Safe and Sound (9 page)

Alyssa was disappointed for a moment, but the thrill of the idea that her mommy and her dad were going to come up here together blew the disappointment away like a morning fog. She scooped up FredtheFrog and looked him in the eye. “That’s it,” she told the frog decisively. “We’ll all be together, and Mommy won’t be so sad and tired all the time, and we’ll see deer every day.” FredtheFrog wisely said nothing. Alyssa looked around. The cabin where her uncles had taken her sat just below the crest of a heavily wooded mountain. There were other mountains all around, but this was the best one because it was higher. You could see forever from up here. Mommy was going to love it.

There was the heavy thunk of a vehicle door slamming, and Alyssa’s heart leaped. Maybe that was them now. She ran toward the tiny cabin, holding FredtheFrog by one leg. But it was only Uncle Mike. He had an armful of groceries in a brown paper sack. He looked upset. She ran up to him anyway. “Did you see my dad?” she asked. He looked even more upset. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Nothing, honey,” he said. “I need to talk to Uncle Bobby, okay? Can you stay out here for a few minutes?”

“Okay,” she said doubtfully, then brightened. “I saw a deer,” she said.

“That’s nice,” Uncle Mike said absently. He went into the cabin.

Alyssa sat down on the steps. She felt deflated, like an old balloon. She looked at FredtheFrog. She ran her finger over the frog’s tummy, feeling the outline of the
secret beneath the felt. Maybe FredtheFrog wasn’t talking because he had a tummyache. She was starting to get one, too.

CHAPTER NINE

Kak!” DeGroot spat out the expletive as he read the words in the file.

“Sir?” the court clerk said.

He looked up and gave her what he thought was an ingratiating smile. “Sorry,” he said. He closed the file and handed it back across the counter. The file was labeled on the front in black Magic Marker. Fedder, Carlotta J. vs. Lundgren, David M.

“Dankie…ah, thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome, sir,” the clerk said. As he was leaving, he noticed the framed needlepoint on the wall behind the counter: When god closes a door, sometimes he opens a window.

“I like your sign,” he said. The clerk looked confused for a moment, then glanced back at the wall. She was smiling as she turned back. “Thanks,” she said. “You have a blessed day, now.”

“You, too.”

The clerk’s office was bustling with people, so DeGroot kept his face impassive as he walked out. His mind was racing, however. A child, he thought. He went after his child. After looking up the name of the lawyer on the card he had found, he had surmised that there was some legal action pending. A few moments with a helpful clerk in the lawyer’s home county had showed him how to look it up in the public records. And it had all been there in the dry archaic language of court filings. A custody dispute, an appeal for a court order after the child had been taken.

So that’s what you were protecting, DeGroot thought. Lundgren had taken a side trip to fetch his daughter, but he didn’t want DeGroot to know about it. Stupid, DeGroot thought. If he’d have just told me…then he reconsidered. If I was him, DeGroot thought with a cold, inward smile, I wouldn’t want me to know I had a child, either. Children were leverage. One had only to apply slight “pressure” to a child to get a parent to do what ever was needed. He had proved it enough times. A subject who had stood up under days of “pressure” without saying a word would start singing like a bird once you brought their child into the room. Often, no more was needed than a threat, which was fine with DeGroot. It was the result that mattered, not the process.

He took the elevator down to street level and stepped out of the building. It was late afternoon, and the big courthouse cast the street into shadow. DeGroot sat down on a concrete planter on the sidewalk and contemplated his next move. He needed Lundgren’s key. Lundgren hadn’t had the key on him. From the tone of the court filings he had just read, it wasn’t likely that he’d given it to the Fedder woman, the child’s mother. He’d probably left it with his buddies, Riggio and Powell. But Lundgren had declined to tell him where they were and DeGroot hadn’t taken enough time to persuade him. Which most likely meant that the child was with them as well. And, of course, so was the key that they held. He needed them both to unlock his future.

So. Find the child, find Riggio and Powell, get the other key. He’d probably have to kill them. They weren’t likely to be cooperative after Lundgren had tipped them off. Once he had the other key he’d have what he needed to finance his long-awaited
and, to his mind, richly-deserved retirement. Someplace warm, with a beach. DeGroot had waited a long time for an opportunity like this, and there was no way he was going to just give up now.

