Paying The Piper (14 page)

“H
ow have you gotten on with that second
ransom?” the Piper asked.

By now, Scott had gotten used to the monitored phone sessions with the Piper. Too used to them. “I’ve got it. When can I give it to you?”

“Monday.”

“I have the cash now. There’s no need to wait until Monday.”

“Scott, be patient. This isn’t just about you and your family. The safe return of your boys depends on my escape. Haste over prudence will lead to my capture and Sammy and Peter’s deaths.”

Jane slapped a hand over her mouth and rushed toward the doorway as if to leave, but hesitated, then returned. Scott understood. He wanted to get away too, but that meant abandoning their children.

“I need to have some mechanisms in place before the exchange goes down. Monday is the day.”

“Can I speak to my boys?”

“No.”

“I need to know they’re okay.”

“They are. You have my word.”

“Your word?”

The Piper pounced
on Scott’s accusation. “Yes, Scott, my word. I’ve always stuck by my word. You do as I say, all is well. Don’t, and people die. I said if I wasn’t paid on time, I would kill Nicholas Rooker, and I stuck by my word.”

Scott glanced over at Charles Rooker standing in the doorway to the living room. Upon hearing his son’s name, Rooker’s gaze fell to the floor. He hesitated for only a second before disappearing into the hallway in the direction of the kitchen.

“Don’t forget that you and the FBI ignored me. I tried warning everyone, but no one listened. Do as I say, and your boys will be returned, unharmed.”

“What happened before won’t happen again,” Scott said.

“I’m glad to hear it. I will call you at ten p.m. on Monday. Be there. You won’t hear from me until then.”

The line went dead.

“None of this makes sense,” Brannon said. “What the hell is this guy playing at?”

“He’s rewriting the book on kidnappings,” Dunham said.

“He’s writing a bad book,” Sheils corrected. “He’s giving us too much time.”

The FBI’s confusion failed to warm Scott. As much as lack of progress helped him with his task, he wanted Sheils and his team to find the Piper first.

Jane leaned over and hugged him. He held her tight.

“Do you think Sammy and Peter are okay?”

Her question carried extra weight today. Now that they were both working for the Piper, she needed to know if the kidnapper could be trusted.

“Yes, I do. He won’t harm the boys—not if we keep following his script.” He hadn’t wanted to add the modifier to the end of his sentence, but he couldn’t lie to her.

Scott noticed Rooker gesturing to him from the doorway. He took Jane’s hand and led her over to him.

“I’m sorry you had to hear some of that,” Scott said.

Rooker waved it away. “I’m used to his rhetoric. I refuse
to let it get to me. Look, I have some people coming to my home tonight who you should meet.”

“Who?” Jane asked.

“People who’ll understand and may even be able to help.”

“I don’t think we can leave,” Jane said.

Scott watched the organized chaos around them. “He’s not calling back until Monday. And I don’t think they’ll miss us.”

Sheils was knee-deep in a conversation, and Scott didn’t feel like interrupting. Sheils could find him if he tried hard enough. On the way out, he left word with the nearest agent that they were leaving with Rooker.

Rooker drove them out to his perfectly restored Victorian mansion in Pacific Heights, bigger than most apartment buildings in San Francisco. It looked like Rooker’s guests had already arrived. The house sat on a corner lot, and several cars ate up curb space along its two sides. Rooker parked in the garage.

He guided them through the house toward a burble of voices coming from a ballroom-sized living room. Rooker didn’t have to introduce his guests; Scott recognized them. In order of Piper kidnappings sat Dan and Carol Fairweather, Gilbert and Rosa Rodriguez, David and Linda Cho, William and Toby Gottfried, and Frank and Janet Rudolph. Michael and Chloe Rodgers were the only ones not present.

It looked to be a casual affair, until Scott and Jane’s arrival. The group sat clustered around a long marble coffee table that held three decanters of wine. Everyone had glasses in hand. No one made any move until Gilbert Rodriguez put down his glass, came over to Scott and Jane, and shook their hands.

“I’m sorry for what you’re going through.”

“Thank you,” Jane said.

“I think everybody knows everyone,” Rooker said, “and why we’re all here tonight.”

Scott and Jane sat down on a love seat.

