Cap realized it was his turn to talk, after the Fed had debriefed them on the interview with McKie, and Junior had instructed Ralz to bring in Alex Chaney for questioning. He tapped his fingertip on the Fast-Forward button on the recorder and gave them the highlights.
“After Kylie leaves with Marsh, McKie and Dena give Bailey some food and water and tell her she’s going home soon, so she does what they tell her for two days; she notices they nod off on the couch around the same time every night. I’m guessing that’s when they shot up or took their Vikes or whatever. So on the third night she waits until they’re asleep and then tries getting out the back door. McKie comes to and catches her, ties her by the wrist to the bed with an extension cord.
“She said he and Dena started fighting, fed her less, kept her tied up and made her pee in a cup. That was the last two days. Then we showed up.”
“Did she hear Marsh say anything about the man with the money?” said Traynor.
Cap held his fingertip to the Fast-Forward button.
“Just one thing,” he said.
He let go, clicked up the sound.
“I know this is hard,” said Cap on the recorder. “Was Kylie upset to leave you…when she and Evan left?”
“Yeah,” said Bailey, sounding even younger and squeakier than eight years old. “We were, like, hugging and crying.” Bailey’s voice shook and rattled. “Evan said it would be okay; he’d bring Kylie back soon and we could see our mom soon….”
“What did Kylie say?”
“She told him she didn’t want to leave me there, in the cabin, with John and Dena. And he was like, we’ll be right back after we visit your friend.”
Cap tapped the Stop button.
Traynor looked at the Fed, then Vega, then Cap. He shrugged and shook his head at the same time.
“Your friend,” said Vega.
“Yes,” Cap said. “Bailey, quoting Marsh, who says your friend to Kylie.”
“I heard that,” said Traynor. “You’re thinking that means Kylie knows the moneyman?”
“Maybe,” said Cap.
Traynor turned to the Fed and nodded.
“Easily a slip of the tongue or memory,” said the Fed. “It’s a stretch.”
“Sure,” said Cap. “Stack it up is all I’m saying.”
Traynor waved his hand in the air directly above his head. Reminded Cap of the white-wigged politicians in British Parliament he’d seen on TV.
“So noted,” said Traynor, a red light flashing over his face. “Captain,” he said to Junior, aggravated, “pull over and let all this pass.”
Junior pulled over, and they all watched the caravan: the Whites’ car containing Jamie and her parents and aunt and Bailey, the lawyer’s car close behind, two state police, three local, and then the news vans—ten that had become twenty while the authorities had been conducting the interviews in the hospital.
A helicopter cut the air above them, hanging low like a mosquito. Cap lowered his window, leaned his head out and peered up, shutting one eye to the rough wind from the rotors. The sound amplified and became less choppy, turned into a booming rumble. There was something strangely peaceful about it; Cap had the feeling that if he closed his eyes and opened his arms the gust might lift him up, he might rise and float—until a voice or a car horn shocked him awake, brought him back down fast.
16
Vega watched the TV in the break room back at the police station, saw Jamie hobbling out of the hospital clutching Bailey to her side, Sam the lawyer stepping between them and the cameras, then Hollows, Cap, herself. Her eye twitched when she saw her face on the screen, the gravel scratches and the bandage, the bruise around her eyebrow. It all looked worse than it felt, although now that the last of the drugs had worn off, the pain was manifesting as weariness, joints and muscles cracked and stretched. She swallowed the rest of the room-temp Lipton tea from the cup in her hand.
“Vega.”
It was Hollows in the doorway. He nodded at her, and she nodded at him, and the nods meant that she should follow him. They went to Traynor’s office, where Vega felt like she had missed something. It was Traynor behind his desk and Cap leaning on the wall, the Fed and the Fed’s boss, who was silver haired and looked like a businessman instead of an agent—tie clip, cuff links, clean lines on the pants. He was tired in the face though, thin but swollen skin under the eyes and jawline. He spoke quietly.
“This is Miss Vega?”
“Yes, sir,” said the Fed. “Miss Vega, this is my supervisor, Special Agent Gatlin.”
Gatlin stood and shook her hand, glanced and read the screen on the tablet in his other hand.
“Miss Vega, I understand you shot and wounded a key witness in this investigation, and now she is unresponsive?”
He did that question-mark ending, reserved for lawyers and teenage girls. It was difficult to know if he actually wanted an answer. He closed the cover on his tablet.
“That’s not the ideal outcome,” he said to her, as if they were the only two in the room. “I imagine you’ll have to appear before a grand jury at some point.”
“Is this really your jurisdiction, sir?” said Cap, agitated.
“Caplan—” said Traynor.
The Fed rubbed his eyes.
“No, let’s just hold on,” said Cap, coming off the wall. “You’re coming in here and threatening my partner with indictment after she acted in self-defense and defense of a minor. We don’t need that kind of help. She doesn’t give a shit if she goes before a grand jury. She doesn’t give a shit if she goes to jail.”
Gatlin smiled thoughtfully, like he was doing math in his head, and said, “What a relief that must be.”
“Yes, it is,” said Cap. He patted his hand over the middle of his chest, flattening an invisible tie. “It’s fucking heavenly. So, sir, do you have anything you can bring to this case, or did you just come here to slap us on the wrist? Because if that’s the case, however much the Bureau paid for your plane ticket, it seems like too much.”
Vega knew he was tired, could hear the cords straining in his throat, could see his eyes watering as he got more and more pissed off.
For just a second, the room was quiet and airless, and in that peculiar space Vega thought of him unclasping her bra and wondered if he could do it with one hand.
Traynor coughed as an intro and said, “Sir, we’ve all been working round the clock here, and I think what Mr. Caplan is getting at is we’ve made it a point not to get caught up in digressions. Do you have anything new for us?”
“Just one thing,” Gatlin said, not angry, no longer bemused.
Vega got the impression nothing moved him much in any direction.
He opened his tablet again and tapped the screen. He showed it to Traynor but spoke to the room.
“We’ve been re-examining the Ashley Cahill and Sydney McKenna cases,” he began.
“Re-examining?” said Cap. “Aren’t they still open?”
Gatlin turned to him and poked his tongue around his cheek. Traynor touched one finger to his temple like he was about to tell the future. Vega felt a laugh shudder through her chest and throat; she kept her mouth shut tight.
“Yes, Mr. Caplan, they are open, just a bit chilly. We found one more connection—both Ashley and Sydney took ballet classes at small studios.”
“So did Kylie,” said Vega.