Deadly Intent (37 page)

The ringing of the phone broke through her thoughts. She ran to it, practically yanking it from Claudia’s hand. “Hello?”

“Abbie, it’s John.”

“Did you find him?” she blurted out.

“Not yet.” She heard the sound of traffic, a burst of static, then he was back. “I need to ask you a couple of questions about Professor Gilroy.”

The question threw her. “Oliver?”

“Are you on a first-name basis with him?”

“He’s a regular customer.”

“How regular?”

“He’s been coming to the restaurant every day for the past two years. Why are you interested in him?”

“Does he know Ben?”

“Ben has met him, yes.”

“When?”

The intense questioning sent a wave of unease throughout her system. “What’s going on, John?”

“Answer the question, Abbie. Please.”

“They met a couple of months ago.”

“Under what circumstances?”

Abbie took a shallow breath and released it. ‘ ‘When Oliver found out I had a son, he started bringing Ben model railroad cars he built himself. One day, when Ben had a

half day of school, I brought him to the restaurant to thank Oliver in person.”

“Has he ever asked to take Ben somewhere? Alone?”

Now she was frightened. She may not have known John very long, but she knew he wouldn’t be asking all those questions without a good reason. “No,” she replied. “Although ...”

“What?”

“Last week, after Oliver learned of Ian’s death, he told me he was escorting a group of boys from FitzRandolph Academy to Northlandz to see a train display. FitzRandolph,” she repeated. “That’s Jordan’s school, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. Go on.”

“Oliver wanted to take Ben, but Ben had baseball practice that day and couldn’t go.”

“How did Gilroy take it?”

Abbie was aware that Claudia had come to sit in the other chair and was listening intently. “All right, I guess. No, that’s not entirely true. He was disappointed. He sounded almost...insulted.”

“Did he say something to make you think that?”

“No, it was just a feeling I had, but it went away when Oliver said he understood and would make it up to Ben some other way.” She locked eyes with Claudia. “What is it, John? Do you know something about Professor Gilroy I should be aware of?”

“I don’t know anything yet except what you and my ex wife told me. Jordan took part in the field trip to Northlandz. Sometime during the bus trip back, the professor gave Jordan a railroad car and invited him to his house to see his own display. Call me paranoid, but that invitation didn’t sit right with me. Especially after I realized Gilroy

was the same man I had seen at Campagne last week, giving you a railroad car.”

He faded away for a second or two, then came back. “What do you know about him, Abbie?”

She was almost glad for the questioning. It made her feel useful and took her mind off her fears for a while. “Not much, except what he told me. He came to this country fifteen years ago and taught English literature at Wesley College until his retirement four years ago. That’s when he turned his passion—building model trains—into a full-time hobby.”

“What does he do when he’s not building trains?”

“I don’t know. I only speak to him when I make my rounds at the restaurant.”

“He’s not married?”

“He’s a widower. He has a daughter and a grandson whom he visits in London every Christmas.”

“Anything else?”

She shook her head. “That’s all I know. Someone at Wesley might be able to tell you more.”

John thanked her, told her he’d be in touch and said goodbye.

Claudia waited until Abbie had put the phone down before speaking. “Did I understand correctly? John thinks Professor Gilroy took Ben?”

“He didn’t come right out and say that, but...” She shook her head. “He’s got to be wrong, Claudia. I can’t picture Oliver as a kidnapper. Much less a rapist and a killer.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Personally, I never cared much for the man. From the moment I saw him at the restaurant, I thought he was just a shade too smooth.” She gave an unladylike snort. “This habit he has of coming to Campagne every day, at the same precise time, requesting the

same table, drinking the same wine, is just plain creepy. And why your restaurant, Abbie? No offense, Campagne is one of the best, but...don’t you think a normal person would want a little variety?”

“I’m not disagreeing with that—“

The sound of the doorbell interrupted her reply. Abbie jumped and ran to answer it.

Brady stood on her doorstep, his face ashen. He handed her a sheet of paper. “I think you’d better see this.”

Abbie willed her hand not to shake as she read the words that sent ice through her veins.

“How do you want your boy, bitch? Dead or alive?”

Thirty_Nine

As expected, Captain Farwell assigned the disappearance of Ben DiAngelo to Tina, but at her request he agreed to let John assist with the investigation, since he was a friend of the family and had already done the preliminary work.

Farwell looked preoccupied as he stood at his desk being briefed, and John couldn’t blame him. Ever since Ben’s disappearance had been made public, the captain’s phone had been ringing almost nonstop.

“You said you learned nothing useful from this Walker character,” he said, addressing John.

“He claims he was home at the time the boy was abducted, but can’t prove it. His wife kicked him out of the house, and home is now a small room in Hope well Township.”

“First impressions?”

John sighed. “The man has a temper, and he holds a grudge against Abbie DiAngelo, but...” He shook his head. “He doesn’t strike me as the type of man who would kidnap a child just to get back at a former employer.”

“Keep an eye on him anyway.” He pulled at his bottom lip. “What about the parking lot? Forensics got back to you on that?”

“Just now. They found the usual stuff—a cigarette butt, a gum wrapper, the cap from a soda can. They’re checking

each item for fingerprints, but I doubt they’ll find anything.”

