‘Bad luck there. It had just been cleaned. The hygiene rota was signed ten minutes before you came in for your bleed.’
Dalton licks his dried and nervous lips. ‘Last time we met you said you had surveillance footage and that was a lie.’
‘You were at that diner with a man you had followed all the way from a crime scene.’
‘You could be lying now.’
‘I’m not.’
Owain walks back into the room. ‘Pilot says he’ll be ready for take-off in about twenty minutes.’
‘Thank you.’ Mitzi turns back to Dalton. ‘Come on, George; you and I both know you killed Deagan and hid his body and vehicle somewhere. Today of all days, save me the dance.’
Dalton glances at the ambassador, who gives him a telling nod.
Finally, he opens up. ‘I tailed a brown SUV from the antiques store where the owner died. Deagan and another man pulled up a couple of miles away. They both went into the woods, but only Deagan came out. I followed him to the diner. He went in and ate. When he came out I asked him to return our property.’
‘Asked?’
‘Yes, asked. He could have given it me and nothing would have happened. He went crazy, pulled a knife and we fought. I got stabbed, he got killed.’
‘And the body and the vehicle?’
‘Must have got moved.’
She smiles in disbelief. ‘You were doing well with the openness and honesty, until then.’
Owain steps into the conversation. ‘From what I told you yesterday, you can imagine why we wouldn’t want to be caught up in a homicide investigation. It’s imperative that George’s admission — and everything else I confided in you — stays between us.’
‘I’m sorry, Sir Owain. My job isn’t to keep secrets, it’s to disclose them.’
‘I really hope you don’t do that.’ He glances at his watch. ‘We should get you down to the helipad; the pilot will be about ready.’
Mitzi’s cell phone rings.
Her heart jumps. The display says: ‘Number withheld’.
She presses the accept button. ‘Mitzi Fallon.’
The voice is electronically distorted and chillingly slow. ‘Which of your daughters do you love most?’
The words make her light-headed. She sits on the back of a leather sofa to steady herself. ‘What do you want?’
‘The codex. If I don’t have it within twenty-four hours, I’m going to kill one of them. You can choose.’
124
CARDT, the FBI’s Child Abducted Rapid Deployment Team, has an office two floors below HRU. Donovan rings unit boss Bob Beam, fills him in and says she’s on her way down with one of her lieutenants.
Within five minutes, she and Eleonora Fracci are sat in a briefing room.
Beam is late forties and looks like a college prof in his leather patched brown blazer and square-framed spectacles.
With him are two contrasting colleagues: a tall, broad man with black, soldierly hair and a petite, blonde woman in a grey business suit. He introduces them as they pull up chairs around the small table in the glass-walled room. ‘This is Damon Spinks. He’ll lead the operational side of any recovery we get to stage. And this is Helena Banks; she’s our psychologist and negotiator. She can talk the devil into singing in a church choir.’
Donovan reciprocates. ‘My colleague here is Eleonora Fracci, one of our lead investigators. She works alongside Mitzi Fallon and I want her to be the link on this — to you, me and any other agencies we include.’
Beam writes her name at the bottom of the notes he made when the AD called him. ‘Right now, everyone’s in what we call the sit-and-shit mode. It’s the most unnerving phase there is. Given the warning that the kidnappers left, we can’t get a full team to the house the girls were taken from because the unsubs might be watching.’
Spinks jumps in to give a little reassurance. ‘I’ve got an unmarked surveillance helicopter flying high and sweeping surrounding areas. We’re also asking for real-time satellite access and rollback replays, but we’ll be lucky to get them.’
Donovan blows a sigh. ‘What about traces on the house landline and family cell phone numbers?’
‘Those we can get,’ says Beam. ‘You know the game, though. The kidnappers will use burners and ditch them straight after a call.’
‘Worth a shot.’
‘Always.’ He rolls the pen across his fingers as he thinks. ‘And you figure the girls might have been taken because of this case their mom’s working?’
‘That’s right. She’s handling two homicides connected to an old cross and a memory stick taken from an antiques store near Washington DC.’
Beam makes notes. ‘What’s on the stick?’
‘Coded information.’
He looks interested. ‘As in spies?’
Donovan shakes her head. ‘We don’t think so. Seems to be something else. Fallon didn’t go into great detail.’
‘Then she needs to.’ He looks at Eleonora. ‘Can you call her and get the full picture for me?’
‘Si.’ She dips into her voluminous Fendi bag and produces a clutter of photograph frames. ‘I took these from her desk. I thought you’d need photographs of the girls.’
‘Thanks.’ He takes them and carefully lays them on the table. ‘Nice kids. I hope we can keep them that way.’
Helena, the psychologist, picks up one showing the girls with their mom at Disney. They’re all wearing mouse ears. ‘Can you tell me something about the family? It would be good to get an idea of how the girls might be acting right now.’
‘Not sure how much we can help,’ answers Donovan. ‘Fallon’s new to the unit. Came from LAPD Homicide after a messy divorce and brought the kids with her.’
‘Their father is a bum,’ adds Eleonora.
They all give her a look that demands further detail.
‘I checked on her a little. He used to beat her. One day she beat him back, called the cops and filed for divorce.’
‘Good for her,’ says Helena.
‘She’s a tough cookie,’ adds Donovan. ‘That’s part of why I wanted her on this unit.’
‘She’ll need to be,’ says Helena. ‘Her girls, too. Let’s hope some of Mom’s survival instinct has rubbed off on them.’
Beam is examining a seaside shot of a younger Mitzi carrying twin toddlers, one on each arm, into the sea. ‘Any chance of Fallon trying to solve this on her own?’
Donovan thinks out loud. ‘She called it in straight away. Means she’s trying to do things by the book; she wants us involved.’
The psychologist smiles sceptically. ‘Make no mistake — a mother will do anything to save her kids. And one like Fallon will only go by the book as long as she believes the book is worth it. After that, then there isn’t a line she won’t cross.’
125
Mitzi hangs up.
Owain and George Dalton stare expectantly at her.
She’s almost in a trance as she talks. ‘I have to hand over the codex within twenty-four hours or they’ll kill one of my girls.’ She almost breaks down. ‘But hey, I get to choose.’
The ambassador guides her to a nearby sofa. He knows there’s no point lying about the dilemma she’s in. ‘What you decide to do now is critical. Unfortunately, as you have two daughters, they will, if necessary, kill one of them, to increase their leverage.’
Mitzi stares at her hands. It’s a long time since she’s seen them shake. She looks up at the tall Welshman. ‘Once these sons of bitches have got what they want, they’re most likely going to kill them both, aren’t they?’