And Then There Was One (13 page)

Maxwell eased out of bed and shuffled in the nude to his bathroom. He’d forgotten to set an alarm, but a glance at the clock told him it was only ten thirty, plenty of time to make his noon meeting in Ybor City. He found a bottle of Tylenol and downed three gelcaps with the bottled water he kept nearby. That should calm the nagging headache that plagued him every morning after he’d had more than a couple of drinks.

His erection had not subsided and Maxwell felt a particular longing to call Adam just to hear his sweet tenor voice for the last time. And, to make sure that the boy was ensconced in that villa in Nevis. Maxwell took out his wallet to find the phone number of the isolated house on the beach. As he pulled it out, a photo of him with Adam on a sailboat on Tampa Bay fell out. Maxwell bent to pick it up. They looked so perfect together. Both tan and lean. Adam trimmer, but he
was
twenty-plus years younger. Adam was gazing at him with those expressive gorgeous turquoise eyes. The kid looked so hot that Maxwell felt a delicious pulse harden his erection. Too bad that that gorgeous specimen of a boy had to be destroyed. But the stakes were high, and there’d been no choice.

Heading toward his dressing room, Maxwell slipped on yesterday’s underwear and pulled on sweat pants and a polo shirt from the dirty laundry. He was usually meticulous about his grooming, but today he was not himself. No wonder, he thought, it was mid-morning and he needed a caffeine fix. So he merely brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his thick head of auburn-tinted hair.

As he passed a mirror on the way to the kitchen, a silly smile appeared on his face. Still a stud, he said to himself. The smile turned to a grimace when he searched his cupboard and realized that he was out of coffee of any type and that the bread on the counter was marbled with blue mold. At least the orange juice was fresh, so he poured himself a glass and tried to read the newspaper. The story of the missing Monroe girls dominated the news, and he read every word. He felt exhilarated that Dr. Kate Monroe was reduced to begging for the life of her daughters, but he also felt worried. The job was not yet done.

“Have to have coffee. Have to think this through.” He spoke aloud to no one as he ran his fingers through rumpled hair. “Go to Starbucks.”

Once he had his brain fired up, he’d consider his other problems: how to replace that money he’d taken from his company to pay the hit man, soon his accountants would start asking questions; figure out what the FBI might have learned from searching his home; find out whether he could get his lawyer to bring some kind of charges on the feds for invading his privacy; make plans to get his sons back home.

He’d been too exhausted to think about it last night, but he’d have to do a careful mental inventory of his computer hard drive. Had he left anything that could implicate him? Were there other precautions he should take? But he wasn’t overly worried. He was smarter than them all.

But first things first. He retrieved the money from his safe and packed it in a large plastic shopping bag. A guy in sweats hauling a Kmart bag would hardly be worth a glance.

On the way to Starbucks, Maxwell found a pay phone near a strip mall. Needing to check on Adam, he dialed the Nevis exchange using an untraceable phone card. No answer. He let it ring fifteen times. Tampa summers are blistering, and sweat started to pour down his face. Thinking he may have misdialed, he tried again. Still, no answer. Adam should be there. He wasn’t supposed to leave. It was critical that no one on the island see him. Maxwell had been precise: arrival by boat at night, avoiding all immigration and passport checks. Why wasn’t the boy answering the phone? Then with a start, Maxwell tapped his head. He’d specifically told Adam not to respond to the phone or the door. And no way could he risk e-mail.

Maxwell breathed a loud sigh and cursed himself. He should have set up some kind of code so they could communicate. Still, he couldn’t dismiss Adam from his mind as he drove through Tampa to his meeting in Ybor City. What if Adam couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants? What if he was out walking the beach, picking up another rich patron? The fucking boy knew that he was Adonis personified.

Scott and Katie and Jackie arrived at the FBI field office on Michigan Avenue at ten thirty a.m. They did not have a specific appointment, but Streeter told them that they could spend as much time at bureau headquarters as they wished. He’d been careful to emphasize that they need not come in, assuring them that he’d make immediate contact if any information came in. They were now heading into the third day without a sliver of helpful information as to the whereabouts of Alex and Sammie Monroe.