“Maybe I should explain who we
are,” Carol Fairweather said. “When the Piper took Gilbert and Rosa’s daughter, Sophia, Dan and I saw they were going through the same hell we’d gone through when the Piper took our daughter, Camille. We contacted them and offered our support and love.”

“It helped us survive,” Rosa Rodriguez said.

“And it helped us heal,” Dan Fairweather said.

“We came together again when the Piper kidnapped David and Linda’s girl, Annabel,” Carol said. “By then, we realized we had a support group for families victimized by the Piper. We welcomed a family into our group with each successive kidnapping.”

“That’s amazing,” Jane said.

“Are the Rodgers not part of the group?” Scott asked.

Rooker reached across the coffee table to pour himself a whiskey. “The Rodgers didn’t want to meet you.”

Scott could guess why. The grudge against him for Nicholas Rooker’s death extended further than just Sheils. Strangers still shunned him, so victims of the Piper came as no surprise.

“They should have come,” Gilbert said. “We promised to support all victims.”

“They have their reasons,” Rooker said. “Let’s respect them.”

“And you’ve been meeting ever since?” Jane asked.

“Only as needed,” Linda Cho said. “More around the time of a kidnapping. Less when everyone is home, safe and sound.” Her voice faltered and she looked apologetically at Rooker.

“We haven’t met in seven years.” Rooker smiled at Linda. “These people helped with the grieving. But once that was over and it was clear the FBI wasn’t going to find the Piper, we stopped meeting—until Sammy and Peter, that is.”

“We understand better than anyone what you’re going through,” Carol said. “We’re here for you. If there’s something you want to get off your chest, say it. If you want to cry, we’ve got shoulders for that too.” She finished with a smile aimed at them.

The support group presented Scott with
a golden opportunity. He needed information about the Piper, and now he had families of six of the kidnappings in one room. They had to know something.

“I just have questions,” Scott said. “The Piper hasn’t let us speak to the boys, and I want to understand what’s happening to them. Could I speak to your children?”

The mood in the room turned cold. David Cho, who’d yet to speak, glared at Scott. According to reports in Friedkin’s investigation, Cho had become a possessive father since his daughter’s release. Scott could understand that. He knew when he got his boys back, there’d be changes when it came to their security. He hoped he could appeal to Cho’s wife for help.

“For what purpose?” Toby Gottfried asked.

“I want to know if the Piper looked after them, how they were treated.”

“And not as part of a story to splash across the pages of the
Independent
?” she asked.

“I’ve imagined every kind of hell these past few days,” Jane said. “I caught the Piper stealing Peter. I begged for his life. He made me think I was about to die. If he could torture me like that, then what’s he doing to my babies?”

Scott could have kissed his wife. Her heartfelt appeal had an effect. Toby relaxed in her seat.

“He never harmed Camille,” Carol said. “She said he was very kind to her.”

“Can I speak to her?” Scott asked.

“She’s in college. Duke. I’ll give you her number.”

Carol’s generosity unlocked the doors, and soon all the parents had agreed to provide phone numbers as long as the victims themselves gave their permission. Only Rooker had nothing to give. Nicholas had no tale to tell. Scott watched the property tycoon retreat from the conversation. He got up with his wine in hand and wandered over to the window.

Cho held out a business card with his
daughter’s contact information written on the back. When Scott moved to take the card, Cho didn’t release it.

“Your interference contributed to Nicholas’s death, Mr. Fleetwood. We’re exposing our families to you. Can we trust you?”

The chill returned to the room.

Rooker whirled on Cho. “Of course we can trust him. He’s the father of two kidnapped boys. He has twice as much to lose as we ever did.”

Cho released the card.

“Mr. Cho, I made a mistake eight years ago, and I’m being made to pay for it. The last thing I’m interested in is making a name for myself.”

Scott didn’t like lying to these people, especially Rooker. When it all came out—and it would, he had no doubts about that—they would forgive him. If they were in his shoes, they would have little choice but to do the same.

The passion went out of the group after that. They exchanged past experiences for about an hour, then called the proceedings to an end. Rooker saw them out.

“I hope you found that useful,” Rooker said to Scott and Jane.

