And Then There Was One (12 page)

Whenever asked about his line of business, Manny simply answered, “financial advisor.” All his mail went to a P.O. Box in Clearwater where he kept a façade of an office. Manny had served his profession for forty-five years. Now, at sixty-two, he planned to sell the Clearwater property and retire. Only he would not be applying for Social Security benefits. He’d be off enjoying life in the islands with Monique, who seemed to get more beautiful and sexy with each passing year.

Like most professionals at this stage of his life, Manny wasn’t sure how well retirement would sit with him so he had a backup plan, a career adjustment. Something different, but related; a business plan he could implement from anywhere in the world.

Manny would always look back on his career with a surge of professional
pride. In all honesty, he considered himself the smartest and the most resourceful pro in the business — even with his one fuck-up, now many years ago, for which he’d paid by absenting himself from the country for seven years. Despite that one exception, he’d always prided himself on his work and endeavored to exceed his customers’ expectations.

Manny attributed his success to three factors: client selection, meticulous planning, and ingenuity. The way he worked was to cluster several cases close in time and then disappear to the islands and into the arms of Monique for a few months. When he returned he would entertain the next schedule of hits. For each client, a different identity — different name, different physical appearance, secure contact. About this he was meticulous.

Manny found scrupulous client selection the trickiest part of the job. The actual killings were easy. There were endless ways. All you had to do was treat the job like any profession, stay focused, and be reasonably smart. For Manny, smart was his calling card. The hallmark of his talent was taking the time to figure the strategy that fit each case perfectly. He’d been successful in every case but one and that still gnawed on him — and it was a kid. Well, he was smarter now.

In the dark corner of the office in his uncle’s Ybor City club, Manny checked his Rolex and patted his jacket pocket. The thick wad of airline tickets felt good. No e-tickets for him. A master of disguise, Manny had chosen the ponytail and a jeans and sports coat look for the meeting with his client. The wig was the same he’d used in the past dealing with Maxwell Cutty, but the threads were different. And the name Vincent, the same as last time. Thinking of Cutty made him grin at the prospect of overcharging the bastard. He’d charge the faggot double the going rate. The creep was a pedophile. So despicable he made Manny cringe. But a job was a job. Good guy — bad guy, he didn’t care. As usual, Manny had been briefed by his high-level cop informant inside the Tampa Police. Manny always checked his clients out. He couldn’t afford surprises. And he always wore a wire for client meetings.

When Maxwell Cutty had tried to withdraw money from the bank Monday afternoon, the assistant manager had balked. “Very irregular,” he had responded to Maxwell’s request for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in hundreds. Normally when some lowlife jerked him around, Maxwell would demand to see the manager and threaten to take his business elsewhere. But, instead, he’d had to kiss the prick’s ass and politely point out that he did not have to explain his use of his own company’s funds.

Now that he had the money, all he had to do was wait. Vincent said it would take a day to set things up in Nevis, and they’d meet in person at noon in Ybor City. In the meantime, Maxwell did not leave the house. The feds had already searched the place. They had his computer hard drive, but what could that do? Maxwell was not stupid enough to leave trace evidence. By tomorrow, Vincent would have eradicated the last trace linking him with the Monroe family, any child abuse charges, and even to his wife’s death.

European Union Summit in Brussels to Focus on Climate Change
Policies and Tightening Financial Supervision.
— International News, Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Unable to come to grips with Katie’s bizarre suggestion of a puppy for Jackie, Scott simply left the room, shaking his head, descending the stairs, heading for the kitchen. Lucy had gone out for her morning walk, longer every day now as she rehabbed from hip surgery. Danielle had moved back in with her parents to make room for Katie and Scott and Jackie. Scott needed to be alone, alone with his fear, his anguish, and now, his confusion over his wife’s reaction.

