An uncomfortable stakeout was an unavoidable part of the job. He’d sat in this unmarked cruiser in front of a suspect’s home for hours, eating red Swedish fish, wondering how much coffee his body could hold without a bathroom break. He’d huddled in dark corners of vacant buildings in the dead of Boston winters, and nursed phony cocktails in the impossible lighting of hotel bars. Watching for the library wallet bandit, he’d stationed himself by the copier at the Boston Public Library for so long an irate reader reported him for “hogging” it.
Stakeouts were not supposed to be fun. If Jake got the bad guy, it all would be worth it.
The dark shadow of City Hall edged across the front seat as time ticked by, a giant sundial reminding Jake of how long he’d been hiding. Hewlitt had returned to the scene of the crime. Or perhaps simply to his place of business. Getting the scoop on Hewlitt’s CV was on Angie Bartoneri’s list of assignments, Jake thought again. Was she actively trying to sabotage him? For dumping her? Incompetence or petulance. No place for either in Jake’s life.
He kept his eyes on the rearview mirror. Hewlitt’s silhouette was a statue. There were too many damn places Hewlitt could go, and he could choose faster than Jake could follow him. Jake could only watch, best he could, then notify D and leap out of the car to follow as soon as Hewlitt was under way. Fifty-fifty, he thought. Fifty-freaking-fifty.
To stay awake, Jake ran down his to-do list. Check with Evidence and Kiyoko Naka in Missing Persons. He needed to nail down Catherine Siskel and those security cameras, and get hold of Ward Dahlstrom, the man supposedly in charge of surveillance. From what they’d explained, the city’s traffic cams could be looking at this same scene right now.
Jake stared at the mirror, then reached for his radio. “D,” he said.
“Copy.”
“Can you take over for a couple minutes?” Jake slid across the front seat, never taking his eyes off the mirror, and reached for the handle of the passenger-side door. The one nearest the entrance to City Hall.
“Got your six,” DeLuca said.
“That mean yes?” Jake watched the mirror. Still nothing.
“You’re breaking up,” D lied. “Gotcha. I’m under way. Corner of Sudbury and Congress. I see him. Front seat.”
“Great.” Jake said. Still nothing. “Over to you. Radio me when he’s on the move.”
“Why?” DeLuca said. “Too much coffee? You hitting the head?”
“Nope,” Jake said. “I have an idea.”
A harsh jangle from the black desk phone cut across the Wilhoites’ study. Jane felt her heart beat faster. “Is that him?”
Robyn let out a yelp.
The phone rang again.
“For God’s sake, answer it,” Melissa ordered.
“He’s always called my cell before.” Robyn seemed verging on tears, all nerve endings, exposed and raw, holding her silent cell. “Lewis can be so-manipulative, you know?”
“Answer it,” Jane said. “Manipulative”? Another word Robyn hadn’t used before, like “careless,” and “jealous,” and “nutcase.” “It might not be Lewis. It might be someone with information about Gracie.”
When the phone rang a third time, Melissa took a step closer, reaching out as if to snatch the phone herself. Robyn stepped away from them, one pace, then another. Clutching her cell phone to her chest.
“I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“Afraid?” Melissa’s voice went up, incredulous. “Afraid?”
“Robyn.” Jane kept her voice calm. Being part of the story was unnervingly different. “We’re all afraid. But answer the phone.”
The room went silent as Robyn picked up the landline handset.
“Hello?” Her voice quavered, barely audible.
Jane and Melissa leaned toward her, eyes narrowing. Jane tried to gauge Robyn’s reactions as interminable seconds ticked by. Then a full minute.
“Jane.” Robyn, wide-eyed, handed her the phone. “It’s Lewis. He told me what he wants. Now he wants to talk to you. Tell you in person.”
“Thank God,” Melissa said.
Jane grabbed the handset from Robyn, put it to her ear. Said, “Lewis? It’s Jane” almost before she had it in place. Waited.
Nothing.
She tried again. Nothing. “Lewis? It’s Jane Ryland,” she said, louder. She pressed the receiver closer to her ear. Maybe there was a bad connection, or she’d been put on hold? She turned to Robyn. “Was the call breaking up? Could you hear him?” And then into the phone. “Lewis?”
Nothing.
“Robyn?”
“Isn’t he talking?” Robyn asked. “He asked for you. See? I told you he was manipulative. Did he hang up? Or-did you disconnect somehow? Oh, no, Jane, did you cut him off?”
“Of course she didn’t,” Melissa said. “Did you?”
Of course she hadn’t. Jane put the handset back to her ear; she could hear that the line was open, so she was connected to someone, somewhere.
“The line is still open,” she said, “but there’s no one there.”
“I can’t believe it.” Robyn plopped down in the desk chair and dropped her head into her outstretched arms, a mass of blond hair and trembling chenille.
“Can you hear anything?” Melissa took three quick steps to stand next to Jane, holding out her hand. “Give me that. Let me see.”
Jane looked at the phone again, baffled. She held it up to her sister.
In green letters, the display showed CALL ENDED.
43
She knew this guy somehow. Tenley raised her eyes over her computer monitor, surreptitiously examining him as he came into the surveillance room. Where had she seen him? He was pretty cute, in jeans and a battered leather jacket, kind of cool in an older-guy kind of way. Not someone who worked at City Hall, she was pretty sure.
She checked him out again, couldn’t resist. He looked intense, eyes darting from desk to desk, scanning, like he was looking for something. Or someone. Ward Dahlstrom, maybe? Usually he’d be here to make sure no one sneaked out early for lunch, hovering and bossy like they were little kids. The less the scope of someone’s power, the more they’ll try to inflict it on you, her dad used to say.
Dad. She let out a jaggedy sigh. She’d wanted to go home, Mom did, too, but her mother had hugged her, hard, asked her to be brave and not to say a word to anyone about her father. They had to wait, Mom said. So Tenley would wait, and try to be brave. And she wouldn’t say a word, not one. Like, who was even gonna ask? If her mother could do it, she could do it. They were the only two left.
It was hard to concentrate, though. Sorrow and confusion had pretty much blotted out everything else. It was difficult to decide what was important.
The leather-jacket guy had stopped by the desk closest to the door. Nancie Alvarez, the department’s assistant manager, sat there, skinny and skittish as a baby spider. He was talking to her, his voice too low to overhear. Tenley saw him point at the bank of real-time video monitors displayed across the wall.
She pressed her lips together, holding back tears, trying to focus on her screen and not the guy. Mom had promised to come get her at lunchtime. They’d talk, she promised. Right now Tenley was drained. She’d cried and cried in the greenroom, so hard her whole face hurt. Now there were almost no tears left. Weirdly, she also felt-how would Dr. Maddux put it?-remorseful, maybe. Because she was so self-absorbed. She’d been so focused on herself, she hadn’t thought enough about how her mom must feel.
She was totally relieved her mother didn’t know about last night, her sneaking out to Brileen’s, and she would never tell her. That secret it was okay for Tenley to keep.