The Bubble Gum Thief (33 page)

April 16—Alexandria, Virginia

Dagny opened her eyes and saw a quarter moon peeking through the clouds. The rain had soaked her clothes, and she was cold. She curled her fingers around slick blades of grass and pushed herself to a sitting position. A clump of wet hair smacked her face, and she pushed it back. She felt awful. There were grooves on her wrists and arms from the rope. Her shoulder still hurt. She stood slowly, bracing herself with her arm, then straightening her legs.

Where was she?
Dagny noticed the pitcher’s mound and then the tennis courts. The sign prohibiting dogs. The basketball court with the eight-foot rims. She was at the YMCA, just four blocks from her house. It was almost considerate. Even monsters have a good side. This one was a good cook, kept his shoes shined, and returned his kidnappees a few blocks from their homes. He even had a certain charm. Of course, so did Ted Bundy...

He kept his shoes shined.
The brown Edward Greens. The Deaver book. Flying from Cincinnati to DC. The man sitting next to her, hitting on her. Was it him?

Dagny splashed through the puddles, weaving between parked cars and streetlights. When she reached her house, she
plowed through three inches of wet flower bed, grabbed her spare key, and unlocked her front door. Bedroom, maybe? She ran upstairs. When it wasn’t on her nightstand, Dagny raced back downstairs and scanned her bookshelves. Adams, Ambler, Baldacci, Block, Bowen, Burke, Cannell, Chandler, Child, Christie, Clark...Connelly. Connelly!

She grabbed the Connelly book and carried it to the kitchen counter. The card fell on the counter when she turned the book upside down. “Roberto Altamont, Consultant.” Dagny didn’t touch the card, but leaned closer to study its edges. They were perforated. She stared at the phone number under Altamont’s name. If she waited, maybe they could trace it. She couldn’t wait—she had to know. Dagny grabbed the phone and dialed the number.

At first she heard ringing only in the earpiece. Then she heard it, faintly, from her backyard, too. Dagny grabbed a chopping knife from the block on her kitchen counter and headed to the back sliding door.
Ring
. She slid the door open, and it was louder.
Ring
. There was a small, wet cardboard box on her patio. He’d probably tossed it from a neighbor’s yard.
Ring
. She reached down, picked up the box, and opened it. The cell phone inside it rang one more time before going to voice mail. “Hello, Dagny. I’m not available right now, but I’ll see you soon, I hope. And remember, always ask, Why?”

Dagny hung up her phone and dialed another number. “Professor, I’m home. I’m home. I’m...” She dropped the phone and fell to the ground.

An hour later, Dagny was in a private room at George Washington University Hospital, being scraped, poked, and prodded, first by a female agent collecting evidence, then by physicians assessing the state of her health. When they had finished, Justin Fabee walked in and closed the door. He took off his raincoat and hung it on a hook, then grabbed a chair and carried it to the side of Dagny’s bed.

“Is Victor okay?” she asked.

Fabee sat down. “He’s fine. How are you?”

“Is Victor here? Where’s the Professor?”

“Victor’s in Tennessee. The Professor is on his way.”

“What about the children?”

He just shook his head. Her heart sank. Sixteen kids were dead because they’d failed to do their job. With the Silverses, Mike, and Candice, that was twenty-two lives lost.

“I know you’re going to have a ton more questions,” he said, “but first I need to talk to you about what happened to you, and then there will be some visitors, if you’re up for it. A lot of people are happy you’re okay. I’m one of them, by the way.” It seemed sincere. Even a blue-flamer can have a heart, Dagny figured.

She spent the next two hours telling him most of what had occurred, omitting a few details, like her anorexia and the fact that Altamont, or whatever his real name was, had kidnapped her in order to nurse her back to health.

“Why do you think he took you?” Fabee asked.

“I think he wants to be caught,” she replied. “And I think he wants to be sure that we investigate why he did what he did, even after we catch him.”

Fabee furrowed his brow. “So he’s got some kind of message or political cause?”

“I don’t know,” Dagny said, though she had some thoughts on the matter.

“You really think he wants to get caught? Did he give you any clues about what we should be looking for?”

“No. He refused to answer any questions. Did Victor ID him?”

“Victor never saw the guy.”

“What about Murgentroy?”

“Murgentroy is dead.”

