimmy nodded at Frank and Giulia, listening to a nasal-sounding voice on his cell phone.

Anya handed an elf-eared mug of gingerbread-flavored coffee to Giulia.

Everyone waited. Laurel put the earbud in her left ear and hovered over the phone.

The snowman clock said seven thirty. The second hand ticked around the dial. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty. Thirty-five.

The phone lit up. Laurel, Anya, and Giulia jumped. The ringtone started an instant later.

Jimmy signaled to Laurel. She pressed the
Record
button on the tape recorder and the green
Receive
button on the phone. Her knuckles gripped the phone till they were as white as its case.

“Hello?”

The sound of a male voice reached Giulia, but not the words.

Anya clutched Laurel’s right hand.

“Yes,” Laurel said. “Yes, we have it … yes … yes, I understand … Can we hear Katie’s voice? Is she all right? Please. Please!” Tears ran down her face. She lowered the phone and turned off the tape recorder. “He wouldn’t let me hear Katie.”

From the opposite side of the table, Jimmy said, “Dammit.”

Frank said, “You couldn’t trace that call?”

Jimmy waved “shut up” at him. “How close is the car? Damn. Try anyway. Call me back.”

He ended the call and slugged half his coffee in one gulp. “Carnegie Mellon.”

Frank shook his head. “If he’s smart enough to call from a place like that, then he’s smart enough to have used another burn phone.”

“Which he did. Dammit.” He swiveled his chair to face Laurel and Anya. “Your cell phone company triangulated the call to the campus of Carnegie Mellon. The problem is, of course, that your kidnapper went to any one of a hundred places and bought a disposable phone. With cash, no doubt, and loaded it with the smallest possible amount of minutes. So all your carrier can do is triangulate the call to a narrow area, in this case, Carnegie Mellon. Which has several thousand cell phone users. An unmarked car was only a few minutes away from there, so it’s driving around, but don’t expect too much.”

“What does that mean?” Anya said, her hands still clenched around Laurel’s.

“It means we figure the kidnapper will have blended into the student body or driven away by now. Hell, he could’ve called from an idling car. Did you hear any noises like that?”

“I—I don’t know.”

Giulia said to Frank, “A burn phone?”

“A disposable one. He’ll have tossed it into a trash can or dumped it in the lap of the nearest homeless guy as soon as he finished the call.”

“Then we have nothing.” Anya pried Laurel’s fingers off the phone. Laurel sat down hard on the floor, Anya sinking down with her.

“Not true,” Jimmy said. “We have the recording.” He rewound the tape.

The little recorder’s speaker hissed and then half of a ringtone blasted out. Jimmy decreased the volume.

Laurel’s voice: “Hello?”

A man’s voice: “Are you ready to receive my instructions?”

Laurel: “Yes.”

The man: “Do you have all the money?”

Laurel: “Yes, we have it.”

The man: “Place the money in a cardboard box and write on the sides and top in large black letters the words ‘Spare lights.’ Go to the used bookstore on 42 Welkin Street and place the box on the ground next to the side entrance steps. Do you understand?”

Laurel: “Yes.”

The man: “You may have someone drive you, but do not bring the police.”

Laurel: “Yes, I understand.”

The man: “Bring the box at eight thirty precisely. That is all.”

Laurel: “Can we hear Katie’s voice? Is she all right? Please. Please!”

Four beeps, then nothing. Then a click and tape hiss.

Jimmy stopped playback.

Giulia said, “Play it again, please. I want to see if I recognize his voice.” She set down her coffee and leaned her elbows on the table.

“I heard shoes on a hard floor,” Jimmy said. “Tile or slate. He muffled his voice.”

When the recording started, Giulia closed her eyes. The voice gave its instructions. She leaned so far over the table the edge bit into her stomach. When it finished, she walked around right next to the tape recorder and said, “Once more, please.”

Jimmy’s phone rang. He pushed away from the table and took it in the other room.

This time Giulia heard the rhythm of the kidnapper’s boots on flooring. Of course he was inside; the wind and snow would make it difficult to hear and respond. She pictured work boots on a tiled bathroom floor. She pictured ski boots in the break room. If only she’d looked at the sous chef’s feet when he picked up that tray of used glasses.

