The Abduction

47

From the small observation tank adjacent to the FBI interrogation room, Allison watched in solitude as Harley Abrams and another agent debriefed the two surviving gang members. The audio was fed to her through a small speaker. A one-way mirror allowed her to see all without being seen.

Harley had been working hard on the younger one—the one who had seemed most determined to steal Allison’s suitcase. The teenager was seated in a folding chair, slouching irreverently in the center of the yellow room. Harley stood directly in front of him, firing questions. The other agent sat at the small table against the wall. When they’d first brought him in, the kid wouldn’t talk. His tune quickly changed when Harley made it plain that he’d better start explaining if he didn’t want to be the number-one suspect in the Kristen Howe kidnapping.
Allison had watched his reaction carefully. He’d seemed genuinely shocked—as if Harley’s accusation was the first he’d ever heard of a possible link to a larger conspiracy. Twenty-five minutes later, the kid was still babbling.
He rolled back his head in response to another question, seemingly bored by the repetition. “Man, I told you five times already. I don’t know nothing about no kidnapping. All I know is that some dude paid Jessie a thousand bucks for us to follow the bitch in the blue coat onto the Metro at Judiciary Square.”
“And then what?”
“I told you.”
“Tell me again,” he said, pressing for inconsistencies in his statement. So far, there were none.
“We was just supposed to wait. If the bitch was still on the train between Sandy Springs and Forest Glen, the deal was we’d grab the suitcase. We’d get another five grand if we get him the suitcase.”
“Get it for who?”
“I dunno. Jessie know who.”
“Jessie’s dead.”
“That’s your f*cking problem, isn’t it?”
Allison lowered her head. Harley had been over this same line of questioning several times. The answers were always the same. She could tell the kid wasn’t lying. They were just punks—sacrificial lambs sent by a kidnapper who knew the FBI was waiting in the wings. The only thing she disputed was the part about Jessie’s death. It wasn’t Harley’s problem. It was hers.
The phone rang in her purse—the private phone that only a handful of people ever rang. She answered quickly.
It was Tanya Howe.
“I’m sorry, Tanya. I promised I wouldn’t let you down, and I did. I’m still trying to figure out what went wrong.”
“The FBI—that’s what went wrong. Somehow the kidnappers know when they’re involved. I don’t know if they’re tipped off, or if the kidnappers are just savvy enough to sense when law enforcement is around. Either way, if I don’t keep the FBI out of it, Kristen’s going to die. That’s their final word.”
“Have you heard something?”
“Yes. I got a package this morning—after your disaster. A picture of Kristen. We think she’s still alive. A warning, too. No more FBI.”
“Tanya, this may be hard for you to swallow in light of everything that’s happened. But I personally don’t believe that you’re better off without the FBI. Trust me. You need them.”
“Forget it! It’s my call now. You can come with me or stay behind. But leave your army at home.”
“I don’t know what to say. Let’s assume the kidnapper gives us another chance. Let’s say Kristen’s alive, and they want me, personally, to deliver the ransom—just like before. I can’t say I’m eager to do it without the protection of the FBI.”
“Well, maybe you won’t have to do it.”
“Time will tell.”
“It may not take as much time as you think. I have a package here for you, too. It came with mine.”
“What’s in it?”
“I haven’t opened it. It simply says that I’m to deliver it to you. Where do you want to meet?”
“We don’t have time to meet. Just get the FBI to open it.”
“No.”
“Tanya,” she said sternly. “It’s my package. Do as I say.”
“It’s my daughter,” she said in a shrill, shaky voice. “It’s time somebody does what I say. So listen to me. Your package came inside my package, and my package said to keep the FBI out of this. I’m keeping the FBI out. Period.”
Allison sensed it was futile to try to change Tanya’s mind—and part of her sensed that maybe Tanya was right. “Okay, Tanya. We’ll do it your way. But we don’t have time to meet. Somebody has to open that package and tell me what’s inside.”
“I’ll open it.”
“Too dangerous,” said Allison. “Could be booby-trapped.”
“The FBI scanned it already, when they scanned mine. It’s clear.”
“All right,” said Allison. “Then you open it. But be careful not to get your fingers all over it. I know you don’t want the FBI involved, but someday we may want the lab to analyze it.”
“I watched the FBI agent open my package. I’ll be just as careful.”
Over the phone, Allison could hear the envelope tearing open. She held her breath and waited.
“It’s open,” said Tanya. “It’s a photograph. A young girl. Blond hair. Fair complexion. She’s wearing a plaid jumper, like a school uniform.”
“How old does she look?”
“I don’t know. Maybe eight or nine.”
Her excitement swelled. “Where is she?”
“Can’t really tell. Looks like there may be a school in the background. Like somebody took the picture from across the street while she was on the playground. She’s definitely not posing for the picture. It looks more like somebody took it without her even knowing it. There’s another photograph here, too.”
“What is it?”
“It’s another picture of the same girl, only a lot more close up. It really zeroes in on the side of her face. Not her cheek, but the part that’s closer to the ear. Like where a man would have sideburns.”
Allison swallowed hard. “What do you see?”
“Just her profile. Same happy expression, just like the other picture.”
“Which side of her face is it?”
“The left.”
“Do you notice anything? Birthmarks, moles, anything like that?”
“Yes, actually. She has four little moles right in front of her ear. Fairly distinctive. If you took a pencil and connected the dots they’d form a perfect little square box—like the markings on a pair of dice.”
Allison went cold. Her eyes welled with tears as she brought a hand to her mouth. She could barely speak. “Dear God in heaven. It’s Emily.”