“Dead?” Dagny was surprised. She’d assumed that Murgentroy and Victor had both been hit with tranquilizer darts, and that the
two shots she heard had been fired by Murgentroy at Altamont. That seemed to make sense, since Murgentroy fell slowly, several seconds after she had heard the gunshots. Most people fall pretty quickly after they’ve been hit by a bullet. “I thought he was hit by a tranquilizer. He wasn’t?”

“Bullet, in the heart. Matches the gun used at the other crimes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I lifted the bullet myself.”

Dagny was always suspicious of eyewitness recollections. In stressful situations, people pay attention to their immediate needs—an escape path, for instance, or the safety of their children. They don’t pay much attention to the cause of the stress. Later, they’re likely to merge assumptions with actual recollections. Maybe she’d done this with Murgentroy’s fall. But why would Altamont kill Murgentroy? Had Murgentroy seen his face?

“Kidnapping looks pretty good on you, aside from the scrapes and bruises,” Fabee said. He rose from his chair and picked up Dagny’s medical chart from the foot of the bed. “One-oh-seven. Hmmm. Maybe we can get some ice cream in here.” He set the chart down. “So you never saw his face?”

“Not from the kidnapping, but I remember it from the plane. He—”

The door flew open, crashing into the wall behind it. Dagny expected a hulking mass to be standing in the doorway, but it was a slight, balding man with a pointy grey beard and a briefcase. “Thank God!” The Professor hobbled to her bed and grabbed Dagny’s hand. “I’m so glad to see you. You have no idea.” His face seemed worn by worry, but his smile betrayed his relief.

“Not as glad as I am to see—”

“Enough with the mushies. Did you see his face?”

“Not this time, but last month, on the flight from Cincinnati.”

This should have provoked a wide range of questions, but the Professor seemed unfazed. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a manila folder. He handed the folder to Dagny. “Is this him?”

Dagny opened the folder to find a single photograph—the mug shot of a chubby dark-haired man. Chubby? She studied his face more closely—his cheekbones. Dimples. The cleft chin. Could it have been him a decade earlier? Now he was fit, and his hair was greying. Prison could have done that to him. The deep-blue eyes. Yes, she was certain. “That’s him. He’s thin now. Strong.” She looked up at the Professor. “How did you—”

“Profiling. What, did you think I was just twiddling my thumbs this whole time?”

She laughed. “I had no idea.”

“I figured it was a Caucasian white-collar type who’d known Berry. Every white-collar Caucasian inmate released from Coleman within the past five years was accounted for. But Berry also spent a short amount of time at other institutions, either awaiting trial or testifying in other cases. Ashland, Elkton, and Memphis. I was able to account for one hundred and forty-eight potential white-collar criminals who had spent time in those prisons. There was one that I couldn’t account for. He was six four and named Noel Draker.”

Noel Draker
. Now they had a real name. A prior case file. Coworkers, family members, friends. If only they had prints to confirm it. Dagny remembered the
Newsweek
article in her sock. She reached down for it, but it was gone. Draker must have found it. Still, it had to be him.

“Why was he in prison?”

“Securities fraud,” the Professor said.

“When was he released?”

“Last May. Almost a year ago. Served ten years at Ashland.”

“Long sentence.” She handed the photograph to Fabee. “You ever heard of this guy?”

Fabee studied it. “Securities fraud, you say?”

“Yes,” the Professor answered.

“Never heard of him.” Fabee handed the photograph back to Dagny. “Should I have? Is he famous?”

“No, not really,” the Professor said. “The case had some notice when it broke. Regional story, mostly.”

Dagny handed the photograph to the Professor and tossed her right leg to the floor.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” Fabee said.

“To work,” Dagny replied. She tried to spear her right shoe with her foot and tumbled to the ground. Fabee helped her up. “Just a little dizzy,” she explained. The Professor frowned.

“What?” Dagny reached down and grabbed her shoe, but Fabee tore it from her hand.

“Sorry, Dagny, but you’re stuck here ’til the doctors say so.”

“Forget that. I feel great.” Actually, she didn’t feel great, but she felt good enough.

“It’s not your call, Dagny. Plus, right now, you’re evidence. I don’t want you out there,” Fabee said.

Dagny turned to the Professor, but he offered no relief. “Sorry, Dagny, but he’s right.”

