The Breakthrough (23 page)

Jack nodded and looked at his watch. “We’re thirteen hours behind China,” he said. “I’ve got to talk with this Tuttman woman.”

Wells interrupted only a few more times with minor legal clarifications. When it was over, she followed the cops out into the corridor and left Kenleigh at the table.

“I know what you guys think of defense attorneys,” she said. “Some nights I feel the same about myself and my kind. We make you guys pay for your mistakes, and sometimes bad guys walk. But I’m going to sleep well tonight. I hope we just did something good in there.”

JULY 3

Boone awoke, at first unable to move or open his eyes. It was as if his lids had been glued shut. The more he tried to force them open, the more of an ordeal it became. He sensed the cabin was dark, but he wanted to look at his watch. Maybe if he raised his arm to his face he could make out the iridescent hands. But Boone couldn’t even lift his arm.

This reminded him of the drug-induced haze following his shoulder surgery and how long he had taken to recover from the anesthetic. It was as if he was there but not there. Now Boone felt he could sleep another few hours. But if nine hours had passed, it was time to start getting himself together. Hunger made him believe it
was
time to rise, but clearly, he was going to have to take this in stages. That much sleep should have been invigorating, and perhaps it would eventually prove so. But now he felt merely thick and slow.

The smell of food finally roused him at least one level closer to full consciousness. Boone balled his fists, then straightened his fingers, rolled his ankles, and finally lifted his knees. It was as if he could feel his circulatory system come to life. He forced open his eyes. The flight attendants were tiptoeing about, asking people if they wanted the final meal before landing. Finally able to look at his watch, Boone found it was 10:30 p.m., China time. He found the controls on his seat and held the button until he was sitting up.

“How are we doing, Mr. Booker?” the attendant said.

Boone nodded.

“We had a strange conversation before you fell asleep.”

“I remember. Sorry.”

“Who’s Haeley?”

“My wife.”

“She in China?”

“No. Couldn’t come.”

“Well, you’re eager to see her.”

“Always.”

“Sweet. And Max?”

“My son. In China. Eager to see him too.”

“And Pitt? Or Pitts?”

Boone shrugged, alarmed. Doc hadn’t told him he might give away his whole case on this drug. “Got me,” he said.

The attendant chuckled. “You’d be surprised what people do on sleeping pills. Now how about a little food? Fresh fruit, cheese, crackers, and a warm chocolate chip cookie sound good?”

It sounded like heaven. But again, Boone felt guilty enjoying anything. Strange that the whole world hadn’t stopped spinning when he and Haeley had lost Max.

After people had eaten and the trays were cleared, and before the final seat belt light had been illuminated, Boone tested his legs with another bathroom visit. It was a trek at first, and he had to steady himself on others’ chairs on the way. But by the time he returned to his seat, forced his shoes back on—they seemed to have shrunk two sizes—and checked his duffel bag, Boone had begun to really awaken. He was eager to land, to get through customs, and to meet his contact. It was time to get this show out of the air and onto the road.

Kevin Kenleigh had been kept overnight in Hammond and transported to central booking in Chicago the next day. Jack left voice messages for Antoine Johnson and Ragnar Waldemarr to keep them fully informed.

At six the next morning in Chicago, Jack was awakened by a call from Detective Johnson. “Had me a brainstorm,” Antoine said. “I’m going to that cafe in Burr Ridge where everybody seemed to know Pitts.”

“Jarvis’s?”

“Yeah. If she’s been working with him, someone there might recognize her.”

“Good idea. Remember she’s probably wearing a wig in that passport photo, and the glasses could be phony.”

Jack, at wit’s end and not knowing what rock to turn over next, headed toward the Burr Ridge/Clarendon Hills area. If Antoine got a lead on Virginia Tuttman, Jack didn’t want to waste time getting there. He was twenty minutes from the Jarvis Cafe when he got a text from Johnson:
Call me.

“Give me some good news,” Jack said.

“Get this, Chief. I think I’m strikin’ out, right? The place is hopping for breakfast, everybody busy and running. The waitresses seem really put out that I’m asking them to look at this picture. Finally the cook, who I think owns the place, comes stormin’ out and demands to know what I want, am I gonna order breakfast, or can they all get back to work.