While Katie had slept the sleep of the drugged, he had lain beside her and cried all night. He’d never believed a man could sob so uncontrollably. He felt drained, his throat was dry, his head foggy. All night long, every scenario, one worse than the next, kept playing in his head. Finally, he’d had to squeeze his head with both hands to try to make them stop, but they wouldn’t because the truth was that Alex and Sammie were out there somewhere, but nobody knew where, and he was powerless to find them. Scott knew they were alive. Certainly, if they — he couldn’t even think the word — he’d know, he’d be able to feel it, sense it. He missed them so and was so scared for them. Every minute without them was the worst torture he could imagine.

Scott realized that he was losing confidence that he would be able to endure. Katie, too, seemed at the breaking point. What was going on inside her head? Between them, did they have the strength to get through?

Scott went about making coffee and more hot chocolate then sat in Lucy’s breakfast nook cradling his mug, waiting for Katie. He
planned to talk her into staying home, but when she appeared, one look at her trim mauve business suit dismissed that possibility. He recognized that determined look that she usually reserved for court testimony, that take-no-prisoners look that her colleagues teased her about.

When she came over to sit next to him, putting her arm around his rounded shoulders, he slumped even deeper. He didn’t know if he could take another day of agony, another day of uncertainty, another day of abject helplessness.

“Scott, I had a dream last night,” Katie said in a near whisper.

Scott looked up, his glance unable to avoid the window facing the gauntlet of reporters camped out on Lucy’s lawn and pouring out into the street.

“What about?” He stared out the window, unable to meet her eyes.

“Alex and Sammie. They —”

“Katie, I don’t want to hear it.”

“In my dream, Alex and Sammie each said, ‘To take care of Jackie.’ What do you —”

“Stop it, Katie. It was a
dream
.” Scott’s voice got louder, “Dreams are
not true
.”

“Dad, are you okay?” Jackie’s call came from the top of the stairs.

Scott’s head jerked up. “I’m sorry, honey.” He summoned the energy to climb the stairs. He picked Jackie up and carried her into the kitchen as if she were a toddler. Jackie, too, was dressed for a day at FBI headquarters. Resigned, obedient, a role model for her collapsing parents.

“I’m okay,” Scott said, setting her down by the kitchen table. “What about you?”

“I’m ready to go in to see Agent Streeter,” Jackie said. “Did you know that he has three little girls?”

Scott was barely able to nod, so intent was he on holding back the brimming hot tears.

“You know, Dad, what Mom said about me getting a dog, it did cheer me up. But once Sammie is back, she’ll talk Mom out of it, I’m sure of it.”

Scott said nothing, put Jackie on his lap, but was unable to focus
on her, only thinking about Katie’s dream. He didn’t want to hear it. What was happening to Katie. What was happening to him?

When he’d met Katie, she’d been so innocent. She was a medical student and that did make her automatically smart, but how could he ever have imagined that such a sensitive and wholesome woman would end up with a job dealing with despicable perverts? Isn’t this what the kidnapping was all about? Some twisted maniac’s idea of retribution?

Why couldn’t she have gone into dermatology or orthopedics or basket weaving? Why forensic child psychiatry? But Scott knew the answer; Katie’s heart went out to the small victims of such unspeakable violence. She felt compelled to protect them from the child abusers and sexual perverts under whose custody they suffered. If she didn’t help them, who would? To whom would the court turn to get these kids to a safe place? Scott felt his face contort when he considered what her Pollyanna attitude had cost. Nothing, nobody’s children could balance the loss of Sammie and Alex.

“No.” Scott said aloud. Stop thinking. He would go insane if he allowed himself to dwell on the stream of atrocities that kept invading his mind. Atrocities that he knew might be worse than the outer limits of his imagination. “No,” he repeated.

“Dad?” Jackie looked up from her position on his lap. “You mean about the dog?”

“No what, Scott?” Katie scrutinized him, her eyebrows arched.