“Yes,” Jane said. “Very helpful.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

Scott stiffened when the Piper’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket. Jane caught his reaction and came to his rescue.

“Would you show me your house first?” Jane asked.

“Of course,” Rooker said and led Jane upstairs.

Scott answered the Piper’s call.

“How are the Feds doing with their search for me?” the Piper asked.

“Not very good.”

“And you?”

“Let’s end this now. Tell me where to find
you. I’ll come alone with the money. The FBI won’t know. You can take me and release my kids. I don’t care what happens to me. Just let them go.”

“You’re just as clueless as the Feds.”

“Can’t we just end this?”

“You still don’t get it, do you? This isn’t about money. This is about you learning something. And you don’t learn if someone gives you all the answers.”

This was pointless. The Piper was going to keep turning the screws.

“Tell me one fact you’ve learned about me. If you’re correct, I’ll let you speak to one of the boys.”

“I don’t know anything yet.”

“Then we’ve got nothing to say.”

“When I find something, then can I talk to them?”

“I’m feeling generous. I’ll call you at seven tomorrow night. Impress me.”

M
ichael and Chloe Rodgers still lived at the same Palo
Alto address as they had when the Piper kidnapped Ryan. Mr. Rodgers had made his money in the high-tech boom and held onto it after the bubble burst. Scott pulled up in front of the house just after nine the next morning.

Sheils had given Scott permission to visit the Rodgers family as long as Guerra came with him. Before he opened the car door, he said, “I’d like to do this alone.”

Guerra frowned but relented.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. If Sheils gives you any shit, send him my way.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

Scott smiled.

He jogged over to the Rodgers house. Their reluctance to attend the support group didn’t bode well, but he felt he could get them to open up in person. He pressed the doorbell and waited.

No one came to the door.

A Nissan Murano sat parked in the driveway. Someone was in. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He pressed the doorbell again. This time, he kept his thumb pressed on the button.

Thirty seconds later, footsteps struck the tiled floor in the foyer. Chloe Rodgers opened the door as far as the security chain allowed.

“Mrs. Rodgers.”

She cut him off. “I don’t want to talk
to you, Mr. Fleetwood.”

“This is for my children.”

“I don’t care.”

How could she not care? Hadn’t she gone through the same trauma? How could she be so callous toward his pain?

She pushed the door to close it, but Scott jammed his foot in the way. Panic flared in her eyes. She leaned hard on the door, crushing his foot.

“Leave. Now.”

Chloe pressed on the door with all her weight. Luckily for Scott, she was a small woman, no more than five feet tall and slender. Scott had a considerable height and weight advantage over her. He leaned into the door, easing it back despite her best efforts. She conceded defeat and stepped back from the door, disappearing from Scott’s view. Wanting to show he meant no harm, Scott took his foot from the doorjamb, but kept a hand pressed against the door to keep it cracked open.

“I’m calling the police!” Her voice bordered on a shriek.

“Please, Mrs. Rodgers, I just need to ask you a couple of questions. The Piper has both my boys.”

She stepped back into view.

“This isn’t like when he took Ryan. He isn’t interested in the money. He’s not going to return them unless I get to him first.”

For the first time, concern crossed her face. “The Piper almost ripped my family apart, and we hadn’t done a thing to him,” she said. “You brought this upon yourself.”

“Don’t you think I know that?”

“We’re done with the Piper. We paid and got Ryan back. Our slate is clean with him. If my family helps you, we put ourselves back in harm’s way, and I won’t do that. I’m sorry. Now, please leave.”

Scott understood her fear, and he was sympathetic. She was only protecting her family, but goddamn it, where was her compassion? Where was her humanity? Surely, she
couldn’t just close her eyes to what was going on.

“Think about this, Mrs. Rodgers. If someone could have helped you when the Piper had Ryan, wouldn’t you have wanted them to?”

“But there was no one.”

“But if there was?”

“There was no one,” she repeated.

Scott felt his grip on her slipping. He was at the point of begging.

“Maybe this is something you should discuss with your husband?”

“My husband feels the same way.”

“Mrs. Rodgers, please.”

“No one has caught this man, and I doubt they will. I don’t want him finding out that we helped you.”

A young man appeared behind her. “Mom? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Ryan. Stay there.”