He considered the child. She was no threat, and applying “pressure” to her probably wouldn’t have the same effect on Riggio and Powell. Still, one never knew. People got attached. He mentally filed her under the category of things that might be handy later. But how to find her? Unless the police found Lundgren’s body, they were liable to give searching for her a low priority. So far, for all they knew, it was a family squabble. But the lawyer…Ah, the lawyer probably had people looking. He’d try to find out what they knew.

With that thought, and with a plan forming in his mind, DeGroot stood up. It was good to be back on the hunt.

CHAPTER TEN

The last time Marie had talked to an FBI agent, she was being debriefed as a witness. The interrogation had been so exhaustive she wondered how the Bureau acted when they didn’t think you were on the same side. Now she was finding out, and she wasn’t liking it a bit.

“For the last time,” she said. “I work for Tamara Healy. She’s a lawyer. Everything I know is covered under attorney-client privilege. If she gives me the okay, then I’ll be glad—”

“How long have you had that PI license, Ms. Jones?” asked the male FBI agent—was it Rankin or Gerritsen? Marie couldn’t remember.

“Four months,” she said. “Look, do either of you know what time it is? I have to make arrangements for my son.”

They ignored her. “And you’d like to keep that license?” the female agent said.

“Yeah, I would. It’s my job. And I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Some people might think obstructing a federal investigation—”

“I’m not obstructing anything, damn it!” Marie exploded. She stood up. “I want to help you. There’s a little girl out there who’s still missing, or have you two forgotten that? All I need to do is talk to my client and get her okay—”

“Sit down, Ms. Jones,” the male agent said.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Or what? You’re going to get my PI license revoked for standing up out of turn?” She started to walk toward the door. The female agent got in her way. Marie stopped. “Am I under arrest?”

“Why would you be under—”

“Oh, for God’s sake, honey,” Marie said wearily. “Don’t run that game on me. I used to be a cop, remember? I know what you’re up to, because I’ve done it myself. But I’m asking you point-blank. Am I under arrest or not? If I’m not under arrest, then get the hell out of my way. If I’m under arrest, tell me what for and get me a lawyer. I use Scott McCaskill in Fayetteville.”

“I don’t think you quite understand how the landscape has changed since September eleventh,” the male agent said.

Marie turned to look at him. “Oh really?” she said. “Well, Agent Rankin,” she said, taking a guess, “I’m still an American citizen, last I checked.”

“I’m Gerritsen,” he said.

“Sorry. I’m tired,” Marie said as she turned back to Rankin. “So what’s it gonna be, Rankin?” she said. “Am I going home or am I waiting for my lawyer?”

Rankin’s response came out of left field. “Did you know Jack Keller was romantically involved with your client?”

Marie felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. “What the hell are you talking about?” She turned to look at Gerritsen. He was pulling some photographs out of a file folder. He laid them on the table. Marie moved slowly, almost unwillingly, toward the table. There were several eight-by-ten photos spread out there. They showed two people walking down the street, arms around each other. She spotted Keller’s long blond ponytail right away. It was harder for her to make out the other figure because her face was turned away, but the slender form could
easily be Carly Fedder’s. The next shot showed them seated in a vehicle. They were kissing.

Marie sank into the chair. She saw Gerritsen shoot a triumphant look toward Rankin. She hated him for that look.

“These are surveillance photos we took the other night,” Rankin said.

“Okay,” Marie said. “You wanted to shake me up, you got your damn wish.” There were tears in her eyes as she looked up. “But I’m still not saying anything until I talk to Tammy Healy. Or my own lawyer.”

“If Jack Keller was involved with Carly Fedder, wouldn’t that give him a plausible motive to kill the other man in her life? The man who had taken her child and caused her so much pain?”

Marie shook her head. She was still numb with shock. “No,” she said. “Jack Keller’s not a murderer.”

