Snatched (8 page)

Jenner’s eyebrow went up. He obviously didn’t care for the description.

“You had to improvise. You ran into the garage, hid behind some cars until I was looking the other way, then handed off Abigail at the top of the ramp. I couldn’t hear the engine because the Prius was going too slow.”

Jenner waited.

“That’s where we found your wig and glasses. You changed your appearance in the hopes that you’d be able to walk back into the airport, grab a cab, and go to the next meeting point.” Will leaned forward, crowding the space between them. “You can help yourself out of this.”

Jenner remained silent.

“Tell us where she is, Joe. That’s the only way you avoid serious jail time.”

Still, Jenner kept quiet.

“It’ll be easier for you if we find her alive,” Will said, hoping to appeal to the man’s self-interests. “If she’s dead, and the coroner shows pictures of her body, tells the jury what she’s been through …” Will braced himself for the awful things he had to say. “They’ll show the bruises on her wrist where you grabbed her. It’ll match the film of you dragging her through the concourse. They’ll show the bruise on her knee where she stumbled in the tunnel. The film will back that up. They’ll show her shoe. Her missing shoe.” Will took the little slipper out of his pocket. He threw it on the table between them. “The jury will see the film of you jerking her up when she reached back for her shoe. Maybe the coroner will have slides that show the damage to her arm muscles where you wrenched it.”

Jenner was looking down again, but his eyes were not on the shoe. They were on Will’s watch. Will followed his gaze as the big hand moved to the seven.

Jenner flashed a self-satisfied smile. He said, “I want it in writing.”

Will was so shocked that it was finally the appointed hour that he almost didn’t know how to respond.

Jenner said, “I’ll tell you where the girl is being held, but I’m not going to jail.” He added, “And I’m not going on the registered sex offenders list.”

“You know you can’t avoid jail time.”

“I can avoid anything I like if you want to find the girl alive. Get the DA in here.” His eyes flashed toward the door. “I’d hurry if I were you. Tick-tock.”

Will stood from the table. Instead of leaving, he waited for the door to open. It was quite a crowd for the small room: Anna Ward, the Atlanta district attorney; Vanessa Livingston; and Amanda Wagner.

Jenner held up his handcuffed wrists, telling Will, “Get these things off me.”

Will fished into his pocket for the key. He took off the cuffs as Amanda shut the door.

“Mr. Jenner.” Anna smoothed her skirt as she sat down at the table. She placed a digital recorder beside a closed file folder. A click of a button turned on the red recording light. “I’m Anna Ward, the city’s attorney. I want to advise you that I’m recording this conversation. Can you please confirm for the tape that you’ve been read and understand your rights?”

Jenner rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’ve been advised of my rights. Yes, I am aware that this is being recorded. Yes, I’m aware that this is being watched through that ridiculous mirror on the wall.”

“Thank you.” She opened the folder, ignoring his sarcastic tone. “I hope you don’t mind if I skip the rest of the introductions. As you know, we don’t have much time.”

Jenner smiled, showing his broken teeth. “On the contrary. I have all the time in the world.”

Anna passed him the first document from the folder. The red, gold, and black seal of the Atlanta Police Department was in the top corner. “This authorizes your immediate release from the Atlanta Police’s Airport Precinct and guarantees that the department will not pursue any charges against you in this matter. It is signed by Commander Vanessa Livingston here at the
bottom.” She turned to the next page. “This states that the City of Atlanta will not require you to register on the sex offenders list and that we will not pursue any further charges against you for the abduction, transportation, trafficking, or any other crime related to the minor known as Abigail Brannon.” She turned to the last page. “This specifies that the deal is strictly contingent upon you directing us to the exact location of the girl.”

“I can only tell you where she was taken.”

“We understand that, Mr. Jenner. If you refer to this line”—she touched her finger to the appropriate words—“you’ll see that your only requirement in honoring this agreement is to tell the truth about everything you know. If at any time you lie or evade questioning, or any information you give is found to be untrue, this agreement is void and you are subject to full prosecution.” She took a pen out of her jacket pocket and handed it to Jenner.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jenner said. He took his time reading the documents. His eyes scanned back and forth along each line of each page. Will looked down at his watch. Five minutes passed before Jenner was certain he’d seen every possible loophole or trick in the one-page agreement.

