Hocus (37 page)

I felt myself sway. Jack moved closer, let me lean on him. Bea was trembling.

“It’s not Frank!” Pete half shouted. He walked off, reached the limit of the police tape around us, and began pacing, swearing to himself in Italian. Rachel watched him in silence.

“Perhaps we should all sit down,” Bredloe suggested. Pete and Rachel stayed standing; everyone else moved to a chair. Bea began crying quietly again.

Think, I told myself. Think. You’ll have all kinds of time to panic later, hours and hours to fall apart. Right now, just think.

“Only one body?” I asked.

“Yes — so far. It may take us a day to sift through the debris. But we were watching the building with thermal sensors before the fire broke out, and there were only two people in the building — one who moved about and one who stayed stationary. What’s more, the body is in the part of the building where Ryan and Neukirk had special construction done.”

“The soundproof room?”

He nodded. “We asked the fire department to try to get to that area first, because we assumed that might be where they were keeping Frank.”

“And that was the area where….”

“Where the remains were found,” he finished for me. “Yes. The fire department believes a separate fire was started in that room — using an accelerant, perhaps gasoline — that’s what was used on the roof. The chemical analysis will take time. And while it will take some time to make any final determination, they believe the fire in that room may have started after the roof fire. It fits with the last thing the helicopter saw — the person who was moving around in the building left that area not long before the rooftop fire started. Otherwise, the men in the helicopter would have detected the fire in the room before they had to pull out.”

“Any sign of that person?” I asked. “The one who was moving around?”

“No,” Bredloe said. “But we’re searching the area.”

“The arithmetic is all wrong, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Bea asked. She had stopped crying, was wiping at her face.

“There should have been four people in that building,” I said. “Frank, Bret Neukirk, Samuel Ryan, and a woman — Faye Taft — Samuel’s girlfriend.”

As I said her name, I thought of Samuel’s voice as he’d spoken to us during the last phone call, of his chilling lack of regard for her.

“Yes,” Bredloe said. “Two of them were out of the building before we arrived.”

“And at least one of the other two knew you were coming.”

“Why do you say that?” Bredloe asked.

“They were ready with the gasoline on the roof, and had some method of igniting it without going up there, right?”

“Yes. The arson investigators will find the ignition device, I’m sure.”

“Unless it leads them to Frank, I’m not sure I care.”

He didn’t reply.

“There are other signs that this was all set up in advance,” I said. “Ryan and Neukirk have contacted me by phone several times in the last few days. They never once allowed themselves to be traced — until now. I think they wanted to be traced. Ryan picked a topic that was bound to elicit an emotional reaction from Cassidy. Maybe they even wanted you to do just what you did — remove him, at least temporarily, from the case.”

“Why would they want to do that?” Bredloe asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe because Cassidy is getting a feel for them, is starting to anticipate them to some degree. Maybe if he had been here, he would have reacted differently from Lewis. I don’t know.”

“The negotiator was never really allowed to get involved in this one,” Bredloe said.

“No, I guess not.” I reconsidered. “Maybe it wasn’t to get Cassidy off the case. Maybe it was a distraction — they knew you’d be concerned with Cassidy’s reaction — and might not stop to think about the length of the call, about the fact that they were letting you trace them.”

“You underestimate the ego of this type of taker,” a voice said.

I looked up to see a balding man of medium height standing nearby. He was thin, wearing a brown suit that looked a little too big for him. He had a pleasant enough face.

“Detective Lewis,” Bredloe said, and made introductions all around.

“Takers tend to fit certain profiles, Ms. Kelly,” Lewis went on, even though no one asked him to. “Paranoid schizophrenic, psychotic depressive, antisocial personality, or inadequate personality. We’ve already seen that Neukirk and Ryan are not true political terrorists, as are their friends in jail. Lang and Colson believed all along that they were part of an anarchist organization. Neukirk and Ryan gave them an outlet for their needs.”

Pete, who had moved nearer and listened to this, made a snorting sound. “Didn’t take you long to figure everything out, did it?”

“How do you know what Lang and Colson’s motives are?” I asked. “Have they talked?”

