“Will you need help getting him from his car into your car?”
“Heavens, no!” Grover said. “But thank you for the offer. The main reason we don’t want your help is because it is a felony, of course, to take someone elsewhere against their will, which we justify as an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. As for the practical legal aspects, we have our own in-house defense attorney. Anyway, the answer is no. We do the kidnapping.”
39
MARCH 27, 2010
SATURDAY, 11:49 p.m.
I
think we can give ourselves a compliment,” Colt said to Grover. Colt was driving, and Grover was studying the MapQuest directions. “That little event was carried out extraordinarily well.”
The event he was referring to was their surprising the watcher and transferring him from his car to the back of a rented black Ford van. At the moment they’d burst into his SUV, which he’d failed to lock, the man, whom they later learned was Duane Mackenzie, had not been doing much watching, except for watching the ongoing neighborhood basketball game. As a consequence, Grover and Colt had been able to get their hands on the SUV’s front door handles and the doors open before Duane could react. By that time, he had two suppressed Smith & Wesson automatic pistols pressed against his neck while he was being relieved of his own weapon.
“Now, here’s what you are going to do,” Colt had said to the shocked and terrified Duane. “We’re going to get out of the SUV and walk directly across the 272
street and climb into the back of that black Ford van without making any fuss. If you do, you are going to get blown away. Am I understood?”
“Who are you?” Duane tried to demand, but his voice quavered in terror.
“Shut up!” Colt had snapped. Then to Grover: “How clear does the neighborhood look?” He wasn’t about to take his eyes off Duane.
“It looks good,” Grover had said, avoiding using Colt’s name. “No pedestrians except two heading away, and no oncoming cars.”
Colt, who had been on the driver’s side, had yanked Duane out of the SUV and had marched him quickly down the street. Colt had lowered the gun temporarily to his side. Grover had caught up to the other two at the back of the van and had opened the back doors.
Once the doors were wide open, Colt had forced Duane inside in a smooth and practiced fashion. Inside the van was an open, domestic oriental rug, onto which Duane was forced to lie prone. Grover had climbed in as well, and as Colt kept the barrel of his gun pressed against Duane’s neck, Grover had bound the man’s arms with duct tape, gagged him with a small rag secured with duct tape, and then rolled him up in the rug. The whole episode, from entering Duane’s vehicle to his being bound inside the rug, had taken less than a minute, and the only person to have been a witness was Jack. Thanks to the discussion the previous evening, he had noticed the SUV and had been watching it continuously.
“Where should I turn east?” Colt asked, as he headed south on Central Park West.
“Either at Fifty-ninth or Fifty-seventh,” Grover responded. “Fiftyninth will be fine.”
They were on their way to Woodside, Queens, where they had rented a small two-story house. It was brick, with a garage entered from a back alleyway. The garage had been key. They wanted to avoid any curiosity when unloading their guest.
“Do you think he is adequately terrified?” Colt asked. Part of the technique was to scare the hell out of the victim to loosen his tongue.
“I think so,” Grover said. “I certainly would be.” He checked his watch. “I hope this doesn’t take too long. We’ve a lot to do today.”
They crossed over the Queensboro Bridge and onto Northern Boulevard, then 273
onto 54th Street. The house they had rented was in the middle of the block. Colt turned into the alleyway. The garage door had an automatic opener, one of whose buttons Grover pressed as they approached. The garage door rattled upward, and Colt expertly pulled the van in and killed the engine.
“Let’s get our tools in first, get set up, and then come back for our guest.”
“Sounds good to me, but let’s not make this our life’s work,” Grover said.
40
MARCH 27, 2010
SATURDAY, 12:50 p.m.
T
he phone again jolted both Laurie and Jack, causing their pulses to speed up. A half-hour earlier it had been Warren apologizing for disturbing them but telling Jack that a handful of the boys were already out at the court and thinking they might start earlier than usual that afternoon. He wanted to know if Jack would like to join them to take his mind off what was going on. Jack had given the idea a brief thought, but after looking at Laurie had decided not to do it. He reasoned that they needed to be with each other even though they had run out of things to say. For both, the hardest part was feeling helpless while flipping back and forth between despondency and anger.
