Eleven Hours Page 8

  “I minded very much, and you know that,” she said, shifting away from him. “I’m married.”

  “I’m sure your husband won’t mind,” Lyle said.

  “You don’t know my husband. He’s a very jealous man,” she said, looking longingly at another rest-stop sign. “Please, can we stop? I need to go to the bathroom, and I’m very thirsty.”

  “Don’t move away from me, Didi,” Lyle said to her, his friendly tone disappearing. “I like it when you sit real close and I can talk to you. We have a long way to go, and I don’t want to be reaching halfway across the car to touch you. Move closer to me.”

  Didi didn’t move.

  He reached out and patted the Belly. She recoiled from him, turning her body toward the door. She thought that nothing could be worse than his touching her pregnant belly.

  Groaning throatily, Lyle grabbed her breast very hard, squeezing it, then slapping it roughly. She cried out.

  He pushed her away with one hand and laughed. “Look at that,” he said, staring at the road, trying to keep the car in one lane. “We had our first fight.”

  Strangely, after that he ignored her. Didi sat with her arms enveloped around herself, worriedly wanting to feel the baby kick to make sure he or she was all right. She looked out the window and hoped for another rest stop.

  Didi tried to beam good Christian thoughts to Lyle but couldn’t feel his soul in the car. When she was in church and praying, she felt happy and whole, because she could feel souls surrounding her. In Lyle’s car, Didi felt alone.

  Why isn’t he stopping to call? she wondered. Why isn’t he having me call and say he wants a million dollars for me, pay up? Of course, what would her poor husband do with that information? Where could he possibly get that kind of money?

  Didi didn’t want to think about it.

  Lyle had turned up the radio and was humming a country tune, tapping the steering wheel, acting as relaxed and friendly as he had in the mall.

  As they neared Waco, Didi watched the fields swim by in a blur. The heat in the car was making her dizzy. She blinked the sweat out of her eyes, and when she looked outside the window again, she thought she saw Amanda and Irene playing on the grass on the shoulder. She whispered their names, Manda, Reenie, blinked, and they were gone, nothing but parched grass.

  Lyle spoke. “Why did your parents name you Desdemona, Arizona?” She thought he was like a mean kid with good ammunition. A kid in the playground himself constantly taunted now took it out on the wimpy new kid in school. Name-calling, finger-pointing, laughing.

  “Why?” he repeated.

  Glad he was in better spirits, she answered him. “Because it’s my mother’s name and my grandmother’s name. Just a name passed down through generations. I think my great-grandmother was a Shakespearean scholar, and Othello was her favorite play.”

  He said nothing as he drove.

  Trying to sound cheerful, Didi said, “So what’s your wife’s name?” Calling on his better nature. His married nature.

  He was silent so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer her, but then he said, “I told you. Melanie.”

  “Melanie. That’s a pretty name.”

  “My wife is pretty.”

  “I’m sure she is,” said Didi.

  “Too pretty,” said Lyle. “And she knows it.”

  Didi blanked at the turn of the conversation, but then Lyle smiled at her and said. “You’re not too pretty, Didi.”

  She said nothing.

  “Is your husband pleased you’re not too pretty?”

  “My husband?” she repeated vacantly. “I’m not sure how to answer that. Are you not pleased that your wife is pretty?”

  “Not too pleased,” he admitted. “I wish she was less—you know—” He fell quiet and then said, “She dresses up too nice when we go out.”

  “Oh, yeah? Where do you guys go?”

  “Nowhere special,” Lyle replied evasively. “We just go for a little drink at night. Sometimes we dance and stuff. Have some buffalo wings.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Didi said. “Didn’t you say she just had a baby?”

  “When did I say that?” he said brusquely.

  Didi tried to recall. “I think at the yogurt place when I first saw you.”

  “I don’t remember saying that,” he said, frowning.

  The pit in Didi’s stomach widened. “Never mind then,” she said. “I’m probably mixing you up with someone else.”

  On the radio, the announcer gave a short news wrap-up and said, “Headline news in fifteen minutes.”

  4:45 P.M.