“Okay, everybody, I’m going to make breakfast,” Lucy announced from the front door. “I walked a half a mile today and no pain. I nodded to all those reporters, but didn’t say a word.”

“That’s great, Mom, but —” Katie started.

“Scrambled eggs and sausage,” Lucy interrupted. “Jackie, could you butter the toast?”

“Sure, Grandma.”

When Jackie hopped off his lap, Scott stood. Wanting to avoid a confrontation with Katie, he walked into the living room. Another glance out the window, television reporters and journalists waiting. Waiting for what? For a glance at the bereaved parents? For a glimpse of the
safe
triplet? Desperate for any glimpse of parental reaction.

What if Katie’s dream — he couldn’t think about that. A dream is
a dream, nothing more. Looking up, he saw the Jones family collage, Lucy’s pride and joy. Lucy’s four daughters at their respective college graduations. Stacy, Sharon, Rachael, and his Katie. All overachievers, the result of Lucy’s insatiable drive and her bottomless devotion. On either side of this collection was a high school graduation photo of Lucy’s two sons. Each of the boys had a different father, different from the four girls. Each had died tragically, each a victim of the Detroit riots, now more than forty years ago. Anthony and Johnny. Unlike Lucy, Scott did not think he could survive the loss of two children.

He inspected Katie’s graduation photo closer up. She stood proudly in cap and gown, in front of the maize and blue University of Michigan banner. Lucy on one side, and a tall lanky boy close to Katie’s age, with skin a few tones lighter than hers, on the other. Keith Franklin. Was this whole thing about Keith’s obsession over Katie? If so, why couldn’t the FBI nail this guy and find his daughters?

“Scott, come get something to eat,” Lucy called just as he was setting the photo composite down. “Oh, that reminds me,” she said.

When they got back into the kitchen, Lucy handed Scott a plate loaded with eggs and sausage. “You can serve your dad the toast, Jackie.”

Then turning to Katie, Lucy seemed to hesitate. “Katie, I think I need to mention this to you.”

“What’s that, Mom?” Katie asked.

“Daisy Franklin stopped by yesterday. She said that the FBI had taken Keith in for questioning and kept him overnight. They pretty much tore up his house, searched his car, and searched Daisy’s house, too. She wanted me to tell you that her son had nothing to do with Alex and Sammie.”

“He went to Monica’s concert and sent me a recent e-mail, Mom.” Katie pushed aside her plate.

“You see, Keith never got over you. Daisy admitted that she’d been passing information about you that she got from me to Keith. That Keith is always holding you up on a pedestal. That his obsession — that’s the word she used — angers his wife. That it’s driven a wedge into their marriage. He’s even admitted to having an affair, but that’s not because —”

Katie began to massage her temples. “Keith was so long ago. All that was so long ago. I can’t believe it”

“Grandma? Who are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said, bending to pull Jackie into her arms. “Just a man that your mom used to know.”

“A bad man?”

“Yes,” Scott said, “a bad man, but you do not have to worry about him, honey.”

“Is that where Alex and Sammie are? At his house? Why can’t we go there and get them?”

“Agent Streeter is checking all that out,” Katie said. “Now we’d better get going downtown.”

“I know that you said I could stay with Grandma today,” Jackie said, “but I decided I want to go with you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to come with us?” Scott said. Had he missed something?

“Tina goes with her mom so I want to go with you,” Jackie said. Jackie was holding together pretty good, Scott thought. Better than he and Katie were.

Maxwell Cutty awoke the next morning groggy from the pills and booze, but horny. Flipping over, he half expected to find Adam lying naked beside him. That was before he remembered that by tomorrow night Adam would be sacrificed. Unfortunate trade-off, but necessary, to eliminate all traces. Maxwell groaned at the realization that he’d have to find the boy’s replacement. Adam had been diligent as well as sexy. He would have had coffee ready, using that automatic feature on the coffeemaker that Maxwell could never figure out. Now he’d have to fix his own. Instant would have to do.