“What about the other store owners on Palmer Square? A few of them back onto that parking lot, don’t they?”

“I’ve questioned them. No one saw anything.”

“Amazing. A car is stolen in the heart of Princeton, in broad daylight and at the height of the shopping hour, and no one sees a thing.” He started to pace. “The mayor isn’t going to like it. He credits himself for keeping Princeton one of the safest towns in the state. Now, with two murders and the disappearance of another boy, all in the space of a month, the man is foaming at the mouth. His reelection depends on how quickly we apprehend the perp.”

He came to stand in front of John and Tina. “Which brings me to the press. As you know, they’ve been particularly vocal about this case. Hopefully, you’ll be able to appease them at the press conference.”

John and Tina exchanged a look. “I thought you were holding the press conference,” Tina said.

“I can’t. I have a meeting with the mayor at seven fifteen. The two of you will have to handle it.”

Not giving them a chance to reply, he headed for the door, and gave John a friendly slap on the shoulder. ‘ ‘Good luck with the vultures. Both of you,” he added, nodding at Tina. “Don’t let them smell blood.”

“That rat,” Tina muttered when he was gone. “He could have made the press conference. I happen to know that his meeting with the mayor is not until seven-thirty. He just doesn’t want to be put in a bad light with the press. Looking stupid is our job.”

The area in front of the police station was jammed when John and Tina stepped out. Reporters poured out of news vans and rushed toward them, elbowing each other for a front-row spot. All had the excited, hungry look typical of

reporters who had just found out something big had broken in their pristine community and the hell with good manners. This was every man for himself. This was war.

“Detective Ryan!” As though she couldn’t wait to repay him for his brush-off at Winberie the other day, Mary Kay Roder came to stand in front of him. Her eyes glinted with shrewd speculation as she went straight for the jugular. “Is there any connection between the disappearance of the DiAngelo boy and the death of Eric Sommers?”

“It’s too early to jump to conclusions,” John replied smoothly. “While we’re not overlooking the possibility that Eric Sommers’s abductor struck again, it’s important for the investigators, as well as the public, to focus on Ben DiAngelo and what can be done to find him.”

The man beside Mary Kay raised a hand. ‘ ‘Do you have any suspects yet?”

John let Tina field that one. “We’re working on a couple of possibilities,” she said easily. “Nothing we can discuss.”

At those words, angry protests broke out as the reporters clamored for more information. Tina ignored them and started passing out copies of Ben’s photograph. “Please tell your readers to stay alert for any sightings. And to report those sightings to the police quickly.”

John tried to take another question, this time from a man in the back, but Mary Kay wasn’t finished with him yet. “How confident are you you’ll find Ben DiAngelo alive?”

John hoped Abbie wasn’t listening to this. “We were fortunate to have been notified within the first half hour of the abduction. That allowed us to put a bulletin out right away, before the perpetrator could get out of the area—if that was his intention.”

“But it’s been almost seven hours and the boy hasn’t been found.”

Before he could reply, Bill Gasier, of the Princeton Journal, fired another question. “You’re homicide, aren’t you, Detective Ryan? Mind telling us why you’re assisting Detective Wrightfield with this case, considering the department is currently short-staffed?”

“Detective Ryan was assigned at my request,” Tina cut in.

“But isn’t it true, Detective,” Mary Kay shouted loud enough for everyone to hear, “that the true reason you’re on this case is because you’re a friend of Ms. DiAngelo’s? A very close friend,” she added with a little smirk.

So that’s what she was after—a little sleaze to spark up her prose. “My relationship with Ms. DiAngelo has no bearing on this case,” he said dryly. “A child has disappeared. I would think that tragedy would be your primary focus, Mary Kay, not some rumor you may have heard about my private life, which, incidentaly, is none of your business.”

She smiled sweetly, totally unfazed by the sharp rebuttal or the snickering of her colleagues, who knew her as well as John did.

His cell phone rang as Miss Congeniality was about to throw another question at him. Cutting short the conference, John thanked the reporters and stepped aside to take the call. It was Abbie. She had just received a note from Ben’s kidnapper.

On the way to Abbie’s house, John called his father. “Do you still play golf with the dean of admissions at Wesley College?” he asked when Spencer answered.

“Every Tuesday morning at ten.” Spencer chuckled. “And I’m still whipping Lyman’s ass. Why do you ask?”

“I need a favor, Dad.”

“Shoot.”

“A professor by the name of Oliver Gilroy taught English lit at Wesley until four years ago. He came here from England in the late-eighties, is a widower and has a daughter and a grandson in England he visits every year. I need to know anything else you can find out about him.”

“Does this professor have anything to do with the press conference I just saw? And the disappearance of that young boy?”

“He could.”

“In that case, I’ll call Lyman right away.”

“Thanks, Dad,” John said as he approached his destination. “I appreciate it.”

Abbie must have been watching for him, because her front door opened before he’d had a chance to get out of the car.

The ordeal had taken its toll on her beautiful face. There were shadows of fatigue circling her eyes, and the corners of her mouth were turned down, making her look tired and defeated.