Blake nodded at Armstrong. Fletcher watched her move toward the mike as though she’d done this a hundred times. She was pretty young to be putting off the been there, done that attitude. But she cleared her throat before she started to speak and wiped an invisible hair back from her face, a tiny self-conscious gesture, and Fletcher realized he was wrong. She was scared to death. It made him root for her.
“Thanks, Captain. We appreciate all your help here. As you know, Rachel was last seen by the main zoo entrance on Connecticut Avenue. Her nanny was talking with another nanny, and swears she only took her eyes off her for a second. We’ve done a background check on the Stevenses’ nanny. She’s Guatemalan, here legally, and so far, everything she says checks out. She seems to be a cautious and concerned player, not a suspect.
“There are cameras galore in the area, but a sweep has turned up nothing. Metro canvass is still ongoing, but they haven’t drummed up any leads, either. Whoever did this was very careful, and managed to keep off-video. We’re set up on the family’s home phone and cells in case a ransom demand comes in, and my team has started deconstructing the Stevenses’ lives to see why someone might want to take their little girl. Because this seems like a professional snatch, we’d like to think there will be a ransom demand.”
Fletcher put up a hand. “A professional snatch? Agent Blake, what do the parents do?”
She nodded at him in appreciation. “Mr. Stevens works for an aerospace company in Bethesda, Lockheed Martin, and Mrs. Stevens is a legal attaché to the State Department. She is currently out of the country, and is expected back late tonight. They both have high-level security clearances and work with classified materials.”
Agent Blake’s demeanor, the mother’s job at the State Department, the idea of a professional kidnapping... It sounded to him as though Mrs. Stevens might be working for more than the State Department, maybe was a CIA asset. They were thick as flies around town lately, it seemed. Which upped all this to the next level. If this wasn’t a sicko after a little girl, but a terrorist trying to make a point, they could be dealing with a whole new level of crazy.
Agent Blake continued the briefing, running through the protocols her team had in place. Fletcher listened with half an ear. Snatching a little girl off a busy street in the middle of the day was quite a feat. There had to be more than one person involved. He knew the area where she’d gone missing. It was heavily populated, busy, two Metro stops nearby, lots of foot traffic and vehicle traffic. The National Zoo hosted daily field trips; there were busloads of excited kids running around. Add in the usual contingent of people wandering the streets and he could see why they chose the zoo to snatch her from. It was busy and crowded, and in all the confusion, a single kid could disappear easily.
What a couple of days. The eyes of the dead boy from yesterday crept into his thoughts, and he looked at the notepad in front of him to realize he’d drawn that crime scene, captured the boy’s empty, horrified look quite well.
“Fletcher? Yo, earth to Fletch?”
Hart was poking him in the ribs with a pencil.
“Stop it, you jerk.”
Hart pointed toward the front of the room, where their boss, Captain Armstrong, stood frowning at them, hands on his hips in exasperation.
Fletcher raised an apologetic brow. He ripped off the page and balled it up. “Sir?”
“Fletcher, I need you to run point with Agent Blake. If you’re through with your nap, that is.” The homicide detectives tittered, and the FBI agents had the audacity to look amused.
Fletch gave them a lazy smile. Go ahead, laugh it up. You’ll regret it later. “No, sir. I’m fine. No problem.”
“Good. Come on, people. Let’s get our asses in gear and head out. Find this girl. We don’t need another hit this year.”
Another hit. They all knew what he meant. D.C. had been under siege from terror attempts and drug wars for the past few months, and it was wearing on everyone. You could only keep your people on high alert for so long before things began falling through the cracks. It was one of the reasons Fletcher begged off the JTTF. The pressure there was obscene.
They all got to their feet. Armstrong called out, “Fletch, my office, please,” and there was a round of boos and hisses. Fletch flipped his colleagues the bird and went to his boss’s glass-walled office.
“Shut the door,” Armstrong snapped.
He did. “Sorry about that, Cap. I’ve had a lot going on.”
“I know. What were you doing in Lynchburg?”
“Chasing a dead end, I think. Dr. Owens received a letter from a dead man asking for her to investigate his murder. I wanted to be sure nothing went south. She posted the guy, sent some lab work up with me. I don’t see it going too far.” He hoped.