“Like you could keep me here,” Dagny muttered, apparently not quietly enough. Fabee whistled, and two agents poked their heads through the door. “You’ve got guards to keep me here?”

“For Christ’s sake, Dagny, you were kidnapped. This guy obviously has a thing for you.”

“Are they to keep him out or me in?”

“A little of both,” Fabee answered, gathering his coat. “Gotta run.”

Fabee left, but the Professor remained behind. He sat at the edge of her bed. “You look good, Dagny.” And then softly, “We were really scared. You don’t know this, I’m sure, but your
disappearance was quite a big deal. A lot of people were out there looking for you. It was a big story—in all the papers.”

“By name?
My
name?” Dagny hated the thought of being in the press.

“Your mom is in the hallway. Don’t know how she tracked me down. Maybe she has an investigative spirit, too. She cares about you a lot.”

“I know.”

“I’ll send her in,” the Professor said as he stepped out of the room.

When Meryl Gray walked through the door, her hair seemed whiter than Dagny remembered. She walked slower, and there were more lines on her face. For the first time, Meryl Gray looked like an old woman to her daughter.

Dagny braced for a lecture. Her mother walked over to the bed and leaned forward, then kissed Dagny on her forehead. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Mom, I’m sorry that—”

“It’s okay,” she said. “The only thing that matters is that you’re fine.” It wasn’t the hysterical performance Dagny had been expecting.

“I know I haven’t called you, but I’ve—”

“Been dealing with a lot. I know. I understand.”

“Who are you, and where is my real mother?”

Meryl Gray smiled. “I don’t want to fight anymore, Dagny. I know you need to be you. If that means you’re not going to sit at a desk, then I guess you’re not going to sit at a desk.”

“I’m sorry I told you—”

“I think I always knew. When you were a little kid, I knew. And law school, well, I knew then, too. It was too good to be true. But I don’t want to fight. You and I have both lost people that we loved. Let’s not lose each other.” They talked for a while, about Mike, mostly. After some prodding by hospital staff, Dagny’s
mother agreed to let Dagny rest. As she was leaving the room, Meryl turned around and started to say something.

“Please, Mom. Don’t ruin the moment.”

“I’m not going to ruin anything. But if you can’t see that this job is crazy after all of this, I don’t know what. Herb Roseman would hire you in a minute, and you’d make good money, too.”

Dagny grimaced.

“That’s all I’m saying.” She pantomimed the zipping of her lips and left.

Dagny fell into a long nap. After she woke, Julia and Jack Bremmer came to see her, followed by less familiar faces, drawn by morning news reports that Dagny had been found. Friends and professors from college she hadn’t seen in years. Former coworkers from the firm in New York. Marjorie Brodsky and Diego Rodriguez.

Those with past grievances forgave her for the unreturned calls and unanswered e-mails. Eventually the crowd dwindled, and the nurses turned away a few last stragglers, explaining again that Dagny needed her rest. She was surprised at how much she’d enjoyed seeing old friends and colleagues, and at how much she missed the one person who hadn’t yet come.

“Hey, Lindbergh baby!” Victor was carrying a vase full of red and yellow tulips. “I know, I’m late; I’m completely late. You wouldn’t believe what I had to do to get past the nurses.” He set the flowers by the windowsill and walked over to Dagny, reaching out to shake her hand.

“You idiot,” she laughed. “This time a hug is actually appropriate.”

She squeezed Victor tightly.

Victor chuckled. “Are you okay?”

“Apart from the fact that we let this madman kill sixteen kids, I’m doing okay. What happened at Murgentroy’s?”

“I was hit by a dart.”

“Yeah, I know. I heard you scream like a girl. What do you remember after that?”

“Waking up in an ambulance. And I didn’t scream like a girl. That’s just how a scream sounds.”

“What about Murgentroy? Did you see him come out with his gun before you were shot?”

“No. I guess I was down before that.”

“How long did they keep you in the hospital?”

“Overnight. Checked out the next morning and went looking for you.”

“That’s cute.”

Victor seemed hurt, and Dagny regretted it immediately. “It’s not cute, Dagny. I almost found you. Was a heck of a lot closer than Fabee’s million-man army, too. This morning, in Nashville, I found his place.”

“You found it?”

“Just north of Nashville, in Goodlettsville.”

“And you know it’s the place?”