“No,” Lewis said, “but—”

“Have you checked Lang’s and Colson’s family backgrounds?” I asked. “Or did you stop once you knew where they learned to work with explosives? Anyone look back beyond their years in the military?”

Bredloe looked uncomfortable. “We haven’t had much time. We’ve concentrated on Ryan and Neukirk.”

I decided not to mention that Lang and Colson had been under suspicion days before Hocus took Frank; decided against suggesting that perhaps Lieutenant Carlson had been too busy hassling Frank to allow time to thoroughly investigate his prisoners. I didn’t say it, but the anger was there all the same. “No matter which one of Detective Lewis’s four categories Ryan and Neukirk fit into,” I said, “we already know how the damage was done. We also know they are masters of the art of distraction.”

The next bit wasn’t so easy to say, but I swallowed hard and went on. “I don’t believe the body in that building belongs to Frank. They still need him as a bargaining chip. Making
you
think it was Frank was important, though. I think they’ve kept most of your resources busy while they were up to something else. Exactly what, I don’t know, but I’m fairly certain they just got rid of someone who had outlived her usefulness to them.”

“Her
usefulness?” Bredloe asked. “The young woman?”

Before I could answer, his radio squawked.

“Bredloe,” he answered. “Hold on a minute, Carlos.”

He stood up and walked away from us, put an earphone in his ear. But he watched me the whole time.

Lewis was saying something about leaving things to professionals, but no one was listening. We were watching Bredloe.

He walked back over to us. “It’s not Frank,” he said.

“Oh, thank God!” Bea said, then clasped her hand over her mouth. “I don’t mean to sound happy about whoever—”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Harriman,” Pete said. “We all feel the same.”

“Coroner says the pelvis indicates a female,” Bredloe said.

“Pelvis?” Lewis said. “You mean they only had bones—”

“Yes,” Bredloe said, cutting him off. “Lewis, why don’t you wait for me over at the command post? I’ll be along shortly.”

“Yes, sir,” Lewis said, apparently not in the least perturbed by the dismissal.

“How did you know?” Bredloe asked me once Lewis had gone.

“I didn’t. I hoped.”

He was silent.

“No,” I said, “that’s not true. There were reasons I hoped — the ones I gave you. And remembering that last phone call, the way Samuel sounded whenever we talked about her. Remember? He said, ‘I can’t seem to make you understand that she is no longer of interest to me.’ ”

“Hmm. Yes, I remember.”

“A couple I talked to — the Szals? They said that even Bret Neukirk disliked Samuel’s attitude toward women — Bret thought he simply used them.”

After a moment he said, “The firemen found some gas tanks up there. You know anything about that?”

“No,” I said. “Sorry. What kind of gas?”

“Nitrogen. They think it might have been hooked up to the room somehow. Enough to asphyxiate someone, they said.”

We sat in silence, Bredloe’s thoughts seeming far away.

“Put Thomas Cassidy back on this case,” I said. “Please. He understands Ryan and Neukirk.”

“He undoubtedly does understand them,” Bredloe said. “That’s what he specializes in — understanding what drives people, what they want. But Hocus also knows what drives him, I’m afraid.”

“Just because—”

“I heard that tape, Irene,” he interrupted. “Even you would have to admit that the man is exhausted.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

“Don’t underestimate Lewis,” he said. “When he’s under pressure, he’s a different man. After SWAT moved in, the intense pressure Lewis has been under for the last few hours was suddenly off, and what you just saw was as close as he gets to a hysterical reaction.” He turned to Pete. “A reaction no one need discuss outside this group. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Pete said.

“Shall I have a car take you home?” Bredloe asked me.

“I’ll take them,” Jack offered. “I’ve got a van here.”

At home, the dogs and Cody gave me an exuberant greeting that went a long way toward holding off my own hysterical reaction. I got Bea settled in and went into the kitchen. Hank Freeman’s equipment was still set up. I supposed he would be back soon. I wasn’t sure what all of the equipment did, but I could figure out which line led back to the recorder. I unplugged it, looked at the clock, and made the call anyway.

“Cassidy,” he answered.

“You’re awake.”

“Yes. Tape recorder on?”

“No, Hank’s not back yet. But I suppose they’ll know I called you?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t worry over it.”