Before he’d hung up, Warren did have something at least interesting if not hopeful to say. He’d said that he and Flash had found a possible watcher, and Grover and Colt had come and hauled the man away.
“I actually saw the abduction,” Jack had admitted. “Do you know where they took him?”
“No idea,” Warren had said. “But we’re supposed to wait around for when they bring the guy back. That’s why we decided to start playing early.”
The second time the phone rang, neither of them wanted to pick it up. Laurie sat in a club chair, Jack on the couch next to the corner table where the phone lived.
At that moment he was in the depressed side of his cycling emotions and was not sure he could interact with anyone. Nonetheless, after a few more rings he picked up the handset. He expected it was Warren trying to put more pressure on him to play ball, but it wasn’t. It was Captain Detective Mark Bennett.
“How are you people doing?” Marked asked. “Did you get any sleep?”
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“Sleep is not in the cards today,” Jack said. “Is anything happening? You know we got another call?”
“Absolutely,” Mark said. “I listened to the recording a number of times and have even visited the Laundromat from where the call was made in hopes of talking to an employee who might have remembered the incident, but no go. At least we know the way they are going to communicate with us, which is important in and of itself.”
“Is that going to help?”
“Yes and no. There’s still a lot of public phones in the city, so we cannot stake out all of them. But it is something we’ll keep in mind as things progress. The important thing is that they came up with a specific demand, which means the negotiation will be starting. That’s an important milestone.”
“And reminded us of a previous demand,” Jack said. “They said no police. They threatened to physically hurt JJ if we don’t respect it.”
“That’s a demand kidnappers generally make,” Mark said, “and for obvious reasons, we are sensitive to the issue. We will certainly not broadcast our involvement in any way or form. Whether you tell the media or not is up to you, although we strongly recommend you don’t.”
“What about your coming in and out of here?” Jack questioned. “And what about the officer downstairs?”
“The officer downstairs will remain for now but will not be going in and out your door. We will be appreciative if you temporarily provide him with food and drink.
Today or tomorrow we will figure out a way for him to get in and out and to be replaced without it being obvious to anyone watching the building. It is one of the benefits of living in a row house with multiple entrances into the rear common area.”
“No one is going to be coming in and out of the front door?” Jack questioned, just to be certain.
“Absolutely not,” Mark said.
“Anything else on your end?” Jack questioned.
“Yes,” Mark said. “I got a call from the people going over the white van that was used for the snatch. As we suspected, it was stolen, and as we suspected, it had 275
been carefully wiped down. Still, we were able to pick up some partial and a few full prints, and all of them have been sent for evaluation. Something like that could be a big breakthrough. Also, we have put out an APB on your coworker, Vinnie Amendola. So far he’s evaded it; I mean, I’m not trying to suggest he’s doing it purposefully, just that we’ve had no responses.
“Now I have a suggestion for you,” Mark continued. “As you know, they have indicated they want the ransom to be in D perfect diamonds, which is clever on their part. Diamonds worth a million dollars will be easy to get but not without money. I’m afraid you should begin to see what kind of money you will be able to raise and how you are going to do it.”
“All our savings are completely tied up in our house. It has no property mortgage and no construction mortgage, either.”
“I encourage you to talk to your bank and see what kind of cash you might be able to expect on a financing deal. What about life insurance?”
“I have some but not much,” Jack said.
“Well, give it a go. When we get to that point of the negotiation, we have to have an idea of what’s the top amount we’ll have to work with. Now, do you have any questions? We are putting all our efforts into your case. I just spoke with the commissioner. He is extremely interested in having the case resolved yesterday.”
“I do have a question,” Jack said. “What do you think about finding out where these people are holding my kid?”
“It happens, but it is very rare. It also, in our opinion, puts the kidnapped individual at heightened risk. Our experience is to get the kidnappers to the bargaining table and negotiate the best terms possible for the release.”