“Really?” Gerritsen’s voice was almost, but not quite, a sneer. “Six months ago, Jack Keller forced his way into a hostage situation and nearly killed a suspect in cold blood. Before that, he was involved in a pair of shoot-outs that left Fayetteville looking like downtown Fallujah. He was discharged from the Army after losing his shit and firing on one of our own aircraft. This guy’s no Boy Scout, Ms. Jones.”

“There’s a problem with your theory,” Marie said. “If Keller killed Lundgren, where’s the little girl?”

“Good question,” Rankin spoke up. “Maybe Keller knows. Maybe that’s why Lundgren was tortured. Maybe Keller took things into his own hands and tried to get it out of him.”

Gerritsen sat down in the seat across from her. “So you don’t want to talk about Carly Fedder,” he said. “Let’s talk about Jack Keller.”

***

You cannot be this stupid, Wilcox,” Keller said. He was seated at the table in one of the interrogation rooms. “Why the hell would I kill Lundgren?”

“Why the hell would you not tell me you were romantically involved with Carly Fedder?” Wilcox shot back.

“What?” Keller said.

“The FBI showed me some very interesting photos a few moments ago. You appeared to be getting pretty friendly with your client.”

“They were following me,” Keller said. “Even before—” He shut up.

“Before what?”

Keller considered for a moment. Then he said, “I saw them at Marie’s…Ms. Jones’s…house the other night. It didn’t occur to me that they were tailing me afterward.”

“Yeah, well,” Wilcox said. “They’ve been taking this very seriously, Keller. So maybe you better start doing the same. What was going on between you and Carly Fedder?”

Keller shook his head. “Nothing. I ran into her in a bar downtown. She was wasted. Drunk off her ass.”

“The bartender says you paid her tab.”

“She’d been drinking for a while. She walked out without paying, and the bartender was making an issue of it. She was getting ready to try to drive home. It
wasn’t a good idea. So I gave her a ride.” He sighed. “She made a pass. I turned her down. End of story.”

“Maybe,” Wilcox said. “Maybe not. The FBI still wants to talk to you.”

“So what are you,” Keller snapped, “their errand boy?” The way Wilcox’s face reddened told Keller he’d landed a blow with that one. He considered adding something even more cutting, but pulled back at the last minute. Wilcox had been an ally. He could be again.

“Look,” Keller said. “You know this is bullshit. I know this is bullshit. So how do we convince Heckle and Jekyll in there that it’s bullshit?”

Wilcox sat down in the wooden chair opposite Keller. “You’re on your own there, Keller,” he said. “They don’t…” He shook his head as if reminding himself not to say too much.

“So when do I get to talk to them?” Keller said.

“The agents will be with you as soon as they get done talking to Ms. Jones.”

Keller stood up. “What? Marie’s here?”

Wilcox stood up as well. “Whoa,” he said. “Hold on a minute.”

“Fuck that,” Keller snarled. “Where is she? Are they telling her…” He felt a sick sensation, as if his stomach had just fallen through the floor. “Sure they are. They’re spinning her this same line of bullshit about me and Carly Fedder. Trying to shake her up.” He moved to the door.

Wilcox got up to stop him. Keller’s arm shot out and caught Wilcox in the chest. He slammed backward into the wall. “I swear to God, Wilcox,” Keller said in a low, deadly voice, “if you and those Keystone Cops in there are—”

The door swung open wide. Tamara Healy was standing there, flanked by a uniformed sheriff’s deputy.

“Am I interrupting anything?” she said.

“No,” Keller said. “I was just leaving.”

“Like hell…,” Wilcox began.

“Actually,” Healy said, “he is. Unless you arrest him.”

“He’s a material witness in a federal investigation,” Wilcox said.

Healy regarded him coolly. “And where’s your material witness warrant? Where’s the affidavit?” She waved off his answer. “Don’t bother,” she said. “I know you don’t have one. I, however, have this.” She pulled a document out of the folder. “Habeas corpus writs, signed by Judge Longtry. One for Mr. Keller, one for Ms. Jones.” She handed it to Wilcox. “Mr. Keller and Ms. Jones will be available for deposition at the government’s convenience. They’ll be glad to answer your questions then. Subject, of course, to attorney-client privilege.”