“No! They said they’d kill her! Don’t call the police!” He was wide-eyed, grabbing me by the shoulders.
I was starting to reassess things. Not about calling the police. That was the only thing that made sense. I was reassessing Trevor. His panic was genuine. It was possible that he really had nothing to do with this.
“Trevor, you have to calm down. We have to get the police working on this right now, as fast as we—”
“They said they’d know.”
“What?”
“They said they’d know. That they have people in the police, people who tell them things, that if you call 911, if you call the cops, they’ll know, and then they’ll kill Angie.”
Kill Angie.
The world spun. For an instant, I had an image of Angie, sitting in a highchair, laughing, chocolate pudding on her nose.
“That’s crazy,” I said, freeing the phone from Trevor’s grasp. “They’re just bluffing.”
But I found myself hesitating, knowing I should punch in 911, but not quite able to do it.
“No.” Trevor shook his head violently. “They weren’t bluffing. I could tell. They said they’d know instantly.”
I swallowed. “Trevor, tell me what happened. From the beginning.”
“They jumped out of a truck and they took her. They tried to start the car, but it wouldn’t work, so they took Angie instead.”
“What do you mean? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Shut up! Just shut up! Let me try to explain.” There were tears running down his cheeks now, and when he went to wipe them away, his hand brushed his hair. When he saw the blood on his hand, he looked at it, baffled, then touched his head where his hair was black.
“We have to get you to a hospital,” I said.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I don’t even feel it.” He sniffed, took a couple of breaths, tried to compose himself. “I came over to say hi to Angie, and then this truck, this SUV pulls up.”
“Did you notice what kind it was?”
He blinked, tried to think. “One of those army kinds of ones. An Annihilator, I think.”
“Tinted windows?”
“Uh, I, I guess. I think so.”
“Okay, go on.”
“So it stops behind Angie’s car, they’ve got her blocked in, and they tell her to get out of the car, and she starts fighting with them.”
“Go on.”
For a moment, I thought maybe this wasn’t happening, that it was a dream. That I wasn’t here, in the middle of the night, on a street I rarely traveled, prying information out of some teenage stalker, whose motives I was still unsure of, about the whereabouts of my daughter. It simply couldn’t be happening.
“And one of them, he gets in the car, but he can’t get it to start, and he starts going nuts, banging on the steering wheel and swearing and everything. By now, there are people coming out, up there, on their balconies, and one of the other guys says they have to get out of there, they’re attracting too much attention.”
“Okay.”
“So another one says, he says, ‘Grab the girl, we’ll trade her for the car,’ and they drag Angie, right into the truck.”
Another flash. Angie, five years old, first day of kindergarten.
“But the one guy, I think the one who’d been driving, he comes up to me, he says, ‘You know the man owns this car?’ And I said yes, and he says, ‘Is this his daughter?’ and I said yes, and he says to tell you, he says, if you want your daughter back, get this car running and bring it to him, and he’ll give you Angie back.”
“Take it to him? Where am I supposed to take it?”
“He didn’t say.”
“He didn’t say?” Now I had my hands on him again, ready to shake him until his head fell off. “You didn’t ask him where I’m supposed to fucking take the car?”
“He said he’d be in touch! Jesus!” Trevor pushed me away. “He’d be in touch soon. And then he told me not to call the cops, to tell you not to call the cops, that they’ve got people in the force, that if you call the cops they’ll know. And then”—he put his hand back to his blood-soaked hair, touched it tentatively—“I guess, I think he hit me.”
“Why did they want the car?” I asked him. “Why do they want this car?”
“I don’t know!”
We were both quiet for a moment. I moved closer to Trevor, forced him up against the side of the Camry again. I leaned in.
“Trevor, I want you to be very straight with me. Did you have anything to do with this?”
“What?”
“Did you have anything to do with this? Because if you did, I swear to God . . .” I felt my fist forming again. “Do you know who took Angie away?”
“Are you kidding? Are you out of your fucking mind? Do you have any idea what Angie means to me?”
“No,” I said. “Suppose you tell me.”