I told him what had happened, only leaving out most of my conversation with Bredloe.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Hanging in there,” I said. “And you?”

“Tuckered out, I’ll admit,” he said. “But if you hadn’t called to let me know what had gone on, I’d be about as restless as a toad on a griddle. Maybe now I’ll sleep. Thanks for calling.”

I reconnected the recorder just as Hank Freeman came in the door. He sleepily checked over the equipment, then looked puzzled. He pressed a button on one device, which made a phone number appear on a display. He smiled.

“How is he?” he asked, obviously familiar with the number.

“Fine,” I said.

“I thought he’d be… let’s see… ‘nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs’?”

“No, I got the toad—”

“On a griddle,” he finished for me.

I smiled. “Couch okay for you tonight?”

He nodded, yawning. “Don’t bother folding it out. I’m so tired, I could sleep on the floor.”

He was asleep before I turned out all the lights.

Cody, who considered sleeping on the bed itself to be a cat privilege extended to certain humans as a courtesy, would usually not allow the dogs to come too near it. This night he magnanimously let them curl up on the rug within reach of my hand. He snuggled up to me, near my heart, and purred loudly.

I lay awake for a long time.

It was good to be home, just not quite good enough.

H
E AWAKENED
, first noting the darkness, the cotton gag over his mouth. He couldn’t move more than a few inches. Something was right above him — silky, padded. He was in a close-fitting, satin-lined box.

A coffin! They’ve put me in a goddamned coffin!

The last of his self-control shattered. He began screaming, beating his bound hands against the lid.

But almost instantly the lid was lifted, and he squinted in the sudden brightness. Bret’s pale face appeared above him. “I’m sorry!” Bret said anxiously. “I’m sorry! I thought you’d sleep longer!”

Frank was terrified, knew he looked it. Didn’t care. The gag was too much at this point. He tried to take in breaths of air as Bret continued to apologize, helped him to sit up. Dizzy again, he made a growling sound of frustration. Bret stepped away from him.

Gradually the room stopped spinning. He was in a trunk, he saw then, a magician’s trunk. Not airtight — breathing holes, in fact. Not a coffin.

It didn’t matter. He was shaking.

Bret still did not approach, and Frank realized that even bound and gagged he probably looked like he wanted to kill somebody.

Don’t frighten Bret, he told himself. You may need his help. Even if you don’t, the last thing you need to do is make him wary of you.

Still, it took a while to calm down.

He looked around. He wasn’t in the tent now. This was some kind of cellar. That thought nearly brought another round of panic, but he fought it off.

His hands were tethered together at the wrist, the IV catheter — tender after his attack on the lid of the trunk — still in. Now, he noticed, his ankles were manacled as well.

Once he was fairly sure he could do so without appearing ferocious, he looked over at Bret. Made the unspoken request, knew Bret understood it.

Bret stepped closer again, moved behind Frank. Hesitated only slightly before he removed the gag.

Frank stretched his jaw, rubbed his tethered hands against his face.

“Thanks,” he said. “Where are we?”

Bret shook his head. “I can’t tell you that, of course. But we’ve moved. I should warn you that it would be as dangerous for you to harm me or to try to leave this place as it was to leave the tent.”

“Where’s Samuel?”

“He’ll be along later. He’ll be bringing his friend, Faye.” He paused, then said, “Would you like me to help you step out of there?”

More than just about anything, he thought, but simply said, “Yes, thanks.”

Awkwardly, unable to move his legs freely or use his hands for proper leverage, he climbed out of the trunk with Bret’s help. He saw other trunks stacked along one wall, although not as many as he had seen in the tent. The IV bottle and pole stood in one corner, near a folded bed. He decided he must have awakened while Bret was still in the process of setting up after the move.

His gaze traveled to a steep staircase that led up to a closed metal door. At the foot of the stairs there was an alarm keypad, its lights red — indicating it was armed.

He moved slowly, still dizzy from the drugs, weakened by the long hours under their influence. Bret watched him but did not prevent him from walking a few paces, dragging the chain as he moved. There was a small bathroom with a single shower stall, a few simple furnishings. The walls were brick lined, the floor concrete.