Saving Alice (27 page)
W
ith my hands handcuffed behind my back, the two men escorted me down my front steps, across the sidewalk and into the car.
We drove in silence to the sheriff ’s station, a small squat building off Main Street. As we drove, I mentally rehearsed the account numbers and password. In the backseat, I felt like a criminal, vulnerable to observation.
Play dumb,
I thought.
It’ll soon be over
.
At the station, they led me up the sidewalk, in through the door, down a hallway to a folding chair, one of several lined against the wall in a roomful of desks. I searched for a clock and found one across the room. 7:35.
The blue-tied agent who’d searched me now changed my handcuffs to fasten me to the chair.
“Is this really necessary?” I asked.
He grinned, and when I requested permission to make a phone call, he only glanced at his shorter partner.
“Just give us a moment to get the paper work started.”
Forty-five minutes passed, and no phone call. I sat there, alone, open to observation. Finally, the two men casually emerged from around the corner, uncuffed me, and led me to a small drab room designed for questioning.
I sat there for another fifteen minutes or so before the blue-tied man came in carrying a coffee cup. If I hadn’t been so nervous, the whole thing would have seemed a little silly, as if they’d watched a few too many episodes of
Law and Order
.
“Can I get you something, Stephen?”
“How ’bout that call?”
He gave me a patronizing smile. “Who was it you wanted to call again?”
“My daughter,” I replied.
He frowned. “Most people call their lawyers.”
“I promised her.”
He turned to his buddy. “Do
you
think he’s calling his daughter?”
The other guy shrugged and flashed a perplexed smile. “Sounds like a story to me, Jake. Like maybe you’re going to give someone a message or something.”
“Please,” I whispered.
Jake smiled. “Just tell us what we need to know, and I’ll let you call anyone you want.” He smiled at his partner. “He can even call the president if he likes.”
His partner, the heavyset man, wearing jeans and a leather jacket, made a mocking frown. “I don’t think the president would take the call.”
Jake joined the frown. “Hmmm. I guess you’re right.” He turned to me. “You might want to keep your calls restricted to the kind of people who might actually pick up the phone.”
“Two minutes,” I whispered, startled by their level of sarcasm.
He shrugged good-naturedly, reached in his pocket, and removed my cell phone. He placed it on the table. “I’ll make you a deal, Stephen.”
My eyes darted to the phone and back to his face.
“Just tell me you have the money”—he snapped his fingers—“and you can make a call immediately.”
I let out a deep breath.
He raised his eyebrows. “Seriously.” He picked up the cell phone, extended it to me, and I reached for it. He withdrew it at the last second but kept it poised within reach. “So tell me, Stephen, do you have the money?”
I hesitated. “What money?”
“The money that disappeared from your Wells Fargo account.”
“Which account is that?”
He made a face:
Give me a break
.
Actually, I didn’t know anything about the Wells Fargo account. It must have been secretly opened by Larry.
I placed my hands on the table. He extended the phone again, but I didn’t fall for it this time. His voice came out mockingly innocent. “It’s yours … right now … if you just tell me … the truth.”
He dangled the phone in front of my face again, just inches above my hands.
“You promised,”
Alycia had said.
I swallowed. I was now breathing heavily, and the two men were enjoying my pain. They waited.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmured and closed my eyes.
Jake sighed, shrugged, and put the cell phone in his pocket. “That’s too bad. You seemed pretty desperate there.”
The other guy nodded. “Yeah … well, maybe not desperate.”
Jake agreed. “Eager, then.”
“Yeah…” the other guy echoed. “Eager.”
Jake stepped out of the room for a moment, then came back, sitting down on his side of the table. He opened a thick file and proceeded to study it. A few minutes later, a female office worker delivered a box of donuts. She set a cup of coffee in front of me. I took a sip.
Jake winked. “Good, eh?”
The formal interrogation began.
“Your partner wasn’t exactly low-profile,” he began. “We’ve been watching him for months.”
“We have witnesses who recall seeing you and your partner at the Steak House, just before he disappeared.”
My gut clenched.
“What did he tell you?”