“I tell him I’m just looking for this woman, and if he doesn’t recognize her, I’ll get out of his hair. He gives me this frustrated, skeptical look like he just knows he’s not going to have a clue, but as soon as he sees the picture he says, ‘Wow, is her name Shearson?’

“I say, ‘Could be. You know her?’

“He says, ‘No, but she could be Lorelei Shearson’s sister, maybe even her twin. ’Course, Lorelei don’t wear glasses and has lighter hair, but these two got to be sisters.’

“So I ask him is Lorelei local, and he says, ‘Yeah, lives about a mile from here. She works with adoptions, you know.’”

“You’re kidding,” Jack said.

“That’s what he said, Chief. I go, ‘Well, I’m really looking for this woman here.’

“He says, ‘I never seen her I don’t think, but Lorelei would get a kick outta seein’ somebody that looks so much like her.’”

“You get a phone number or an address?”

“I didn’t want to spook him or have him tell her someone was looking for her. I just called information. I’m sitting in the parking lot of her apartment building right now. Gotta tell ya, it’s some complex. Real money lives here.”

Antoine gave Jack directions, and a few minutes later they sat together in Johnson’s unmarked squad, in the shadows of gleaming towers. “We’ve got to play this right,” Jack said. “The last thing we want is to have her on the run or calling Pitts.”

“What time is it in China?”

“Late at night.”

Antoine sat nodding. “Trust me?”

“Trust you? You’re good enough for Drake’s team, you’re good enough for me.”

“Let me try something.” He put his cell phone on speaker and punched in the number for Lorelei Shearson of Burr Ridge.

She answered, clearly in a hurry.

“Ms. Shearson?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“Name’s Johnson. I got your number from someone at Jarvis’s Cafe who said you might be able to help me.”

“Could you call me in a half hour or so? I’m on my way out the door to work, and if this is about adopting—”

“It is.”

“—well, you came to the right place. But I can be much more helpful at my desk, all right? Here’s the number.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Antoine slapped his phone shut and looked to Jack. “She sound suspicious?”

“Not in the least.”

“That her?” he said, nodding at a fortyish woman, short blonde hair, no glasses, laden with purse, attaché, and what looked like a box of printing paper. She tossed everything in the passenger seat of a late-model sports car.

Jack grabbed the microphone from Antoine’s radio and asked dispatch to run the plate while the woman was sliding behind the wheel. Johnson threw the squad into Drive, but Jack held up a hand. “Let’s be sure we’re following the right car,” he said. “No time to be wrong now.”

The woman paused at a stop sign a block away, and just as the brake lights went out and she began to ease into traffic, the radio squawked with the year, make, and model of the car, registered to Shearson, Lorelei, then gave her address and date of birth.

Antoine Johnson followed her toward Clarendon Hills. “We tail her into Pitts’s place, Chief, she’s going to panic and try to get hold of him.”

Jack nodded, pulled a portable, revolving blue light from the floor, fed the connector into the cigarette lighter, and set the light on the dash. “Light ’er up, Detective,” he said, and Antoine floored the accelerator.

The unmarked squad was on the tail of the sports car in seconds, and Johnson flipped the siren switch on and off, causing it to emit one piercing whoop. The sports car immediately pulled over.

“I’ll stall her,” Jack said as he opened the door. “Call the DuPage County Sheriff’s Office and tell them we need a matron fast. Anybody gives you any trouble, tell ’em we’ve worked with Deputy Harry Landmeir before.”

“Landmeir, got it.”

Jack stood slightly behind the driver’s side window as the driver lowered it. “Good morning, ma’am. Officer Keller of the Chicago Police Department. May I see your license and registration please?”

“Sure,” she said, digging in her purse, then in her glove box. “Was I speeding?”

“No, ma’am. Just noticed your taillight out and wanted to let you know before it caused you any problem.”

“Well, thank you, but did you say Chicago?”

Jack moved next to her so he could see her face. “Yes, ma’am.”

“What’re you doing out this way?” she said, pleasantly.

“Just here on some routine business, but like I say, I noticed the light.”

“I really appreciate this.”

