“Me?”
“Lock your doors. Don’t let anybody in. We’re on our way. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
It took them closer to ten, even with TJ’s aggressive—he called it “assertive”—driving; the roads were crowded with tourists getting an early start on the weekend. They skidded to a stop in front of the house and walked to the front door. Dance knocked. The writer answered a moment later. He glanced past her at TJ, then scanned the street. The agents stepped inside.
Nagle closed the door. His shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry.” The writer’s voice broke. “He told me if I gave anything away on the phone, he’d kill my family. I’m so sorry.”
Daniel Pell, standing behind the door, touched the back of her head with a pistol.
Chapter 49
“It’s my friend. The cat to my mouse. With the funny name. KathrynDance …”
Nagle continued, “When you phoned, your number came up on caller ID. He made me tell him who it was. I had to say everything was fine. I didn’t want to. But my children. I—”
“It’s all right—” she began.
“Shhhhh, Mr. Writer and Ms. Interrogator. Shush.”
In the bedroom to the left, Dance could see Nagle’s family lying belly-down on the floor, their hands on top of their heads. His wife, Joan, and the children—teenage Eric and young, round Sonja. Rebecca was sitting on the bed over them, holding a knife. She gazed at Dance without a fleck of emotion.
The only reason the family weren’t dead, Dance knew, was that Pell was controlling Nagle through them.
Patterns…
“Come on out here, baby, lend a hand.”
Rebecca slid off the bed and joined them.
“Get their guns and phones.” Pell held the gun to Dance’s ear while Rebecca took her weapon. Then Pell told her to cuff herself.
She did.
“Not tight enough.” He squeezed the bracelets and Dance winced.
They did the same with TJ and pushed both of them down on the couch.
“Watch it,” TJ muttered.
Pell said to Dance, “Listen to me. You listening?”
“Yes.”
“Is anybody else coming?”
“I didn’t call anyone.”
“That’s not what I asked. You, being the ace interrogator, ought to know that.” The essence of calm.
“As far as I know, no. I was coming here to ask Morton some questions.”
Pell set their phones on a coffee table. “If anybody calls you, tell them that everything’s fine. You’ll be back at your headquarters in an hour or so. But you can’t talk now. We clear on that? If not, I pick one of the kiddies in there and—”
“Clear,” she said.
“Now, no more words from anybody. We’ve—”
“This is not smart,” TJ said.
No, no, Dance thought. Let him control you! With Daniel Pell you can’t be defiant.
Pell stepped up to him and, almost leisurely, touched his gun to the man’s throat. “What did I tell you?”
The young man’s flippancy was gone. “Not to say a word.”
“But you did say something. Why would you do that? What a stupid, stupid thing to do.”
He’s going to kill him, Dance thought. Please, no. “Pell, listen to me—”
“You’re talking too,” the killer said, and swung the gun toward her.
“I’m sorry,” TJ whispered.
“That’s more words.”
Pell turned to Dance. “I’ve got a few questions for you and your little friend here. But in a minute. You sit tight, enjoy the scene of domestic bliss.” Then he said to Nagle, “Keep going.”
Nagle returned to what was apparently the task Dance and TJ had interrupted: It seemed he was burning all of his notes and research material.
Pell watched the bonfire and added absently, “And if you miss something and I find it, I will cut your wife’s fingers off. Then start on your kids’. And quit crying. It’s not dignified. Have some control.”
Ten agonizing minutes of silence passed as Nagle found his notes and tossed them into the fire.
Dance knew that as soon as he finished, and Pell learned from her and TJ what he needed to know, they’d be dead.
Nagle’s wife was sobbing. She said, “Leave us alone, please, please, anything…I’ll do anything.
Please…”
Dance glanced into the bedroom, where she lay beside Sonja and Eric. The little girl was crying pathetically.
“Quiet there, Mrs. Writer.”
Dance glanced at her watch, partly obscured by the cuffs. She imagined what her own children were doing now. The thought was too painful, though, and she forced herself to concentrate on what was happening in the room.
Was there anything she could do?
Bargain with him? But to bargain you need something of value the other person wants.
Resist? But to resist you need weapons.
“Why are you doing this?” Nagle moaned, as the last of the notes went up in flames.
“Hush there.”
Pell rose and stirred the fire with a poker to keep the pages burning. He dusted his hands off. He held up his sooty fingers. “Makes me feel at home. I’ve been fingerprinted probably fifty times in my life. I can always tell the new clerks. Their hands shake when they roll your fingers. Okay, then.” He turned to Dance. “Now, I understand from your call earlier to Mr. Writer here you figured out about Rebecca.
Which is what I have to talk to you about. What do you know about us? And who else knows it? We’ve got to make some plans and we need to know what to do next. And understand this, Agent Dance, you’re not the only one who can spot liars at fifty paces. I have that gift too. You and me, we’re naturals.”
Whether she lied or not didn’t matter. They were all dead.
“Oh, and I should say that Rebecca found another address for me. The home of one Stuart Dance.”
Dance felt this news like a slap in the face. She struggled to keep from being sick. A wash of heat, scalding water, enveloped her face and chest.