I did my best to fudge, but they weren’t buying my ignorance. More questions followed. I told them everything, exactly as it happened, except for one tiny important detail—the detail they wanted.
Finally, a short man came in with a sheet of paper—a transcript of Larry’s bank accounts. The two men examined the paper and then frowned at me. The sarcastic smiles were gone. We’d come back to the crux of the matter, the aspect of the case that would determine their own personal failure or success.
“So … where’s the money?”
“I have no idea,” I lied.
They asked the same question again and again, only in different ways. I answered again and again, over and over, until Jake announced, “You’re not even a good liar.”
They have no proof,
I reminded myself.
“So where is it?” he asked again.
The phone rang.
My phone. In Jake’s pocket
. They looked at each other and smiled. “Could that be for you?”
A trickle of sweat slid down the side of my face. “It’s my daughter.”
Jake pulled out the phone and squinted at it, reading the caller ID. The phone buzzed again.
He glanced at me. “I’m thinking she’ll call again.”
My eyes watered. “Please…”
Another ring. They watched me. “Where’s the money, Stephen?”
I blew out a breath.
He extended the phone to me, I reached for it, and once again, with a quick flick of the wrist, he withdrew it at the last moment. He raised his eyebrows. “Are we talking yet?”
“Please.”
He shrugged. “She’ll call again.”
The phone stopped ringing. “Sir … I need to speak to her.”
Again, that maddening smile. Jake raised his eyebrows in an unconcerned manner, and turned to his buddy. “Is that our problem, Hal?”
Hal shook his head. “Not our problem, I’m thinking.”
My blood boiled. Jake placed his hands on the table and leaned in. “I’m good at spotting lies, Stephen. And I’m spotting a big fat one. See … all you have to do is tell me the truth. Why is that so hard?”
I swallowed again; my rage was building.
“Where’s the money, Stephen? Oh, and while we’re at it, where’s your buddy?”
The phone rang again. My body shuddered, and they smiled. Once again, and with dramatic flair, he withdrew the phone from his pocket and looked at the ID. “It’s for you, I think.”
I leapt out of my chair and lunged for the phone. Jake jumped back, grinning, and I lost it. Without thinking, I went after him, but Hal grabbed me just before my fist connected. Restraining my arms, he pulled me back, then pushed me against the wall. I hit it hard.
Hal put his forearm against my neck. I couldn’t breathe. I glanced at Jake across the room and watched with horror as he answered the final ring.
“Hello?”
He listened, and then: “Just a sec.” He raised those eyebrows again. “She wants to talk to you.”
“Please…” I gasped.
Hal pressed against me. “Don’t you have a question to answer?”
My resolved buckled, but I didn’t answer. Jake spoke into the receiver. “Your father said he’s too busy.” He snapped the cell phone shut just as I screamed. “Okay! Okay!”
They smiled triumphantly. “Okay what?”
“I have the money,” I said. “Now let me call her.”
Jake looked at Hal. Lowering his forearm to my chest, Hal turned to Jake. “I wonder if he’s just saying that.”
Hal nodded. I struggled again, and Hal pressed harder against me. I was dumbfounded with fury, but no match for Hal. “You promised,” I hissed.
Jake nodded. “Give me the name of the bank, the number, and the password, and we’ve got a deal.”
He pushed a notebook and pencil across the table, and Hal released me with a warning in his eyes—
are we cool?
Gasping for breath, I sat down and clutched the pen with my shaking right hand. Holding the paper with my left hand, I wrote the name of the bank. And then swallowed.
What was the number?
Jake smiled. “Cat got your brain?”
I saw images of scrap paper flying into the wind.
Unbelievable
. “I can’t remember.”
Jake shrugged, putting his hand on the doorknob. Hal joined him by the door. “Knock on the door when you do,” he said. “And then you can call the president if you want.”
Hal slapped his back. “I think you forgot, Jake. He doesn’t
want
to call the president.”
“Oh that’s right,” Jake said, “I did forget. Thank you for reminding me.”
“You’re welcome. Any time.”
They pushed out of the room.
For three long hours I sat there, and although I finally remembered the password, without the number it was useless.
Alycia’s fine,
I consoled myself.
She’ll understand
.