Why had no one come forward with a ransom demand? That did not bode well. If nothing happened today, he’d put the Monroe parents back on television for a renewed plea. And he’d make a decision
on whether the family should offer a reward. Scott’s sister, Monica, was pushing for a very significant one. The woman had huge financial assets and wanted to go for at least a million dollars. Ridiculous, Streeter knew, but he was considering one hundred thousand. That amount should stimulate anyone who had knowledge of the girls to come forward. It would also trigger an avalanche of fake sightings.

Yesterday with the help of Katie and Scott, they’d sifted through the barrage of sightings everywhere from Detroit to Florida to Alaska. Streeter vowed to follow up even the most ridiculous reports, but so far neither his agents nor the Monroe parents had seen anything that triggered suspicion. The sightings were vague and nonspecific and none had panned out.

By the time the Monroes arrived, Streeter had evaluated the latest callin, a clerk at a Kmart, suspicious because an old woman checked out on Sunday with “two of everything.” How remote was that? But he’d committed to the Monroes and to the media. Every lead would be followed up.

All Streeter could tell the Monroes was that there was one possible witness — Courtney Davis, the mother of the crying kids — the woman had been so distracted that her description was vague. Of all the people in the mall, only one person reported seeing two little girls leave with a middle-aged, overweight white woman. She’d seen no struggle, nothing that would indicate foul play. Nothing more could be squeezed out of anyone at that mall. Clarence Plummer had not given up. He had personally organized ongoing surveillance of all shoppers and moviegoers on the outside chance that someone may have been there Sunday afternoon and noticed something of interest.

Once in their assigned conference room, Katie handed Jackie her book of crossword puzzles. Jackie fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot like his daughters did when they had to go to the bathroom. Before the Monroes sat down, Jackie, her voice noticeably louder than usual, said, “Are Sammie and Alex dead, Agent Streeter?”

“Jackie, no —” Scott’s loud voice only a whisper now as he pulled Jackie against him. For a moment, Streeter thought Scott was going to cover the little girl’s ears.

“Jackie,” Streeter said, we haven’t found them yet, but everybody’s looking for them.”

“Why haven’t you arrested the bad man that hates my mom? Did he kill them?”

Streeter tried to say something soothing, calming, but he couldn’t come up with the words. “I have —” he started.

Katie’s voice was soft as she interrupted, “Jackie’s talking about Cutty. What if he hired somebody to come to Detroit? That would divert the attention from him in Tampa. Right?”

Streeter remained silent. No response percolated to his tongue.

“I’m sorry. I know that you and everybody are doing everything —” Katie gestured toward Jackie and Scott. “We’re just all beside ourselves with worry and fear.”

All that psychiatric training means nothing when you’re a mother and your own kids are involved. Streeter watched Jackie inch closer to Scott. How cruel to make a child endure such extreme tension. Streeter didn’t know what to do. Could he order them to take Jackie and not bring her back, for the child’s own good?

A banging knock interrupted the tableau, and Agent Camry barged into the conference room.

“Ransom demand,” she said, shoving a printed sheet of paper at Streeter.

“That means they’re alive,” Katie breathed.

Streeter scanned the note, then looked directly at Scott. “Mr. Monroe, we need to talk to you about this. The surveillance that we put on the Yankee organization paid off.”

“We’ve got agents all over this,” Camry said. “Tony, you want to go check on things and I’ll brief the Monroes?”

Camry must have sensed the background tension in the room and Streeter accepted her offer of temporary escape.

“Dr. Monroe, Mr. Monroe, Jackie,” she said, “why don’t we all sit down and I’ll tell you everything we have. She waited for the three of them to take a seat, and she did too. “Ten minutes ago,” Camry began, “Don Plese, manager of the Yankees, got a phone call that went to voice mail. Here’s what it said.” She read verbatim:
”I have the Monroe girls. They are alive. I will keep them that way as long as
you do exactly what I say. You call Scott Monroe and tell him that he can save his precious daughters, but it will cost him one million dollars. Cash. That’s all I’m gonna say right now. I’m going to leave a message tomorrow, or maybe the next day. I’m going to tell you exactly what to do. I’m just calling now so you can tell him to get the money ready. If anybody calls in the cops or the FBI, I will know. And I will kill these two little bitches and go after the third kid, too
.”

“A million dollars,” Katie breathed. “We can do that. Right, Scott?”

“Yes,” Scott said. “But why the Yankees? Somebody I know?”

An agent poked his crew cut head into the room. “Traced back to a pay phone. Auburn Hills. Less than a mile from the mall where they were taken. Credibility undetermined at this time. Could be bullshit.”

