The Kills (48 page)

"Are
you serious?" I asked.

"Either
that or my crew has mutinied, Alex. Maybe I worked them too hard on the way
down from the islands."

He was
laughing, so it was clear that no one had made off with the boat.

"Where's
the boy, Mr. Hoyt?" Mike asked.

"Jenna
took him over to one of those buildings in the sports complex. Todd, our first
mate, was going to hit some balls with him, just play and hang out. Let him be
a kid for a change. Guess the captain decided to go for a ride in the meantime.
Want to go have a look for Dulles and my wife?"

"Sure."

We
retraced our steps at Mike's suggestion. "The batting cages are in the
field house, up between the first two piers. Eighty thousand square feet of
pure heaven for a kid. This was a good idea of yours. They've got hoops there
as well as baseball and gymnastics equipment. You ever been here before?"

Hoyt
shook his head. "Only the marina."

Mike was
leading the tour. "That's the building where they film all the TV shows,
you know, like-"

"Graham!"

A woman
was screaming Hoyt's name at the top of her lungs. The first two times we each
heard it and looked around, unable to find her among the hordes of adolescents
who had taken over the Piers' activity centers on the busy weekend.

"Jenna-what
is it?"

I turned
and saw a diminutive woman running toward Hoyt. She was dressed in a T-shirt,
cotton slacks, and sneakers. Her face was contorted into an expression
suggesting she was in pain, and she was weeping as she came at us.

"What's
the matter?" he said, grabbing both arms and trying to calm her down.
"Is it Dulles? Where is he?"

She
caught her breath and tried to speak. "He's okay. But it was frightening,
it was terribly frightening."

The more
she tried to talk, the harder she cried.

"Tell
me what it is," Hoyt said, sternly now, enunciating each word between
clenched teeth, ordering her to explain whatever had happened.

"Mrs.
Hoyt," I said, trying a softer approach by putting my arm around her
shoulder and taking her hand in mine. "Please tell-"

She
ignored me and talked to her husband. "It was Andrew. That meeting he had
with Dulles this morning, before Nancy Taggart brought him here? Andrew was
angry that it broke up so abruptly."

She
stopped again to take some deep breaths.

"Damn
it," said Graham. "He just can't let go of the boy."

"Andrew
actually followed them here. That Taggart woman must be an idiot," Mrs.
Hoyt said, her tears replaced by anger. "She led him right to us."

"Did
Andrew do anything? Did he go anywhere near Dulles?"

"No,
not that close. But-"

"Where
the hell were you? What was going on? Where's Dulles?"

"I
was sitting in the stands on the side, watching him play. I didn't even see
Andrew." She was beginning to whine now, seeing that Graham was getting
frantic over something that she had not been able to control. "Next thing
I know Dulles looks up and just freaks out. He saw his father standing twenty
feet away, just staring at him, holding on to the wire cage."

Hoyt was
looking all around now. "Where are they?"

"It's
okay, Graham. Todd scooped Dulles up and started running. Right to the boat.
I-I couldn't keep up. I decided to try to block Andrew, to get in his way so he
wouldn't be able to catch them."

She
pointed down at her torn slacks. She must have fallen and scraped her knee.
There was still fresh blood. Hoyt didn't seem interested in her bruise.

"Todd
and the boy?"

"I
saw them get on the
Pirate.
I saw
the captain pull out into the river."

"Which
way?"

"North."

"You
sure?"

She was
pointing now, and the magnificent steel bones of the George Washington Bridge
stood in the distant background as if they were painted against the sky.

Mike and
I were more worried about the fact that Andrew Tripping had begun to stalk his
own child.

He spoke
before I did. "Tripping? Did you see which way Tripping went?"

"We
got entangled in each other. That's how I fell. He got up and started
running-"

"After
Dulles?" Graham asked.

"No,
no. The other way. He ran toward a black car that was parked near the taxi
drop-off area," Jenna said. "Over that way."

"You
see him get in?" Mike asked.

"Yeah."

"Driver's
side?"

"No,
no. Someone was already waiting there, in the car. Another man."

Mike and
Graham Hoyt were speaking at the same time, with different concerns.

"That
son of a bitch was coming after Dulles, to take him away from us. To kidnap
him. Had a car waiting and everything," Hoyt said, turning away from his
wife.

Mike
wanted to know what the man in the car looked like.

"He
was a white guy. Short hair, thin face."

"Lionel
Webster."

"Who's
got a gun, Mike," I reminded him.

"She's
yours," he said, telling Jenna Hoyt to stay with me till he got back or
got word to us later.

Mike
jogged in the direction of the parking garage, talking into his cell phone as
he did.