When they returned at last, I changed my story. “I was bluffing.”
They didn’t buy it, and I didn’t care. When I demanded to speak to my lawyer, they finally relented. Sitting on the table, Jake dialed the number for me, and when my lawyer answered, Jake handed me the phone.
Frustration shuddered through me as I realized I should have demanded Stan immediately, and then he could have called Alycia.
She’s fine,
I reminded myself.
Stan the Man was a brusque, no-nonsense type who liked to cut to the chase. He was good at what he did and borderline ethical at best, which is why Donna never got near him during our class-actionsuit defense.
“I’ve been waiting for your call, Stephen,” he said. “News travels fast. So what’s up? What’ve you done now?”
I explained the situation as briefly as possible, and the more I talked the more animated he became. “What did you tell them?”
“Nothing.”
“Good boy.” Stan chuckled. “So … Larry actually skipped town…” He exhaled into the phone. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”
“I didn’t have a clue what Larry was doing.”
He harrumphed. “I don’t care about that stuff, and if you do know anything, don’t say a word.
I
don’t even want to know about it.”
“They want the money.”
He laughed. “Don’t we all?”
When he asked to talk to someone in charge, I extended the phone to Jake who sneered with delight.
I
t was midnight when a sheriff ’s deputy, no older than his early twenties, drove me home. Before I was released, they’d given me my personal effects in a large envelope and made me sign a form.
In the backseat of the car, and like a thirsty man in the middle of the Sahara, I pulled out my cell phone, noted Sara’s number on the ID and redialed it. Apparently, Alycia had borrowed it for the evening.
The voice mail service clicked in immediately.
I tried again.
Nothing. I dialed Donna’s number and Sally answered. I asked for Alycia. After a long wait, Donna got on the phone, her voice sleepy. “What is it, Stephen?”
“Where is Alycia?” I asked.
Donna was confused. “Why … sleeping, I’m sure. Why are you calling?”
I resisted the relief that easily could have washed over me. “Please check on her.”
I waited as Donna walked across the apartment, then I heard her gasp. When she spoke into the receiver again, her tone bordered on panic. “Oh, Stephen—she’s not here!”
The deputy dropped me off at the sidewalk in front of my house, and I ran to the front door. Considering the damage, getting in wasn’t difficult. In the kitchen, the main phone blinked to a staccato rhythm. I grabbed the receiver, dialed the voice-mail number, and listened. My mind raced. My throat went dry, and my heart beat violently. I punched in the retrieval code, got it wrong, cursed in frustration, and started over. I tried again and again, until finally I got it right.
I shoved the phone to my left ear.
You have three unheard messages … first message … left 8:20
. It was Alycia. “Dad, why aren’t you answering your cell phone? Call Sara’s number.”
The phone beeped.
Next message, left … 8:31
.
Alycia again, same number, her voice high-pitched and desperate. “Are you there? I think someone else has your cell phone.”
Silence. The phone chirped again. The recorded voice continued again,
Next message, left twenty minutes earlier …
Twenty minutes earlier! Hope burst through my veins. I pressed the button. Alycia again. Her voice was calm. I sighed in relief. Whatever her problem was, she had solved it without me. “I love you, Dad. It’s okay. I forgive you. Tell Mom I’m sorry.”
I felt my body decompress. She was safe. I dialed her number.
But what did she mean? Tell Mom I’m sorry?
One ring. Two rings. Three rings.
No answer. I dialed again.
Panic consumed me.
“You two are communicating on a deeper level than the rest of us,”
Donna had once told me.
I punched in Alycia’s friend’s cell number again and waited.
Same response.
The party you have called is unavailable at this time…
I hung up and tried again. One ring. Two rings. Three rings.
Again: no answer. Had she shut off the phone?
I lurched around the room looking for my keys. When I found them, I staggered to the front door, then remembered the cell phone I’d left on the couch. I changed course, lost my balance, nearly falling into the couch. Grasping the phone, I headed for the door again.
Once I reached my car, I tried, in vain, to fit the key into the ignition with my shaking hand. My cell phone rang.
Please let it be her,
I whispered.
“Stephen? Did you find her?”
The car roared to life.
“Where does he live?” I demanded.