41
MARCH 27, 2010
SATURDAY, 1:00 p.m.
W
e’re ready,” Grover announced after he positioned the IV pole he’d assembled next to the bed. They were in the smaller of the two bedrooms in the Woodside row house. On the bed was a piece of three-quarter-inch plywood about six feet long and two feet wide with a two-foot arm board sticking off one side. A black 276
bag containing an assortment of medication and syringes was on the night table, along with a fresh roll of silver duct tape.
“Time to bring in the guest,” Colt said. He and Grover were wearing latex gloves both for protection and also to avoid leaving any fingerprints around the house, which had been rented under an assumed name with cash up front. The CRT
motto was: One could never be too safe.
Returning to the van downstairs, they unrolled Duane, who looked as terrified as they had assumed he would be.
“Come on,” Colt said, pulling the man up to a sitting position. “Let’s head inside to party.”
At first Duane tried to refuse getting out of the van, until Colt produced his gun from under his jacket. Duane immediately changed his mind about resisting, and climbed awkwardly out. With Grover leading and Colt following, they marched the tremulous man out of the oil-scented garage, up the stairs, and into the small bedroom. When Duane saw the board on the bed and the IV, he tried again to hold back.
“No more fighting,” Grover said, giving Duane a push toward the bed. “We’re going to do what we are going to do, whether you fight or not, unless you want to tell us what we need to know.”
Duane made an effort to speak.
“Are you trying to say you’re willing to talk with us?” Grover questioned. Grover looked into the man’s dark eyes as Duane nodded assent.
Grover looked at Colt questioningly. “Give it a try,” Colt said.
Grover reached out, and taking the end of the duct tape plastered across Duane’s mouth, gave it a sudden forceful yank, pulling out a handful of Duane’s whiskers in the process as well as the rag. Duane yelped and gritted his teeth.
“Who are you guys?” he said when he’d recovered.
“I’m afraid that’s not the issue,” Grover said, his English accent suddenly more apparent. “You have two seconds to be cooperative.”
“What does it mean to be cooperative?”
“It means telling us where the child is whom you and your accomplices 277
kidnapped. Tell us where the child is or we’ll make you tell. It’s your call.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“What were you doing sitting in your car on One hundred and sixth Street?”
“I was watching a basketball game in the local park.”
Unhappy with the answer and the accompanying attitude, Grover unleashed a lightning karate chop to the side of Duane’s neck. Initially the man’s knees buckled, and he would have fallen to the floor if Grover had not caught him under the arms. Anticipating each other’s moves, Colt reacted by snatching up Duane’s legs, and together they heaved him onto the board on the bed. Next came the duct tape, which Grover grabbed from the bedside table. While Duane was still in a limp daze from the karate blow, Grover and Colt had succeeded in duct-taping him to the board.
“All right!” Duane said in desperation as soon as he could talk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a wise guy. I was watching a house to make sure the woman didn’t go out. I swear. That’s all I was doing—making sure someone didn’t come out of her house.”
“Too late,” Grover snapped. “We don’t have time to fool with you.”
With deftness that came with practice, Colt started an IV.
“What the hell are you doing?” Duane cried, struggling vainly against the duct tape. “What are you going to give me?”
“Check my math,” Grover said. “It’s point-seven milligrams per kilogram. What do you say, he weighs about eighty kilograms?”
“That would be my guess.”
“Okay, that means fifty-six milligrams,” Grover continued. “Let’s make it sixty.”
Quickly he drew up the medication into a syringe, tapping it to eliminate the bubbles, then handed the syringe to Colt across Duane’s body.
“What the hell are you giving me?” Duane demanded. His eyes were open to their fullest, watching. Colt, unhappy with the fact that there still was some air in the syringe, was holding the syringe upright and tapping the side as Grover had done.
“No, don’t!” Duane pleaded. “What is it? What does it do?”
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“It’s called Versed, if you really want to know,” Grover said. “But it’s a waste of time to tell you, because you’re not going to remember any of this. Among other characteristics, the drug is a wonderful retrograde amnestic.”