“Ryan. I’m Scott Fleetwood,” he said in a rush before Chloe could cut him off. “The Piper has my children. I want to ask you some questions.”

“Don’t listen to him, Ryan.”

Shock and then confusion swept across Ryan’s face, but he moved toward the door.

“Stay right there, Ryan,” Chloe ordered.

“Mom, let him in.”

“No.”

“Ryan, I just need five minutes of your time. I need to ask if you have any recollections from your time with the Piper. Do you remember him?”

“Get out of here!” Chloe shouted.

Ryan rushed up behind his mother and put his hands on her shoulders. “Mom, it’s okay. I don’t mind talking.”

She shook him
off. “Ryan, call the police.”

“Mom, no.”

“Do it.”

With her focus on her son and not on Scott, her force against the door waned, and Scott used his weight to force the door open a bit wider. He reached for his wallet, tugged out a business card, and tossed it through the door.

“Ryan, call me. Anytime.”

He didn’t see the kid pick up the card. He seemed stuck, frozen between his loyalty to his mother and his own will.

“Get out!” Chloe screamed.

“Scott,” a voice called from behind him, “step away from the door.”

Scott glanced over his shoulder. Guerra was striding across the lawn toward him. Her suit jacket flapped open to reveal her gun, still holstered. At least she wasn’t going to shoot him. Not yet, anyway.

“She won’t help us,” Scott yelled at Guerra.

“Step away.”

Scott glanced back at Chloe. Guerra pounded up the short flight of steps leading to the door. The next thing he knew, he was in the air. He struck the manicured lawn on his face, and Guerra was on top of him, her knee in his back.

“Hold still, Scott,” she said.

Scott didn’t fight her. She snapped a pair of cuffs on him anyway.

As she helped him to his feet, Chloe Rodgers finally undid the chain and opened the door. She ventured outside, Ryan at her side.

Guerra pulled out her identification. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience.”

“I want him off the property.”

“I’m doing just that.”

“Guerra, ask her to help with the investigation.”

“I’ll run it past Agent Sheils.” Guerra walked Scott over to
his Honda. She opened the door, powered down the window, and recuffed him through the window frame. “Wait here while I clear this up.”

Guerra returned to the house. She went inside with Chloe and Ryan Rodgers. He hoped she was asking questions, but she left the house less than two minutes later.

Uncuffing him, she said, “You’re lucky. I talked them out of pressing charges.”

“Thanks.”

She pocketed her cuffs, produced a business card from the same pocket, and handed it to him. It was the business card he’d tossed through the door to Ryan.

“Stop pushing, Scott. Stunts like these aren’t helping. Put your faith in us. We’ll get your boys back.”

If you only knew the truth
, Scott thought. He rounded the car and got behind the wheel.

She slipped into the passenger seat next to him. He gunned the engine and pulled away. He noticed Chloe watching them from her doorway.

“Are you going to tell Sheils about this?”

“Hell no.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m not doing it for you. If he finds out I let you harass Chloe Rodgers, he’ll skewer me as well as you.”

“I wasn’t harassing them. I just wanted to talk to them.”

“About what?”

“Ryan’s experience with the Piper.”

“You should have asked me to come with you. Scott, you’re a good guy, but you’ve got to keep it together.”

Guerra’s exasperation was hard to ignore. This woman had taken to his family, especially Peter. Scott liked this about her, but he guessed there was an additional factor that had caused her frustration. She’d been on guard duty when the Piper had snatched Peter. There was a lot of guilt lurking
beneath the surface. Guilt he could understand.

“You’re right. Thanks. And thanks for not telling Sheils.”

“You’re welcome. Now where?”

“Back home.”

They weren’t more than ten minutes from the Rodgers house when Scott’s cell rang.

“Mr. Fleetwood?”

Scott sat up in his seat. “Ryan?”

“Yeah.” The kid spoke in a hushed tone. Obviously, his mother wasn’t too far away.

Scott had to give the kid credit. He understood the importance of the situation. “How’d you get this number?”

“I saw it on the card. I memorized it before Mom took it.”

“Just like that?”

“I’ve got a good memory for details.”

Scott hoped his skill extended beyond just remembering numbers.

