“Let’s get her permanent address and send out a unit. She might have gone there.”
“Mary was at the fire,” Olivia said. “It was probably Albert on the dock and at the school. Which means Albert killed Kane.” Again she pushed aside the rage. “But we still have no connection to Barney Tomlinson or Dorian Blunt. It makes no sense.”
“We need to talk to Tomlinson’s wife. But first, let’s see if we can figure out where Mary would go. How did David know about her?”
“I’ll call David and find out.”
“And I’ll call in the BOLO on Mary O’Reilly.” Noah started dialing. “I’ll make sure the airports are also notified in case she decides to buy her own ticket on Air France.”
Wednesday, September 22, 1:30 p.m.
“Thanks for seeing me,” David said, settling into a chair next to Truman Jefferson’s big desk. He’d been shown in by a young woman who’d announced him as Mr. Smith, then discreetly closed the door behind them. “I know it was short notice.”
“Always a pleasure to meet new clients,” Truman said broadly, then winced when he saw David’s chin. “That’s quite a shaving nick you got there. Must hurt like the devil.”
“That it does.” It still hurt like hell and he was still dizzy if he moved too quickly.
His mother had been very upset when he’d tried to leave the house, going as far as to take his keys. The only way he’d managed to get here at all was to allow her to drive. Of course Glenn had come and the two of them sat in the front seat of his mother’s car, waiting for him to conclude his business with Lincoln’s brother. Then they were going to the hospital to see Jeff, who was finally conscious and taking visitors.
“So, how can we help you, Mr. Smith?”
David studied Truman’s face, his eyes. The family pictures on his desk. If he was schizophrenic like Lincoln, he masked it well. “Actually, my name isn’t Smith. It’s Hunter. David Hunter. I’m a firefighter. Yesterday your brother broke into my friend’s house.”
Truman’s brows snapped in a snarl. “What’s this about? If you’re planning to sue-”
“I’m not.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Sir, your brother is not well.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Truman said bitterly. “They say he set fires with that terrorist Preston Moss. The FBI came to our house, upset my mother… Please leave my mother out of this. She’s not well either.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” David said. “I’m not here to cause your family pain. I’m here because I need to know who helped Lincoln find me yesterday.”
Truman’s eyes flickered in nervous fear. “Who said anyone helped him?”
“I’m not going to sue,” David repeated. “But I have a family, too. Lincoln came to my apartment house, asked a tenant where I lived. She told him I lived in a friend’s cabin. The owner isn’t listed in the phone book, but Lincoln managed to find the cabin quickly.”
“He’s not stupid,” Truman protested.
“No, but he’s mentally ill and at the moment, off his meds. I don’t believe he found my friend’s cabin alone. If you helped him, I need to know and I need to know why. If you didn’t, I need to find who did. If there’s another zealot out there who thinks I’ve besmirched the name of Preston Moss, I need to protect my family. If Lincoln had gone to my loft first, he would have found my mother, not me. He had a gun, Mr. Jefferson.”
Truman’s eyes fixed on David’s face, then looked away. “I want to say Lincoln would never hurt anyone. But obviously that’s not true.”
David frowned, then understood. “He didn’t do this,” he said, pointing to his chin. “This happened on the job.”
Truman sagged. “Thank God. I’ve been afraid of this, but getting him to take his meds… I even gave him a job here so that I could watch over him, but it’s hard. It’s killing my mother. I made her agree to let the system handle Lincoln this time.”
“Did you help him, Mr. Jefferson?” David asked. “Please, I just need the truth.”
“Yesterday Lincoln called me. He needed to find a man named Glenn Redman. He said it was about the Web site, that he needed to pay. Lincoln does Web site work for me. I thought this was about a bill.” He shrugged helplessly. “I was busy and told Mary to look it up. She gave me the address, I called Lincoln back, and the next thing I knew my mother was calling me crying because he’d been arrested.”
It took a second for the detail to sink in, but when it did David lurched to his feet. “Your secretary is Mary? O’Reilly?” Truman stood as well, uncertainly.
“Why yes, of course. Mary Fran’s been with me since last summer. Why?”
Without answering, David threw open the office door. “Oh my God.” Glenn lay lifelessly on the floor, blood oozing from his head. Truman’s secretary leaned over him, pushing at his body, but at the sound of the door opening she wheeled around, her face white. She held a gun in her hand.
David leapt after but she scrambled back, and holding the gun in both hands, fired. The shot went wide and she ran from the office. David ran after her, then ducked behind a car when she fired a second time. The shot pinged off the car next to him, wide again.
“Stop!” he shouted and barreled forward, but she was fast.
Then sheer terror grabbed his throat when she wrenched open the passenger door of his mother’s car and jumped inside. Mary looked straight at him as she put the gun to his mother’s head. He saw her mouth move. A single word. “Drive.”
His mother shrank back, but Mary shoved the gun harder and the car began to move. “No. Mom, no!” he screamed and hurled himself at the back bumper.
And came up with a handful of air and a mouthful of gravel. He pushed himself to his feet and ran, but the car was screeching out of the parking lot.
He had no keys. He had no car. He spun around and ran back to Truman’s office, where the man knelt next to Glenn, openmouthed and in shock.
“Your keys. Goddammit, give me your keys!”
Stunned, Truman handed them over and David ran outside, yelling, “Call 911.” He started Truman’s car and took off after them. Pulse hammering, he fumbled his phone as he punched the gas, fishtailing in the road.
He couldn’t see her car. Goddammit, he could not see his mom’s car. Hand shaking he dialed 911, driving faster and cursing himself for even allowing her to come.
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
“My mother has been kidnapped. She’s in a green Ford Taurus, heading north toward 35W.” He pictured his mother’s car in his mind and recited the license plate. “Her name is Phoebe Hunter. She’s been taken by Mary O’Reilly who has a gun.” His head was pounding but he managed to keep his voice level. “We also need a rescue squad at Presidential Realty. Sixty-two-year-old man, head wound. He’s unconscious.”
“Where are you, sir?”
“Chasing my mother’s car,” he said, his voice cracking. “Just hurry, and inform Captain Bruce Abbott and Detective Olivia Sutherland.” He came to an intersection and realized he had no idea which way they’d gone. “I don’t see them. Not anywhere.”
“Sir, please return to the scene. I have help on the way.”
David pulled into a gas station. He covered his mouth with his hand, unable to think. Unable to breathe. He stared at his phone, willing it to ring, jumping when it did. Olivia.
“Oh God,” he said weakly, staring at the intersection in front of him. “She’s gone.”
“Who’s gone?” Olivia asked sharply. “David? What’s wrong?”
She didn’t know. Dispatch wouldn’t have had time to call her. “My mother. She’s been abducted.” His voice sounded thin, unreal. “By Mary O’Reilly.”
“What? Where are you?”
“I don’t know.” He looked around, saw the signs, drew a breath and gave her the intersection. “I have to go back. Glenn’s hurt.”
“David. Stop and talk to me.”
But he was turning Truman’s car around and heading back. “Did you get my message before, about Mary O’Reilly?”