You aren’t good for her, John. Always too easy on her. You can destroy a child with leniency. She needs me, John—now more than ever. I know you’ve probably turned Katie completely against me, but I can change that. All I need is—
She ducked as she saw John’s car coming down the street. This was his second trip out today. Where had he gone? To see Katie? To bring her home?
Cautiously she raised her head and watched him pull into the driveway.
7
John spotted the car as he was heading into the house. A brand new white Taurus. He thought he’d seen it parked near the corner when he left to bring Katie’s toe down to Bob Decker at the White House—a surreal trip, riding through downtown D.C. traffic with his daughter’s little toe packed in ice in the six-pack cooler next to him on the front seat. But he was almost beyond reacting at this point.
Now he thought he saw the same white Taurus parked across the street. And at least one person in it. Maybe two. FBI? Secret Service? Or one of the kidnappers?
Better not to know.
Nana was waiting for him when he stepped inside. She stood in the hall in a tartan robe—Dad’s old robe— looking older and more disheveled than he’d ever seen her, with her fingertips pulling at her throat… pulling at her throat…
“Has there been any word?” she said.
John had debated whether or not to let her in on the fact that federal agencies were getting involved. He’d finally decided that she’d only worry more about the kidnappers’ threats against Katie if the feds were brought in. So, for the time being, he’d stick to the ransom story.
“None yet, but I think I can have the money together by late this afternoon.”
“Oh, thank God! And then Katie will be coming home?”
“Soon after I deliver it. Or so I hope. I’ve been following their instructions to the letter, but they haven’t told me yet what to do with the money once I get it.”
“So much money,” she said, her fingers digging deeper. “How will you ever pay it back?”
He shrugged and said what he would have said if the kidnappers really had wanted only money. “I’m not going to worry about that right now. I’ll have plenty of time to figure that out after we get Katie back.”
“Yes, yes,” she said. “Getting Katie back. That is what we must worry about.”
“Why don’t you try some of your yoga,” he said. “Maybe it will relax you.”
She shook her head. “No… no yoga. I can’t do yoga with Katie gone.” As she turned and shuffled toward the kitchen, John stepped into the living room and sneaked a peek through one of the front windows.
The white Taurus still sat across the street.
And suddenly he had to see who was in it. Not to speak to them, not to confront them or get their names; just to look.
He hurried through the kitchen, past his mother with her cup of coffee, and out the rear door. He cut through a neighboring backyard, then dashed into the front and across the tree-lined street.
There… he now was on the same side as the Taurus. He began walking toward it, approaching from the rear. As he neared he saw the National sticker on the bumper. A rental.
Closer now… coming abreast of the rear door… the front door—passenger seat’s empty—now by the hood a quick glance over the shoulder to see—
“Mamie!” Fury took him then. She could ruin everything! He ran around to the driver’s door and yanked it open. It took all his control to keep from dragging her out of the car and throttling her.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
She cowered back, her hand to her mouth. “John! I—”
“What? Tell me! What do you think you’re going to accomplish sitting out here?”
“John… you’re out of control.”
He wanted to say, You should know—you wrote the book on out of control, but he bit it back. She was right. His whole life was out of control. He stepped back, took a deep breath.
“Go away.”
“I want to see my daughter. You won’t let me talk to her, so I thought if I waited here I might at least get a glimpse of her.”
“She’s not your daughter anymore.”
“She’ll always be my daughter! And I want to know what you’ve done with her?”
“Done with her? What are you—?”
“She didn’t come home from school yesterday. I was watching.”
“Oh, no!” What was he going to do with this woman?
She was going to ruin everything.
“Oh, yes! Where are you hiding her? What have you done with my daughter?” John couldn’t answer that, couldn’t come up with another lie to cover everything. He stared at her for a few heartbeats, then went on the offensive.
“You’re stalking her, aren’t you,” he said.
Mamie’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I should have guessed you’d do something like this. You’re going to try to kidnap her.” He pulled a pen and a slip of note paper from his breast pocket. “Well, you won’t get away with it.” He walked to the rear of the car and began writing.
Mamie leaned out the open door and stared at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m going to call the FBI and give them this license plate number. I’m going to tell them that not only have you violated a standing court order to stay away from your daughter, but you’ve crossed state lines to stalk her and kidnap her. That makes it a federal matter.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“Why should I bluff? The court order is real; I’ve got witnesses that you’ve been lurking out here. And then all the Dr. Schuylers in the world won’t be able to keep you out of the slammer.”
Her mouth twisted into a snarl. “You son of a bitch!” She slammed the door, started the car, and roared off.
John looked down at his note paper. Why not do as he’d threatened? Give the number to Decker and maybe let him get the FBI on her. Scare her away. The situation was at a delicate juncture. The last thing they needed was a loose cannon like Mamie blundering into the middle of everything and maybe getting Katie killed. She’d already damn near killed Katie once. She wasn’t going to get a second chance.
But even if Katie were safely inside with Nana, Mamie would still be a menace. What the hell was she doing roaming around D.C. in the first place?
John jammed the paper into his pocket and hurried inside. He knew just the man to answer that question. Dr. William Schuyler of Marietta, Georgia. It might be Saturday, and Schuyler might have the weekend off, but John had his home phone number.
He crept up to his study, closed the door, found the number, and dialed.
Schuyler’s wife answered. John mumbled his name as Dr. So-and-so and said he had to speak to “Bill” right away. He sat there, seething, grinding his teeth: William Schuyler, M.D., Ph.D., a pompous ass who thought he had the magic touch. No one was so deranged that he or she would not respond to Dr. Schuyler’s unique ministrations.
“Hello?”
“This is John Vanduyne.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. ‘Oh.’ Want to know who’s been skulking around my neighborhood?”
“Oh, come now, John. ‘Skulking’ is such a loaded term.” The mellifluous tone, the precise diction, the haughty demeanor. It all came back to John in a flash, the sight of him sitting in the witness chair, bald head gleaming in the overhead lights, pudgy hands resting on his ample abdomen as he spewed his inexhaustible stream of psychobabble until the courtroom was awash in empty, selfserving opinions that sounded for all the world like facts.
“You think ‘skulking’ is loaded? How about stalking That’s right. She’s stalking Katie. And she says you said it was all right.”
“That is absurd, John, and you know it. I did tell her, however, that I think she’s recovered to the point where supervised visits might be equally beneficial to both mother and child. Now, if she’s misinterpreted that to mean—”