“And all the time we were looking at Dr. Monroe as the target,” Camry said. “Yes, the team will need you for several hours, Mr. Monroe. Dr. Monroe, do you want to take Jackie home, or somewhere?”

High Risk Profession: Forensic Pediatric Psychiatrist?
Dr. Katie Monroe.
— Tampa Newscasts, Wednesday, June 17

Keith Franklin knew what he wanted and who he wanted. And he wanted Katie Jones. She belonged to him. How many times had they whispered that
they belonged together
. And she had belonged to him for how many years? Had it been six or seven? Back then they were just two kids in love. Matter of fact, he loved her so much that he took advantage of the system so he could buy her expensive gifts. She loved jewelry and hot rides. She’d been so proud of him back then. One good looking dude with a full-time job, extra bread on the side. He loved her so much that he’d forgiven her, actually forgiven her, for turning him in and testifying against him in court.

Most people didn’t appreciate deep love like that. They were all into payback, retribution, they called it. Not him. He’d served his time in the Jackson state prison like a man. Parole after nine years. Never nobody’s bitch. Decent parole record. Nothing worse than the occasional drunken binge. Currently employed by the city of Detroit; union job, riding a garbage truck. Decent benefits.

Keith was smart enough to know that he’d have to bide his time to get Katie back. He made no secret about wanting her. His family, his wife, and even his sons knew that. But until now they’d all laughed him off. What would hoity-toity Katie Jones Monroe, living the rich white husband life want with him? Well they weren’t laughing now. Even the cops were taking him and Katie seriously. Once this was all over, he’d have Katie back. Only her name would be Katie Franklin, not Katie Monroe.

Was his wife jealous? Damn straight, she was. Like he gave a shit.

He may have put on a show, letting Penny rant and rave, but he’d walk out on her in a New York minute. The boys, too. Unless they
wanted
to come live with him and Katie and her triplet daughters. His boys were ten, nine, and seven. Given a choice, they’d go for Katie over Penny. Who wouldn’t?

Keith had given a lot of thought about how to get Katie back. Matter of fact, Katie was about all he thought about these days. His solution: through her daughters. Through his mother, he’d kept track of Katie for all these years, but only recently had he made his move.

Down at the FBI, he’d been Mr. Cool with the asshole agents. Treated them politely, refusing to let himself be baited. Behavior that had worked for him in the joint. Eventually, they’d let him go, but only after he’d given up a piece of information that he hadn’t intended to. While waiting for Katie, he’d started an affair — with a white woman. Jane Wise. Poor bitch, she was married, too. And now the feds were gonna be all over her. Up until now, he’d kept his white girlfriend from Penny, but now all hell would break loose. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about Penny, but Katie, what would she think?

Swedish Car Company Agrees to Buy Saab from General Motors.
—
National News, Wednesday, June 17

The Detroit FBI field office is located in the Patrick V. McNamera Federal Building in downtown Detroit, not far from Tiger Stadium. The building occupies a full city block on Michigan Avenue and is twenty-seven stories high. Jackie, for some reason that Katie could never understand, did not like large buildings. Whenever Katie took the triplets into the courthouse in Tampa, which was rare, Jackie had always protested. “I hate big buildings,” she’d say. Sammie and Alex would laugh and tease her, all in fun.

When they’d arrived this morning, Jackie had come to a full stop before entering. She’d looked up at Scott. “Dad,” she’d said, “I just wish we could see the Tigers play. Do they have a game today?”

“I don’t know,” Scott told her. Scott, who had every major league team’s schedule etched in his brain, had not spoken one word of baseball since this had all begun. And now, he’d have to refocus. Whoever claimed they had Sammie and Alex was connected to baseball. Why else would the kidnapper contact the manager of the Yankees?

Leaving Scott in the conference room, Katie took Jackie’s hand and walked toward the elevators. As they descended from the seventh floor, heading toward the food court in the basement, Jackie tried to ask Katie questions. “Mom, did Agent Camry say that they found Alex and Sammie? Are they okay? Who was that old boyfriend that Grandma was talking about? Did Daddy know that you had a boyfriend? Do you think Tina’s dad will be okay? Why did you yell at Agent Streeter and use that very bad word?” On and on. Katie had
no answers, just two gaping holes in the triangle that used to be her life. Jackie’s questions went unanswered and ignored.