“Ask him.”
Marco hears voices in the background, and then Anne comes back on the line. “He says he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t tell the police. Why?”
Should he believe Richard? “Put your father on the phone,” Marco says.
“What’s going on?” Richard says into the cell.
“I need to be able to trust you,” Marco says. “I need to know you didn’t alert the police.”
“I didn’t. I said I wouldn’t.”
“Tell me the truth. If the police are watching, I’m not going. I can’t take the risk that he might smell a trap and kill Cora.”
“I swear, I didn’t tell them. Just go get her, for Christ’s sake!” Richard sounds almost as panicked as Marco feels.
Marco hangs up the phone and drives.
? ? ?
Richard Dries paces his daughter’s living room, his heart knocking against his ribs. He glances at his wife and daughter, hunched together on the couch, and quickly looks away again. He is on edge and intensely frustrated with his son-in-law.
He has never liked Marco. And now—for Christ’s sake—how could Marco even think about not going to the rendezvous? He could blow everything! Richard takes another worried look at his wife and daughter and keeps pacing.
He can at least understand why Marco might think Richard has called the police. From the beginning, when Marco insisted they not tell the cops, Richard had taken the opposite stand—he’d argued for telling them about the exchange, but he’d been overruled. He'd told them that five million dollars is a lot of money, even for them. He’d told them that he wasn’t convinced that Cora was still alive. But he’d also said that he wouldn’t tell the police, and he has not. He hadn’t expected Marco to doubt him at the last minute and put everything at risk by not going to the exchange.
He’d better fucking show up. There is too much at stake here for Marco to lose his nerve.
? ? ?
Thirty minutes later Marco arrives at the designated spot. It’s a half hour outside the city by highway, and almost another thirty minutes northwest, up a smaller highway and then off a desolate rural road. They’d chosen an abandoned farm property with an old garage at the end of the long driveway. Marco drives up to the garage and parks the car in front of it. The garage door is closed. The place appears to be deserted, but Bruce must be somewhere nearby, watching.
Cora will be in the garage. Marco feels light-headed—this nightmare is almost over.
Marco gets out of the car. He leaves the money in the trunk and walks up to the garage door. He grabs the handle. It’s stiff, but he gives it a good tug. The door goes up with a loud rumble. It’s dim inside, especially after coming in from the bright sunlight. He listens intently. Nothing. Maybe Cora is asleep. Then he sees an infant car seat resting on the dirt floor in the far corner with a white blanket draped over the handle. He recognizes the blanket as Cora’s. He rushes over to the car seat, reaches down, and pulls off the blanket.
The seat is empty. He stands up in horror, staggering backward. He feels as though the breath has been knocked out of him. The car seat is here, her blanket is here, but Cora is not. Is this some kind of sick joke? Or a double cross? Marco’s heart is pounding in his ears. He hears a noise behind him and whirls around, but he’s not fast enough. He feels a sharp pain in his head and falls heavily to the floor of the garage.
When Marco comes to a few minutes later—he doesn’t know how many—he rises slowly to his hands and knees, then to his feet. He’s groggy and dizzy, and his head is thumping with pain. He stumbles outside. His car is still there, in front of the garage, the trunk open. He staggers over to look inside. The money—five million dollars—is gone. Of course. Marco is left behind with an empty car seat and Cora’s baby blanket. No Cora. His cell phone is in the car, on the front seat, but he can’t bear to call Anne.
He should call the police, but he doesn’t want to do that either.
He is a fool. He gives a bellow of pain and sinks to the ground.
? ? ?
Anne waits in a fever of impatience. She shrugs her mother off, wringing her hands in anxiety. What is going on? What is taking so long? They should have heard from Marco twenty minutes ago. Something must be wrong.
Her parents are agitated as well. “What the hell is he doing?” Richard growls. “If he didn’t go get her because he’s afraid I sent the police, I’ll throttle him with my own hands.”
“Should we call his cell?” Anne says.
“I don’t know,” Richard says. “Let’s give it a few more minutes.”
Five minutes later no one can stand the suspense any longer. “I’m going to call him,” Anne says. “He was supposed to get her half an hour ago. What if something went wrong? He would call if he could. What if they killed him! Something terrible has happened!”
Anne’s mother jumps up and tries to put her arms around her daughter, but Anne pushes her away almost violently. “I’m calling him,” she says, and hits Marco’s number on speed dial.
Marco’s cell phone rings and rings. It goes to voice mail. Anne is too stunned to do anything but stare straight ahead of her. “He’s not answering.” Her whole body is shaking.
“We have to call the police now,” Richard says, looking stricken. “No matter what Marco said. Marco could be in trouble.” He pulls out his own cell and calls Detective Rasbach from his list of contacts.
Rasbach picks up on the second ring. “Rasbach,” he says.
“It’s Richard Dries. My son-in-law has gone to make an exchange with the kidnappers. He was supposed to call us at least a half hour ago. And he’s not answering his cell. We’re afraid something has gone wrong.”
“Jesus, why weren’t we told about this?” Rasbach says. “Never mind. Just give me the details.” Richard quickly fills him in and gives him the location of the exchange. They’ve kept the original ransom note. Marco had taken a photocopy to guide him.
“I’m on my way. In the meantime we’ll have local police get there ASAP,” Rasbach says. “We’ll be in touch.” Then he hangs up.
“The police are on their way out there,” Anne’s father tells her. “All we can do is wait.”
“I’m not waiting. You take us, in your car,” Anne says.
? ? ?
Marco is still sitting in the dirt, slumped against one of the Audi’s front tires, when the police cruiser pulls up. He doesn’t even lift his head. It’s all over now. Cora must be dead. He has been double-crossed. Whoever has her has the money; there’s no reason to keep her alive now.
How could he have been so stupid? Why had he trusted Bruce Neeland? He can’t remember now why he had trusted him—his mind has shut down in his grief and fear. There’s nothing to do now but confess. Anne will hate him. He is so sorry. For Cora, for Anne, what he’s done to them. The two people he most loves in the world.
He had been greedy. He’d persuaded himself that it wasn’t stealing if it was Anne’s parents’ money—Anne would inherit it all eventually anyway, but they needed some of it now. No one was supposed to get hurt. When he and Bruce had planned it, it had never occurred to Marco that Cora would be in any actual danger. It was supposed to be a victimless crime.
But now Cora is gone. He doesn’t know what Bruce has done with her. And he doesn’t know how to find her.
Two uniformed officers get slowly out of the police car. They walk over to where Marco is slumped against the Audi.
“Marco Conti?” one of the officers asks.
Marco doesn’t respond.
“Are you alone?”
Marco ignores him. The officer pulls his radio to his mouth as his partner squats beside Marco. He asks, “Are you hurt?”
But Marco has gone into shock. He says nothing. He has obviously been weeping. The officer standing beside him puts his radio away, draws his weapon, and goes into the garage, fearing the worst. He sees the infant car seat, the white blanket thrown on the dirt floor in front of it, but no baby. He comes back out quickly.