“Look, I want to talk, but I can’t really speak with Mom and all. Can we hook up?”

“Sure. Just tell me where and when.”

Stanford University’s campus provided a pleasant backdrop for the Starbucks where they waited for Ryan. Scott spotted him walking toward them. He’d grown into a good-looking kid. Tall to the point of lanky, he would have been gawky if it weren’t for his athletic build. He carried himself with a confident air. Seemingly, the Piper had failed to scar him with any lasting effects. Scott hoped the same would be true of Sammy and Peter.

Ryan walked in and cut his way through the crowded seating area.

“Thanks for coming, Ryan,” Scott said. “It means a lot.”

“No worries. I wanted to
help.”

Ryan buzzed with nervous energy. Scott guessed talking about the Piper was making him edgy.

“Can I get you something?” Scott asked.

“A latte would be cool.”

Guerra slid off her stool. “I’ve got it covered.”

She joined the line of customers, and Ryan asked, “Who’s she?”

“FBI,” Scott said. “Like American Express, I can’t leave home without it.”

Ryan smiled and slipped onto Guerra’s stool.

“So I’m guessing your mom isn’t to know of this.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about my mom. She means well, but she’s scared. Y’know?”

Scott nodded. “How’d you duck out?”

“I go to school here.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the campus. “I was only stopping by home to pick up some books I needed for a class.”

Considering Chloe Rodgers’s protectiveness, Scott wondered if she’d chosen Stanford for Ryan based on its proximity to home.

“So why’d you defy your mom?”

“Like I say, I know they mean well and they want to protect me, but I couldn’t ignore you. I know what your kids are going through. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. If I know something and it helps the FBI get them back, then I want to help.”

“You’re a good kid, Ryan.” He removed a digital recorder from his pocket. “Do you mind if I record this?”

Ryan shook his head.

Guerra returned with the latte. She handed it to Ryan, then parked herself in a corner of the shop with a newspaper. She looked over at Scott, and he raised his coffee cup as a thank-you for her considerateness.

“Can you tell me anything about the Piper? Did you ever see him? Was there anything distinctive about him? Tall? Short? Fat?”

Ryan sipped his latte before
answering. “He was a giant with no face. I was nine and doped up, so everything about the kidnapping was a haze. He seemed larger than life. He wore a ski mask and kept me in some sort of basement with no windows and little lighting. He kept to the shadows. The darkness blotted out his ski mask, and he looked like the headless horseman. I haven’t told Mom that I still dream about him.”

Ryan seemed to sink into himself. Scott hated himself for raking up the traumatic memories, but Ryan was volunteering this information to help Sammy and Peter. He gave him a minute before going on.

“You say you were in a basement. Can you tell me anything about it?”

“It was dirt.”

“Unfinished, then?”

“I guess. I just remember a dirt floor.”

“The Piper spoke to you.”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember if he spoke with an accent or used a certain word or phrase all the time?”

Ryan shook his head.

This wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. Asking Ryan specifics wasn’t going to yield a unique fact that would satisfy the Piper, so Scott changed his approach. If Ryan’s ability to recall the cell number demonstrated his attention to detail, Scott needed to focus his attention. Instead of asking specifics, Scott talked Ryan through events leading up to the kidnapping, during his abduction, and his subsequent release. He used Friedkin’s notes as a guide.

The approach worked. Scott noticed how relaxed Ryan had become. Just talking things through calmed his nerves. Ryan blotted out the distraction from the customers and staff in the Starbucks. He was no longer at the coffeehouse, he was nine again and the Piper’s sixth victim.

Little details made themselves
apparent. Ryan recalled the sneakers the Piper wore when he’d snatched him from the soccer tournament he was competing in. The drive to the Piper’s hideaway remained a blur. Ryan had been sedated at that point. The Piper’s use of a sedative to keep the kids docile came with an added bonus. Keeping the kids drugged up reduced their memories to mush. The things Ryan told him amounted to a jumble of confused details.

“I’m not helping, am I?”

“You’re doing great. Really, you are.”

“I thought I would be able to come up with something tangible. It sounds good in my head, but when I say it, it sounds like I’m describing a dream.”

“Don’t worry about it. Tell me about leaving the basement and when he released you.”