“Okay,” he said, taking the pen. He signed each page, then handed the sheets back to Anna. She signed and initialed everything.

Amanda said, “Mr. Jenner, where is the girl?”

He pursed his lips, clearly enjoying the tension. “She’s being held at the Lakewood Arms Hotel. Room 215.” Less than ten miles away.

“Go!” Vanessa yelled, tapping the two-way mirror, though Will was certain her team was already heading to the hotel.

“So.” Jenner took the documents and folded them in two. “I suppose I should get out of your hair.”

“Did you touch her?” Will asked.

Jenner’s eyes went to Anna Ward. She told him, “You’re required to tell the truth, Mr. Jenner. That’s the agreement.”

“No,” he admitted. “Unfortunately.”

Will’s body tensed. Except for Amanda’s calming hand on his shoulder, he would’ve pounded the guy into the floor again.

“I think we’re done here.” Jenner tucked the documents into his jacket pocket and stood from the table. “When are you people going to realize you’re not smart enough to play these games?”

“Thirty thousand dollars,” Will said. “That’s all a child’s life is worth?”

Jenner looked at Anna Ward again. “The truth, right?”

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Yes.”

“I think that’s a fair sum when you factor in transportation and accommodations.” He gave a pleased sigh. “I know the Lakewood Arms doesn’t sound like much, but I had such a lovely night planned for our first date.”

Will’s fists clenched. “You bastard.”

Jenner had that familiar snarky grin on his face. “I’d hurry out to Lakewood, Officers. Eleanor was expecting me an hour ago. I’m sure she’s halfway to Florida by now.” He headed toward the door. There was something like a spring in his step. “Florida. That sounds like a nice place for a first date, doesn’t it?” He put his hand on the doorknob.

Amanda asked, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Be that as it may—” Amanda reached past Jenner and opened the door. An imposing man in a sheriff’s uniform blocked the exit—literally; he was as big as a refrigerator.

Amanda made the introductions. “Mr. Jenner, this is Phil Peterson, the sheriff for Clayton County. You can’t see behind him, but the Fulton sheriff and the FBI would like a word, too.”

“The—” Jenner pulled the documents out of his pocket. “I have your word that—”

“Mr. Jenner.” Vanessa Livingston did the honors. “Perhaps as a tax lawyer you’re familiar with the competing interests of various jurisdictions?” She paused, as if she expected an answer. “The airport compound reaches into the unincorporated regions of two counties and
three cities.” She paused for effect, pointing at the floor. “You’re currently in the city of Atlanta. As the commander of this zone, I’ve ordered your release. You have my signature on that paperwork. I’ll do nothing to stop you from leaving.”

Anna Ward added, “Nor will I. The City of Atlanta will honor its agreement. We will not pursue charges against you.”

Jenner’s tone had a decidedly higher pitch. “I don’t understand.”

Vanessa explained, “The C concourse is in Hapeville, which is inside Fulton County. Your time in the underground train took you through the unincorporated parts of Clayton County. Your jaunt through the South Terminal breezeway was in College Park, which, again, is within the Fulton County limits. Sheriff Peterson won the coin toss, so he gets first crack at charging you.”

Amanda picked up from there. “The Georgia Bureau of Investigation would also like to talk to you regarding your transportation of a child across county lines.” She added, “And, of course, since you traveled across state lines—many state lines—that puts you directly in the crosshairs of the FBI.” She mimicked Jenner’s snarky smile to perfection. “I trust you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Jenner. It’s always refreshing to talk to someone with a brain in her head.” She corrected, “His head.”

Sheriff Phil Peterson took out his handcuffs. He was almost a foot taller than Jenner and twice as wide. His deep baritone rumbled in Will’s eardrums as he told Joe Jenner, “Turn around, little man. I’m gonna let you see what it feels like to be dragged through the airport.”

Will paced underneath the gates at the E concourse. There was a small waiting area inside, but he was too anxious to be confined. Even the wide-open space of the great outdoors wasn’t enough.