“Who?” Donna asked.
I was already speeding down the street when she sighed with anguish. “Oh no…” She hesitated, then whispered the words. “On Merton, I think … uh … end of the block … uh … white house, black shutters.”
“Okay …”
“Stephen?
“Yes?”
“Please don’t hang up.”
We continued to compare notes about her recent behavior until Donna asked me the question I’d feared. “Did she call you?”
I told her everything as I sped down the back streets of Aberdeen. Well, nearly everything…
She was dumbfounded about the office disaster. “
Our
Larry?”
Yes,
I thought.
Our Larry
.
“They think you have his money?”
“Yes,” I replied without elaborating.
“Where are you now?” she asked.
I was one block away from the address she had given me. The moon flickered through the bare trees, and in my state of mind, they looked like skeletal monsters. I parked in front of the house and jumped out of the car. The lower window was brightly lit. I mentioned this to Donna.
“Good!”
she whispered. “Maybe she’s there!”
Without ending the call, I put the phone in my pocket, pounded on the door, then rang the doorbell.
Lights flashed all over the house. I heard footsteps from within. The door curtain slid open, revealing the face of a startled man whom I took to be the boy’s father. I forced a smile and tried to appear harmless.
The man opened the door.
“Where is your son?” I asked.
The man frowned. “What—?”
I gasped out an explanation. “I’m looking … I’m looking for my daughter …”
“Well … Sean’s in his room … downstairs.”
I prevailed upon him to let me in. Together we descended the steps to the basement, crossed the darkened cement floor to a room with bright light leaking below the door.
The father knocked on the door, “Sean!”
Sean opened the door, looking bewildered and wide-eyed.
“Where’s Alycia?” I asked, peering around to his bed. By now, I’d assumed the worst, but Alycia wasn’t there. Which meant something even worse.
Sean didn’t even try to lie. He’d taken Alycia to Melgaard Park hours earlier—several blocks away—and then she’d jumped out of the car.
“Jumped out?”
“It wasn’t moving,” he shrugged. “She was ticked.”
I asked him what they’d talked about, but he only shrugged. “Just … stuff.”
He was holding back. I could tell by the look in his eyes something very serious had happened.
“What did she tell you?” I asked. He looked away, his face suddenly pale.
I didn’t have time for his guilt excursion. “Where did you see her last?”
“She kept running,” he said. “She wouldn’t let me take her home.”
I gave his white T-shirt a quick tug, and he and his father followed me upstairs.
“Find the girl,” the father demanded, handing him a coat. Sean shoved on a pair of tennis shoes and followed me outside. I was ten paces ahead of him.
Getting into my car again, I reached over to unlock his door and realized the cell phone was still in my pocket. Donna would have heard everything.
“Are you there?”
“Stephen, please…”
“I’m on my way,” I assured her.
Sean jumped into the passenger side of the car, slamming the door shut.
“Take me where she got out,” I demanded, and his chin stutter- nodded, his eyes glassy with fear.
Donna spoke into my ear. “Sally’s been calling Alycia’s friends on the other line. Sara hasn’t seen her.”
I raced to Melgaard Park. When Sean guided me to the exact spot where he’d last seen her, I shoved the gear into park and got out. A thick new blanket of snow had covered the area, but I was able to make out some tennis shoe tracks. Maybe they were hers, maybe not. I followed them for a block until they led back to the road.
Best guess, Alycia had begun walking home. It wasn’t far, less than a mile. So where was she?
I turned around and took in the recent snow. It reminded me of Alycia’s love of blankets. She liked to bury herself under layers of warmth. She liked to be warm. She liked to be covered. That’s why she always took baths: She loved the warmth of the water covering her.
A gasp escaped me, and my body shuddered, as if I already knew. I spoke into the phone, “Donna, have you been to the bathroom?”
“What do you mean?” She paused. “Wait. No. Not the main bathroom…”
The sound of her breathing increased—the unmistakable sound of rising panic—as I heard her race across the apartment floor.
Why hadn’t I thought of this?
I thought.
Maybe I could have saved her….
I was still staring out over the landscape of frozen snow when the phone clattered and Donna screamed.
