Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) (40 page)

"Yep. I've also got your handwritten original here." She paused, and Michael could hear her mind working. "Is everything okay, Michael?"

"Fine. I'd just written it down wrong. I've got a meeting now, but I'll give you a call later." Michael hung up and stared at his phone. He had to be dialing wrong. But he'd been able to call Carolyn. He'd used his phone a million times on business trips. "Damn it all." He dialed again and got the message for the third time. He'd just have to call Washington at his main number.

Michael called information and asked for StarTechnology. "Al Washington, please," he said when the operator put him through.

"May I ask who's calling?" the receptionist asked.

"Michael McKinley." He heard several rings then a click.

"Alfred Washington's office," the next woman answered.

"Yes, this is Michael McKinley calling for Al."

"And what is this regarding, please?"

Michael wanted to respect Al's request for confidentiality. "Please tell him I'm with Bouton, Leventhal, and Lewis."

The secretary didn't seem to appreciate his encrypted message. "One moment, please."

The line went quiet, and Michael closed his eyes, feeling the California sun beat down on his legs.

"I'm sorry, Mr. McKinley, Mr. Washington is not available. If you'll leave your name, I'll give him the message as soon as I can."

Michael sat up. "It's very important that I speak with Mr. Washington." Michael didn't want to embarrass the guy, but this was ridiculous. "I'm afraid my firm had a problem with the check he sent us."

"Your firm?"

"Bouton, Leventhal, and Lewis," he repeated, growing frustrated with Washington.

"One moment."

Back on hold, Michael stood from the car and paced slowly. He wasn't prepared for this glitch in his day, and the whole thing was making him uncomfortable.

"Mr. McKinley," the secretary came back on the line.

Michael straightened, feeling his pulse speed just slightly. What was wrong with him? Why was he so nervous?

"Mr. Washington has never heard of your firm, I'm afraid."

Michael could feel his mouth drop open, but no words came out.

"So, I'm very sorry, but you must have reached the wrong person," she continued.

"That's impossible," Michael spat. "He and I spoke several times on the phone. He signed a contract with my firm. Tell him it's about Electron Industries."

The secretary exhaled into the phone, and Michael felt himself losing his patience, too.

"I need to speak with Al. Please tell him I'm waiting," he said with finality. He'd flown all the way out here, billed sixty hours already on the case, plus the hotel, the car. It was fifty thousand at least. Washington could pick up the goddamned phone.

"This is Alfred Washington," came a booming male voice less than a minute later.

Michael slumped. The voice wasn't the least bit familiar. "Al Washington?"

"It's Alfred. Who is this?"

Michael forced himself to regain his composure. "Mr. Washington, I apologize. There must be some sort of miscommunication. I'm an intellectual property attorney from Virginia. Two weeks ago, I received a call from a man who said he was Al Washington, head of StarTechnology. I gather that person wasn't you."

"Damn right, it wasn't."

Michael looked around in the distance. What was going on? "And you aren't bringing a case against Electron Industries for infringement?"

"Hell, no. They're one of our biggest clients. What the hell's going on here?"

"I don't have any idea, Mr. Washington."

"I think we should call the police," Washington continued. "This is libel, slander..."

Michael tuned him out. His thoughts moved to who would do this. Who would drag him all the way out here? He had taken Amy out of school. He thought about Amy and Casey, and suddenly he couldn't get off the phone fast enough.

"I'll take care of this, Mr. Washington. Thank you for your time." Michael ended the call and found Casey's number in his book. He'd had it memorized once, but no longer. Flustered, he dialed. "Please be home," he whispered as the phone rang.

Five rings, then six, seven. "Damn it, Casey. Where the hell are you?"

Throwing the phone on the seat, Michael got in the car and revved the engine. He pulled out in a long screech of burning rubber and headed north, praying he could stop whatever the hell was happening before it was too late.

Chapter 34

Jordan sped off the freeway toward Alta Bates Hospital. The red light on the top of his Explorer warned people from his path, but they were slow to move. Jordan blasted his horn at an insolent Mercedes and then sped around him. He had an inkling to pull that guy over and give him a ticket, but there wasn't time.

Casey's call had been frantic and almost completely nonsensical. Someone was in the hospital, and it wasn't her. That was all he knew. On the ride over, he'd tried to call twice, but no one named McKinley was there and the nurse hadn't been able to locate Casey. The only thing Jordan could figure was Billy was sick again.

He turned up Ashby and into the hospital entrance, stopping to the side of the emergency area parking. He dropped his police parking pass in the window and rushed from the car.

Inside, all the same sensations about hospitals came rushing back. He hated these places. Scouring the area, Jordan spotted Casey shuffling back toward the waiting room with her head in her hands. She was alone, and Jordan wondered where Billy and Amy were. Casey had said that they were all spending the day together.

He jogged to her. "Casey."

She looked up, her cheeks tearstained, the tough, hard-edge, FBI profiler gone. She looked like a little kid.

Jordan pulled her to him and held her. "What happened?"

"It's—Billy," she choked. "He's—"

She didn't need to finish the sentence. Jordan knew. He closed his eyes and rubbed her back. When Casey told him that Billy had full-blown AIDS, he had wondered how she would deal with his death. She seemed more than a little dependent on him. And, of course, he on her. But at the time, Jordan had reminded himself that Billy could outlive Jordan himself.