“Now, of course I’m not going to ticket you, but now that we’ve stopped you, I do have to make sure you are who you say you are and not an auto thief.”

Ms. Shearson chuckled. “Whatever you need to do.”

“Ma’am, may I see your cell phone too?”

“My phone? Whatever for?”

“Just need to check it. Make sure you weren’t texting while driving.”

She hesitated. “Am I out of order asking to see your badge?”

“Oh, not at all. In fact that’s wise.” Jack pulled out his badge wallet and also showed her his CPD identification card. “If you’d like to call and verify that I am who I say I am, you should certainly feel free to do that.”

“No, I guess it’s all right.”

“When was the last time you were pulled over, ma’am?”

“Oh, it’s been years,” she said, handing him her phone. “And you’ll see I wasn’t using the phone. I’m a good girl.”

“I’m sure you are. I’ll be right back.”

Antoine Johnson raised a brow when he saw her phone. “Couldn’t risk her trying to get hold of Pitts,” Jack said. “Matron coming?”

“Any second.”

“Did you have to play the Landmeir card?”

“I did, but that was all it took.”

Jack wanted to stall until the matron arrived. He didn’t want one technicality jeopardizing this arrest. But neither did he want to further alarm Lorelei Shearson. He was already pushing the boundaries with the phone ruse.

Jack pulled down the passenger-side visor and checked the mirror for a DuPage County sheriff’s car. Nothing. He approached Ms. Shearson’s car again. “Are you still living at this address, ma’am?”

“Yes, now can I go? I really have to get to work.”

Finally, Jack heard gravel crunching behind him. And Lorelei Shearson quickly looked in her rearview mirror. “What’s this now?”

“Just another minute, ma’am. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Jack hurried back to the deep blue sheriff’s squad as a stocky black woman slid out, inserting her nightstick through a ring hanging from her belt and pulling on her cap. “Female arrest?” she said.

“Yes, thank you. We’re hoping to interrogate her in her own home.”

“At your service for as long as you need me, sir.”

Back with Ms. Shearson, Jack said, “Step out of the car, please, ma’am.”

“What the—?”

“A female officer is here to pat you down.”

“In public?” she said, getting out. “What for?”

“Face the vehicle, please,” the woman officer said, “hands on the roof, feet back and spread ’em.”

“I demand to know—”

“Lorelei Shearson,” Jack began, “AKA Virginia Tuttman, you’re under arrest for the kidnapping of . . .”

Shearson’s knees buckled as soon as Jack had used her alias, and she began a slow slide down the side of her car. The sheriff’s deputy grabbed under her arms and wrenched her back up, finishing the search as Jack finished the Miranda warning, then cuffed her.

“Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?”

Ms. Shearson nodded, weeping.

“I need an audible yes, ma’am.”

“Yes.”

“Having these rights in mind, do you wish to talk with us now?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I want to make this as easy on you as possible. Would you be most comfortable in your own home?”

“I can do that?”

“Absolutely. You’ll ride with the deputy here, and we’ll meet you there.”

“Do I have to go inside in handcuffs?”

“No. There will be three of us with you, so we don’t expect any trouble. I can’t guarantee your neighbors won’t notice you with the deputy, but, ma’am, I must tell you, it appears you have acted as an accessory to kidnapping that includes international travel and human trafficking. Embarrassment should be the least of your worries.”

Jack was not surprised that Lorelei Shearson lived in a penthouse. “Just you here?” he said.

She nodded, pale and quivering.

He had her right where he wanted her. And he was going to be extremely careful not to talk her into calling a lawyer. Still, he had to cover his bases.

“Is there a table we could all sit at, ma’am?”

She led them to the kitchen, her gait unsure, as if she was aware she might never see this place again.

“Detective Johnson, could you see about a warrant? I don’t want to toss this place, even with Ms. Shearson’s permission, without legal cover.”

“Please,” she whined. “I keep no records here. Everything is at my office.”

“Before we go on,” Jack said, pulling out a legal pad, “I just want to clarify on the record that you acknowledge that I advised you of your rights, you stipulated that you understood those rights, and that I further asked if, with those rights in mind, you were willing to talk with us.”