Graham
Hoyt took off the other way, toward his sleek-looking speedboat, the
Pirate
's tender tied up at the end of
the dock. Jenna followed behind him, favoring her bruised leg. I ran after
them, overtaking her quickly and trailing behind her husband.

Halfway
down the pier, Jenna let out a groan. I looked back and saw her doubled over,
kneading a cramp out of her calf. She waved us on.

Graham
Hoyt took care of the slipknot and tossed the rope onto the clean white rear
seat of the boat, bounding in after it. "We're going for the boy," he
called out to his wife.

He held
out his hand and I jumped on as he juiced the motor and headed upriver.

The bow
of the Whaler crashed against the waves, and the second speed bump threw me
down onto the seat. Graham Hoyt was holding the wheel, driving the powerful
craft hard, running it between and around the river traffic. Spray from the
cold river was splashing over the sides, carried by the wind, soaking my hair
and face.

Hoyt
looked back at me. "Stay down, okay?"

I nodded
that I would.

With his
left hand he picked up a walkie-talkie device, trying to raise his captain on
it.

Seconds
later came the reply that he could be heard.

"We're
in the tender, trying to catch up to you. Is Dulles okay?"

The
machine crackled as the answer was transmitted. I could hear the captain say
that the boy was "just fine."

Hoyt
asked how far ahead they were, and I thought I heard the words "Spuyten
Duyvil," which was just a few miles north. He replaced the device on the
dashboard and turned to me with a smile, slowing the speed a bit. My stomach
had been churning as the boat slammed against the water over and over. Now I
was able to let go of my firm grip on the edge of the seat.

"He's
good, Alex," Hoyt said, flashing me a grin. I could barely hear him over
the sound of the engine.

I called
out from the back of the boat, "You're both really determined to get him
through all this. That's clear."

He was
relaxed now. "I only hope Jenna can put up with Andrew's nonsense until we
get a judge to formalize the arrangement. I've raised a lot of money for
children's organizations around the world, Alex. It's Jenna's passion, and
we've been pleased to do it. All those orphans in Bosnia and Afghanistan and
East Africa. What the hell else is there but kids, in the end? I've thrown a
lot of my money into making kids' lives better."

Somebody
had just been talking to me about a corporate lawyer who donated money to
children's charities. The wind whipped my hair into my eyes and mouth, and I
tried to recall the conversation. I remembered, too, there was a scam involved.

We had
passed the Seventy-ninth Street boat basin and were parallel with the West Side
Highway. I took my cell phone from my pocket and called Mercer Wallace to see
whether he had any word from Mike.

"Hey,
where are you?"

"With
Graham Hoyt, trying to catch up to the big boat to find Dulles. Halfway between
Hoboken and Harlem, on the water. You heard anything from-"

"I'm
telling you right this minute, Alexandra, lower yourself into the drink if you
have to, but get yourself back to shore this very minute."

"What's
wrong?"

Hoyt must
have heard the change in my voice and looked around at me. I smiled at him and
shrugged my shoulders. "Just checking with my deputy to make sure nothing
serious came up while I was on the Vineyard. She's home with her kids."

"Is
anyone else with you?" Mercer asked.

"No."

"You
close to any place he can dock or pull in?"

"Not
far."

Hoyt kept
checking back on me.

"Is
it Mike? Did he get Andrew Tripping?"

"I
haven't heard a thing from Mike. I got another glitch."

"Like
what?"

"Just
you come home."

"You've
got to tell me so I know what I'm dealing with here," I said, hoping the
concern in my whispered words hadn't been carried to Hoyt by the wind.

"After
I left Kevin Bessemer at the hospital, I stopped by to see Tiffany's mother.
Thank her for calling in the tip."

"Yeah."

"Remember
Tiffany told us she took something from Queenie's apartment, after she got
there and found the old girl was dead?"

"A
photograph. She took a photograph of Queenie with her son."

"That's
who all of us believed was in the picture, when Tiffany said it was a young
boy, right? We just assumed it was Fabian because it came out of Queenie's
apartment."

"It's
not Fabian?"

"Mrs.
Gatts had the picture at her place, 'cause she took her daughter's purse home
with her the day Tiffany was arrested. It was a ten-year-old boy in the
picture, all right, but it wasn't McQueen Ransome's son and it wasn't taken
forty years ago."

"What?"

Hoyt had
slowed the boat even further, and I continued to fake my lack of concern.

I needed
to listen to Mercer and not panic. I needed to let him tell me what he knew.

"The
kid in the photograph is Dulles Tripping-it's a Polaroid and he signed his name
right on the back, thanking McQueen Ransome for something, maybe something she
gave him."