Casey looked up and wiped her eyes. "We were at the park. He just slumped over." She sniffled and stared at her hands. "The doctor said he must have had a massive heart attack."

"I'm so sorry, Casey." Jordan looked around the waiting room. It was nearly empty. "Where's Amy?"

Casey looked around. "She's with the security guard and Kevin."

"What happened to the cop who was with you? I didn't see a patrol car outside."

Casey shrugged as she surveyed the room. "That asshole disappeared at the park." She paused and looked around again. "Where did they go? They promised they'd wait right here."

Panic burned like flames in Jordan's chest as he watched Casey's eyes. A flash of the Warriors game rushed back at him. Walking into the men's room and looking for Ryan, wondering where he could have gone. How had the boy gotten past Jordan? But he had been sidetracked, scolding Will. And suddenly, his son had been gone.

As Casey stood and searched the room, the sorrow in her expression was quickly replaced by worry. "They wouldn't have gone anywhere."

Jordan took her arm. "You said she was with Kevin?"

Casey's eyes met Jordan's. The fear reflected deep in the green pools. "You don't think someone—" Casey pressed her fingers to her lips. "Oh, my God." She turned and rushed toward the exit.

Jordan ran to the information desk and flashed his badge. "I need to make an announcement over the P.A. Please page Amy McKinley back to this area."

The woman stood motionless and stared.

"Do it now," he said.

With a scowl, she picked up the phone and dialed.

Jordan heard her voice from above. "Amy McKinley, Amy McKinley, please report to the ER waiting area."

"Is there a speaker outside?" he asked.

She nodded. "People within twenty yards or so can hear it."

Jordan turned back to the room and addressed the few people sitting in the waiting area. "Did anyone see a young white girl leave the premises with an older male and the security guard?"

No one moved.

Casey reentered from the outside, her expression pure alarm. "We need help out here. The security guard's been shot."

Two nurses ran past them to tend to the guard.

"I don't see Kevin." Casey thought about his shoes. They'd been smaller than a size ten. Had he known she would recognize him by his shoe size? Was he that clever?

"What are you thinking?" Jordan asked.

"If Kevin isn't Leonardo, then Kevin should be lying there with the guard. Leonardo wouldn't take any extra hostages."

"Jesus Christ."

Casey felt herself start to shake. "The distinctive jaw Nina Rodriguez mentioned—Kevin had that jaw. Oh, God. It all fits. It's Kevin."

Jordan grabbed her arm. "What was Kevin wearing?"

She shook her head. "I don't know." To the room, she announced, "He's got curly, blond hair, nice-looking. The girl's twelve, about four-seven, has shoulder-length blond hair. Her name is Amy. She was with me earlier."

Jordan scanned the room and saw a few heads shaking. People seemed wrapped up in their own tragedies. The ER was a place where people, worried about the outcome of whatever disaster brought them there, probably didn't notice much.

The nurses wheeled the guard back in, but when Jordan approached, he was waved off. The guard wasn't going to be able to answer any questions in his current state.

"Damn," Jordan said, looking around the room. Amy hadn't surfaced. He wanted to believe that she was somewhere safe, but he didn't believe it. And he didn't want to risk it. He'd seen the look on Ryan's face, the terror. Amy was only a few years older. Had Kevin really taken her? If so, how far could he have gotten? Jordan had to believe Amy would fight once she realized what was happening.

An older woman walked toward them. Her voice was like a rickety old wheel as she spoke. "I saw that girl."

Casey grabbed her arm. "Where?"

"She walked off with that guy you described. Looked like they were having a fight," the woman said.

"Did you see where they were heading?" Jordan asked.

The woman stopped and frowned. Turning a small circle, she looked around.

The suspense was killing him. "Ma'am," he finally said.

She came back to face him and shook her head. "I can't remember."

Casey let out a low, desperate moan.

Jordan whipped around to the attendant at the desk. "I need to borrow your phone."

She shook her head. "Sorry, it's for—"

"This is police business. Dial 9-1-1, then give me the goddamn phone," he spit back.

The woman turned and dialed, handing the receiver over without another word.

"This is Inspector Jordan Gray from the San Francisco Police Department. I've got a kidnapping from Alta Bates Hospital. Suspect is believed to be the same responsible for the child murders in the San Francisco area. I need as many cars as you've got to search the area."

"You have a description of the suspect?" the dispatcher came back.

Jordan shook his head. "A description? Not much of one." He turned to face Casey. Her eyes were wide with terror, and she looked as though she might fall over.

Casey took the phone, staring down. "This is Agent Casey McKinley of the FBI. The suspect is in his early to mid-thirties and may change appearances frequently. Currently he is dressed as a trim, five-eleven, blond man. The girl, Amy, is twelve, about four-seven, eighty pounds, shoulder-length straight blondish-brown hair, green eyes." Her voice was strong and professional, and Jordan knew the full reality hadn't sunk in.

"She was wearing a pair of straight black pants and a white T-shirt with 'bebe' written in small letters at the top of the back. She had a chambray shirt tied around her waist. White Steve Purcell's on her feet—no socks. It's possible they are driving a 1982 white Volvo sedan. Plate is X-A-B-5-8-2."