She shook her head when the recording ended. “I can’t narrow it down yet.”

“Damn,” Frank said. “I suppose it was too much to hope for after only two days.”

Jimmy returned. “No luck at the university. Too many footprints in the snow, and we don’t have a warrant to check all the trash bins in every building.”

“Giulia says she’s not sure which guy at the Wildflower the voice belongs to, if it even belongs to any of them.”

She dragged a hand through her new hair and said to Laurel and Anya, “It’s either the maintenance man, the ski instructor, or the sous chef.” She tugged through a knot. “I need more time.”

Anya said before Jimmy replied, “We never saw any of the kitchen staff. I remember the games instructor a little. He was happy and full of energy when we participated in one of the activities, but other than that … Did we even see a handyman while we were there, Laurel?”

Laurel wiped her eyes on a napkin. “Maybe. I don’t remember. We were too busy telling everyone about Katie and having a last pre-parenthood fling.”

Anya’s and Giulia’s eyes met.

“Staff are invisible,” Giulia said. “They’re trained that way. Even at the Wildflower, where guests and staff are semi-friendly, who really thinks about the guy fixing the electrical outlet in the corner when you’re having a heart-to-heart or telling everyone about the greatest thing that just happened?”

Laurel said, “Or while you’re in the hall, reading the TV screen of what’s happening that day at the resort. Nobody thinks about the housekeeper dusting the furniture two feet to your left. Oh my God.”

Jimmy said to the officer still seated, “Call the resort and ask the owner for any records she hasn’t given to us already on the head of maintenance and the ski instructor. Giulia, what’s the name of the sous chef?”

Giulia drew a blank. “I don’t remember.”

“Doesn’t matter.” He wrote on a fresh piece of paper and handed it to the policeman. “Here’s the owner’s private number. Have her courier the records to Frank’s using his name, not the business title. We don’t want to alert the desk clerk, just in case her husband’s the kidnapper.” He looked at the clock. “We’ve got forty minutes to get to the drop address.”

Anya ran into the laundry room. “I’ll get a box.”

“Giulia, will you drive me?” Laurel said.

“Of course.”

“Wait a minute,” Frank said.

“Ms. Drury—” Jimmy said.

Laurel placed her hands flat on the table. “Anya’s as ragged as I am. I wouldn’t trust either of us to drive. Giulia stays calm no matter what, and she’s seen this bastard. She can—how do they say it on cop shows—make a positive ID. Right?”

“I’ll try.”

Anya came back with the box taped on the bottom and took a Sharpie from a drawer. While she wrote “Spare lights” according to instructions, Laurel opened the cupboard under the sink and brought out a yellow box of garbage bags. Giulia was about to ask what she was doing when she opened the box’s perforated top.

“You hid the money under the sink?”

She shrugged, a banded packet of bills in each hand. “On the off-chance we were robbed, we figured this was the safest place for it.”

“Smart,” Jimmy said.

Laurel handed Anya packet after packet, Anya setting them in the cardboard box in rows and layers.

Frank pulled Giulia aside. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that we’re going to get Katie back.”

“Jimmy will drive her, not you.”

“No he won’t,” Laurel said, handing money to Anya without pause. “He said no police. I’m not going to jeopardize Katie’s return.”

Jimmy looked as long-suffering as any martyred saint. “Ms. Drury, Ms. Sandov, I won’t try to force you into using myself or Detective Kane as your driver.”

“Good,” Laurel muttered.

“However, we have a great deal of experience in these situations. Here’s what I propose: Frank and I will park a block away in his car. I’ll have two men stationed nearby, watching for the ransom pickup. They’ll let us know what he’s wearing, what car he’s driving, and which way he’s headed. Then we’ll follow him.”

Anya stopped packing. “No. If you stop him, there is no guarantee they will return Katie to us.”

Jimmy and Frank exchanged looks. “That’s not the plan. We’ll follow him to discover where he lives, and stake that place out. He’ll likely make a move with the baby today or tomorrow.”

“That’s right,” Frank said. “The ransom money from the other kidnappings turned up in places far away from here. He’ll bolt with his wife—if it’s one of the two married guys—to spend it like drunk sailors on leave.”

