Ellie bowed her head and spoke in a low, somber tone. “Jake, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think the victim is your exwife, Laura.”
Jake’s jaw dropped. He set his hands on his knees to catch his breath.
“Describe her,” Jake said.
“I pulled her over this morning and gave her a speeding ticket,” Ellie said. “If you talked to her, she probably told you about it.”
Jake turned his back to Ellie, his hands clenched into fists, and for a moment he focused only on the feeling of the misty rain as it bathed his face. It made even more sense now. Laura had gone looking for Andy; and when she couldn’t find him around town, she headed to the school. How she got past the blockades… he couldn’t say. Maybe she took the path to avoid the main roads. One thing he knew was that Laura saw something she wasn’t supposed to see.
Jake turned back around. “How did she die?” he asked.
“Gunshot. Can’t tell you more than that because I don’t know.”
With his peripheral vision, Jake saw someone approaching. He turned his head and recognized Ryan Coventry. The boy looked anxious about something, unsettled. He was with a lot of other teenagers who had gotten as close as they were going to get to all the action.
“Mr. Dent,” Ryan said, “have you seen Andy around?” He seemed sincere, truly worried.
“No,” Jake said. “Why? Do you know where he is?”
With his arms folded across his chest, Ryan looked to the ground and kicked at the muddy earth. This was a different Ryan. This Ryan was meek and docile, and unsure.
“Not exactly,” Ryan said. “We were-uh-we were on the second floor of the Science Center getting out together, you know. There was some guy in a chemical suit pushing us along. Trying to hurry things up.”
“So, where is he? Did he leave with you?”
Again, Ryan appeared uncomfortable, and Jake knew more was coming.
“It was pretty chaotic,” Ryan said.
Jake’s eyes flared. “No bullshit, Ryan, talk to me. Where is Andy?”
As a pitcher, Jake was always a keen observer of body language. Ryan was bothered, but Jake didn’t need years in baseball to see the obvious.
“I may have seen something weird,” Ryan said.
Ellie stepped forward to address Ryan. “What was it?”
Guilt. That was the feeling Jake was getting. The boy was feeling guilty about something.
“Well, I turned around as I was heading down the stairs. And the guy in the chemical suit kind of stepped in front of Andy, like he wanted him to stay behind. I was going to go up and, you know, make sure Andy left with me, but I thought I saw something in the guy’s hand.”
“What did you see?” Ellie asked.
“Honestly, for a second, I thought it was a gun. It was crazy chaotic, you know? It was just a flash. Anyway, I freaked a bit and I just bolted down the stairs. When I got to the buses, I was laughing, because I was sure it was just my imagination.”
“No, it wasn’t your imagination,” Jake said. There was a dose of asperity in his voice. “You saw what you saw and you just got scared. Why did you wait so long to say something?”
Ryan shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “I figured it was nothing, but I saw you here, so I guess I just thought to ask if Andy was around.”
Jake’s jaw set. “Can you tell me anything about the man you saw?” he asked.
Ryan shook his head. “You could barely see the guy’s face. He was in a suit, you know?”
Jake pawed the ground with his foot, summoning all the restraint he could manage. “Go back to your friends,” Jake said. “If anybody you know hears from Andy, you get in touch with me. What’s your number? I’ll call you.”
Jake called the number and watched Ryan enter the contact information into his smartphone. When the boy was gone, he turned his attention back to Ellie.
“Andy is inside that school,” Jake said.
“You don’t know that for certain.”
“I called three cell phones, three, and I got no answer. These kids have their phones glued to their hands. And now Ryan thinks he saw a gun? It’s my boy, Ellie. It’s Andy. He’s in there.”
“Even if he is, you have to let the police handle this.”
“Yeah? When are you going in? How long?”
“I don’t know. These things take time. We have to assess the situation first.”
Jake’s face went hot. “We may not have time!” he said, and regretted the outburst.
Ellie didn’t flinch. She was accustomed to dealing with belligerent drunks. She took hold of Jake’s arm, but he yanked it away.
“What are you thinking, Jake?”
“I’m thinking my son needs to get his blood sugar up before your guys get their act together.”
“If that’s the case, Andy will tell whoever is holding him hostage.”
“And what if they just let my son die?”
“You have to trust the police to handle this.”
Jake shook his head. “I’m sorry, Ellie. You, I care about. The police, SWAT, the FBI, not high on my list.”
Ellie looked offended and genuinely confused. Where is this mistrust toward law enforcement coming from?
If she had seen Jake’s larder, his storage room, his cache of weapons and ammunition, she would have known.
Jake backed away.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not going to do anything, Ellie,” Jake said. “Don’t worry. I’m going to let you handle it, just like you asked.”
Ellie reached for her belt. He knew she was thinking about taking out the cuffs and putting a stop to whatever plans he had just concocted. He took another step back.
“Jake, let us handle this.”
“I’m not going to let my son die.”
“You don’t even know if he’s in there.”
Jake said nothing.
“He’s my son, Ellie.”
Jake turned and ran for his car. Ellie watched him go.
CHAPTER 24
Inside the Feldman Auditorium, Fausto Garza had changed things up. The six members of The Shire occupied the auditorium’s front row. Behind each of them sat one cartel enforcer. They were there to keep watch, even though the kids weren’t going anywhere. The teens had their hands and feet bound with rope, but the gags were out and blindfolds off so their eyes could take in the full spectacle.
Onstage, in a perfect line, bodies rigid as if at attention, stood four members of Sangre Tierra:
The redheaded one.
A fat one.
And two tall ones, thin like Rafa.
They were the four who, per Fausto’s orders, had chased after a woman who had seen too much. Fausto was on the stage with them. He stood in front of the men and paced back and forth, eyeing each contemptuously, a cross between an irate stage director and a drill sergeant.
Minutes ago, in a fierce rage, Fausto had ripped off the arm of one of the auditorium chairs. He wielded the lacquered piece of rounded wood like a club. He slapped the armrest against his meaty palm with steady taps. Whimpers of the teens and the slapping of wood against skin were the only sounds inside the hall.
Fausto stopped pacing to glower once more at the men onstage with him. He turned around slowly, apparently ready to address his audience, those he had kidnapped and those he had employed. He spoke in English for the benefit of The Shire. This show was to be something for all of them to see and understand.
“Okay-okay-okay,” Fausto began. “We are here now to have a discussion about what happened.”
Hilary gasped for a breath and spat out a choked sob. In his cushy seat beside her, Solomon shook violently, as did David. Pixie, Andy, and Rafa might have been the most stoic of the bunch, but their eyes were wide and swimming with fright.
Fausto held up his hands theatrically and hoisted the makeshift club high as his head. He turned back around to communicate with the men onstage.
“So, who would like to tell me what they think has now happened?”