He just wanted it over. He wanted Abigail with her mom. He wanted the bad guys in jail. He wanted to go home to his girlfriend and spend the rest of the night listening to the soothing cadence of her heartbeat.

Will stopped his pacing as a plane touched down. He watched it taxi down the runway, then turn toward one of the other terminals. He resumed pacing, thinking about all the people above him who were oblivious to what had happened today. It amazed him that the world was still spinning on its axis. Wide-body jets were parked nose-in to the gates, lining up like soldiers for international flights. Jetways were locked in. Catering trucks were extended on scissor lifts. Suitcases loaded. Flight attendants got on board. Occasionally, a pilot would walk out, examining every inch of the plane as part of the preflight safety inspection.

It was as if nothing had happened.

Will looked at his watch, feeling a moment of panic before he realized he hadn’t bothered to set it back.

Abigail Brannon was safe. That was all that mattered right now. Faith had called from the hospital to let Will know that the little girl had checked out fine. A few scrapes and bruises were the only physical injuries she’d suffered.

The same could not be said of Eleanor Fielding, who’d had the bad sense to try to evade arrest. A battalion of cops had chased her through the Lakewood Arms. She’d finally climbed on the balcony and threatened to jump. When no one seemed interested in stopping her, she’d followed through on her promise. Unfortunately, the woman had survived the three-story fall. Her busted pelvis and legs would mend, but she’d spend the rest of her life in prison.

Just like Joe Jenner.

Will had to smile every time he thought about the shocked look on the man’s face. It was always the smart ones who ended up tying their own nooses.

The doors slid open. A ground-crew worker came out. His orange vest hung loose around his waist. He gave Will a nod and headed toward the men waiting for the next landing so they could collect baggage off the plane.

Will couldn’t pace anymore. He leaned against the wall. His back ached. His head was pounding. He was pretty sure he was getting lung cancer from the constant odor of jet fuel.

He was punch-drunk from exhaustion. And anxiety. And relief.

He took Abigail Brannon’s slipper out of his pocket. He’d found some glue to fix the trim. He’d taken the other shoe out of evidence. He’d give them to Faith. He doubted Abigail Brannon would want to see him. She’d seen Will twice—in the bathroom and on the train. Both times she’d looked at him with longing in her eyes, begging to be rescued. Both times, Will had failed her.

At least she’d be in her mother’s arms soon. Will would have to stop calling New Age believers freaks after this. He had visualized Abigail Brannon in her mother’s arms, and that was exactly what was about to happen.

A wealthy Idaho farmer had donated the use of his private jet so that Rebecca Brannon could fly straight to Atlanta to meet her daughter. The charter pilot had been given special permission to divert to the E concourse so that the press couldn’t bother them.

Will could only imagine what was going through the woman’s mind right now. The flight was over four hours long. That was a lot of time to think about the fact that Paul Riggins, the man she’d been dating, had sold her daughter to a ring of pedophiles. He would probably spend the next ten years in prison.

Ten years.

That seemed light to Will. None of these bastards ever got what they really deserved. It was the one instance where Will was one hundred percent in favor of the death penalty. He’d advocate bringing back a firing squad if it meant he’d be the one to take out Joe Jenner.

The man was already working the angles. He’d hired one of the top lawyers in the state. He’d probably end up with five years. The rumors about what happened to pedophiles in prison were true, but still that was not enough to satisfy Will’s desire for the man to be punished.

The doors slid open again. Amanda and Vanessa Livingston were shoulder to shoulder, talking in low voices. They’d worked together longer than Will had been alive. The women shared a bond in the way of soldiers who’ve been bloodied in the same battles.

Vanessa held a police radio in her hand. It squawked as soon as the doors closed. She put her ear to the speaker, nodding as if the person on the other side could see her. Finally, she told Will, “The plane just landed. Faith’s on her way down with the girl. We’ve had some more enterprising reporters who booked flights so they can get into the terminal.”

Amanda added, “Rumor has it they’ll be at the T concourse.”

Vanessa grinned. “I wonder who told them that?” She winked at Will as she walked over to the ground crew.