“No he won’t, he has a job …” Giulia trailed off. “It could work. The resort closes on Christmas Eve and reopens on January third. Monica told me.”

The second officer came back into the kitchen. “When I got the resort owner to understand that she needed to handle this as low-key as possible, she woke right up. Said the courier will be at Driscoll’s in an hour and a half.”

Frank leaned into the archway between the kitchen and living room to look out the window. “Longer. The snow’s not letting up.”

Giulia imitated him. “Laurel, we have to leave. Is the box ready?”

“Ready,” Anya said.

“I’ll get my coat and boots.” Laurel ran into the abbreviated foyer.

Frank buttonholed Giulia. “Be careful. We’ll be right around the corner. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Don’t worry.” She broke away from him to put on her own boots.

Anya came over with their coats and the box. “Your gloves are in the pockets.” She handed Giulia a black knit hat and an oversized pair of sunglasses. “Here. A disguise. Drive safely. Don’t get pulled over.”

Giulia kissed her. “Not a chance.”

Laurel took the box. “Let’s go. My car’s in our garage.”

twenty-eight

Giulia tried driving twenty-five
miles per hour in Laurel’s Honda crossover. The road disagreed. She lowered her speed to twenty.

“We’ll get there in time. Don’t worry.”

“Why aren’t the plows working? School might be out for the week but people still have to get to work. Shit!” She clutched the Jesus Bar above her head as a taxi ran a yellow light less than two feet in front of them.

“It snows every year, people,” Giulia said at the taxi’s disappearing taillights. “Learn how to drive in it.”

The light changed. They fishtailed, but the tires caught pavement the moment after. The windshield wipers kept ahead of the storm as long as she kept warm air blasting at it. The back window heater was the only reason the mini-wiper had any effect on it at all.

“Three blocks. It’s only eight twenty. We’ll make it.” Giulia took one hand off the steering wheel to pat Laurel’s hands, but a patch of ice changed her plan.

“Stupid street signs are covered,” Laurel said. “I hate winter. I hate these roads. We have to get there. We have to.”

“We will. Stop that. Here’s the street. I’ve bought books at this bookstore a few times.” She scanned both sides of the street. “No parking spaces. All right, there it is. I’ll double park while you set the box in place.”

They were the only traffic at the moment. Giulia thanked God for small favors like this. Laurel jumped out, slipped, caught herself, and ran onto the unshoveled sidewalk. Fresh snow covered her boots and the bottom of her coat before she reached the side entrance. She kicked a spot clear and tucked the box as safely out of the wind and snow as she could. Turning right around, she skidded across the street—not checking for traffic—and jumped into the passenger seat.

“Let’s go.” She slammed the door. “Come on! I don’t want them to think we’re watching.” She jammed her fingers in the seat belt mechanism. “Ow!” The seat belt caught as the car spun its wheels. “Come on, Giulia!”

“I’m trying.” Giulia gritted her teeth and backed up a foot. She put it in drive and gave it a little gas … a little more … one more spin … and the tires caught. She pulled into the street. Still no traffic.

“Take my cell,” Giulia said. “Frank will call when they catch up to him.”

“They can’t risk Katie. They know that, right? She’s all that matters.”

“They know.” She swerved to avoid a car with a snow-covered back window backing out of a driveway. “Clean it off!” The tires spun again but Giulia found traction right away.

Laurel shook the phone. “Ring, damn you, ring.”

“Don’t break my phone.” The brake lights of the row of cars in front of them all lit at once. Giulia pumped the brakes and stopped less than a foot behind the last car. “Is the whole world trying to get to work at the same time?”

“He’s not calling. Why isn’t he calling?”

“Sweetie, please stop talking. I have to concentrate on the roads.”

“Sorry. Sorry, Giulia. I’m so scared. We’ve got to get her back. We’ve got to.”

Giulia infused “angry teacher” into her voice. “Laurel, please.”

The rest of the drive was a horns-blaring, tires-skidding, profanity-laden glimpse of Purgatory. Giulia muttered the old guardian angel prayer because she needed a supernatural jump-start for her driving skills. Two years of riding the bus five days a week had coated them in rust. She muttered it so often she could’ve been beta-testing a new version of the Rosary.

Her shoulder muscles introduced her to a whole new level of clenched when she finally pulled, without incident, into Laurel’s garage.
Thank you, Lord.

Laurel stared at the dark phone. “He didn’t call.” The frantic energy in her voice drained out.

“He will. Let’s go inside. He may have called the policeman there so he wouldn’t distract me in that hellbound traffic.”

They slogged through more unshoveled walks and stomped most of the snow off themselves and onto the porch.

“For what we pay in fees, each row of condos should have a dedicated cleaning minion,” Laurel muttered.

Anya flung open the door and wrapped her arms around Laurel. “I was so worried. Come in. I made tea. Giulia, thank you for driving her. Close the door. No, I’ll close it. You two get your coats off.” This time she draped their snow-clumped coats over the nearest chairs.

“No one called,” Laurel said.

“He hasn’t picked up the box yet.”

“What?” Giulia and Laurel said.

“How do you know?” Laurel clutched at Anya.

“Mr. Driscoll is on the phone with Detective Kane. He’s relaying word from the two planted officers as they report to Captain Reilly.”

Laurel tripped over herself running into the kitchen, Anya at her heels, Giulia right behind them. Kane’s phone lay on the table. The screen brightened as the three of them entered.

“Nothing yet.”

“Your partner’s back, Driscoll.”

“Good. Great roads, aren’t they, Giulia? Having second thoughts about the reliable, heated, comfortable bus?”

“Not on your life. Stick to the topic at hand, please.”

Jimmy’s voice said something Giulia didn’t catch.

“Guy approaching wearing gray parka … Nope. He walked past.”

Laurel sipped hot tea too fast and hissed.

Jimmy’s voice again. Frank talked over it. “Another man. Dark ski-type jacket. Dark hat with earflaps … Stopping … Come on, asshole, take the bait …”

Laurel’s mug crashed onto the counter.

“He’s bending over the stairs … he’s screening the box from the street.”

Anya and Laurel clutched each other.

Frank continued with more undertones from Jimmy. “He’s moving. He’s got the box. Come to Frankie, scumbag.”

Jimmy’s voice: “Shut up, Driscoll.”

Kane struggled to hide a smile.

Frank’s voice: “We’re following him. He headed east on Muegel.” A curse interrupted him. “Use the turn signal, moron!”

Giulia leaned over the phone. “Focus, Frank.”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s turning onto Lake. Bastard’s making better time on foot than we are on these roads. Shit, Jimmy, don’t brake so hard.”

“You want me to plow into that pickup?”

“Just don’t lose him.”

“I know my job.” Silence. “I’m going to retire to Texas and raise longhorns. As far south as I can get and still be in the States.”

“You’re years from retirement. Somehow I don’t picture Eileen telling the family that they’re having Crown Roast of Bessie for Christmas dinner.” Frank’s voice got louder. “He’s getting into a car. License plate … Echo Zulu … uh … no, zero … uh … eight … no … shit, he pulled into traffic.”

“Turn up the defroster while I navigate.” Jimmy’s voice sounded distant.

Giulia heard the louder hiss.

“That pickup’s seen better days. It’s snowing harder. Giulia, talk to God, will you? We can follow criminals better if the weather cooperates.”

“Been doing that all day.”

“Damn this weather. Shut up, Driscoll. I have to concentrate.”

Giulia leaned closer, but all she heard was creaks and breathing. She glanced at Anya and Laurel; they were still imitating a piece of sculpture.

“Dammit, where are the salt trucks?” Jimmy’s voice. “My tires aren’t exactly new—shit!”

Giulia stared at the phone as though by force of will she could change the audio to a video feed. Only silence came from the speaker. She touched it to revive the screen and confirm that the connection was still open.

Jimmy’s voice came through at last. “We lost him. That idiot in the pickup must’ve hit black ice. We’re staring at a three-car crash in the intersection fifty feet from us.”

“Please tell me the kidnapper’s in that pile-up,” Giulia said.

“No. He got through the intersection before it happened.”

“Shi—” Giulia stopped herself.

“We’re coming back. Kane, give what Frank caught of the license plate to the geeks and have them run a search. Be there as soon as we can.”