  Rich was sunk into a wooden bench outside Chief Murphy’s office when he saw Lopez and Murphy walking quickly toward him accompanied by a black man in a crisp white shirt, khaki dress slacks, and a wide purple-and-orange tie—a funky dresser, Rich immediately thought. Can this guy be serious?

  “Rich, I want you to meet Scott Somerville, from the FBI,” said Murphy, adding with a sideways glance, “Scott says he will be in charge of this case.”

  Rich listlessly shook Scott’s hand. Scott had an unusually firm handshake. He pumped Rich’s hand, and when he let go, Rich’s hand buzzed.

  Rich noticed that Scott was shorter and much broader than he, but he especially noticed Scott’s brown eyes, because they beamed with enthusiasm. “That’s right,” Scott said, his electric gaze boring into Rich. “I will be in charge of this case.” He slapped Rich’s shoulder. “I know you’re hurting, man. I’m here to get your wife back, okay?”

  Rich felt a little better. “You got here all the way from D.C.?”

  “Nah,” Scott said, furiously chewing on a piece of gum. “The Bureau has field offices all over the U.S. I’m a field officer in Dallas.”

  “Oh yeah?” Rich said weakly. “Have any experience in kidnapping?”

  Scott put a steady hand on Rich’s shoulder. “It’s my job. Trust me.”

  Rich said nothing. Scott watched him carefully for a few moments.

  He felt all their stares on him. Rich saw Scott staring at him with an inquisitive, serious, slightly suspicious expression. It was the same expression that the chief had earlier leveled on him. Only Juan’s gaze was sympathetic. What the hell was going on?

  “What?” Rich said. “Why are you guys staring at me as if I’m the sixth guy at a lineup?”

  Scott said nothing for a moment, and then asked, “So, tell us again how you knew this guy took your wife.”

  “What are you talking about? What do you mean?” Rich was so exasperated and raw with emotion that it took him a little while to understand. “Hey—” he stammered in disbelief. “Hey—wait a second, what the hell are you asking me?”

  “Just a question,” Scott said politely. “I’m just a little vague on the whole thing. Something about a pretzel bag?”

  “Oh my God.” Rich wanted to pull his hair out. “Don’t you—haven’t we got better things to do than to question me? What’s the matter? Out of leads so soon? Am I not acting enough like the bereaved husband?”

  Chief Murphy and Scott continued to stare at Rich. Only Juan lowered his gaze. “Juan? What’s going on, man?”

  “Just standard procedure,” Juan mumbled.

  “There’s a lot that seems to be standard procedure around here,” exclaimed Rich. “Tell me, is it standard to have a young pregnant woman abducted from a shopping mall? Huh?”

  No one said anything. Finally Rich said in a slow, flat voice, “I found the pretzel bag that belonged to my wife. I knew it was my wife’s because I smelled her hand lotion on the bag.”

  “If she put it on in the morning, it must have been very faint,” noted Scott in a casual voice.

  Rich got defensive anyway. “Okay, so? It was faint, yes. You wouldn’t have been able to recognize the smell, certainly. And if it smelled of someone else’s wife, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But it smelled of my wife. Of all the people in the world, don’t you think I would know that?”

  Scott n
odded, exchanging a glance with Chief Murphy. “Sure, of course.” He nodded again. “Let’s not worry about this anymore,” he said to the chief. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Take care of what?” Rich said, even though Scott was not talking to him.

  Suddenly Scott’s expression changed. “God help you if you’re lying to us. If you’re lying to me.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake! Look, give me a damn lie detector test if you have to. I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. Every minute you’re standing here interrogating me, he’s one mile farther away from us.”

  Scott and Chief Murphy stared at each other for a moment, and then Scott nodded slightly. He tilted his head to one side and smiled at Rich. “All right, man,” he said in a comforting voice. “The spouse is always under suspicion at first. Standard procedure. Listen, even when you think we’re not working, we’re working. I’m on the job five minutes and we may already have a small breakthrough.”

  Rich’s eyes brightened. “Breakthrough?” he said.

  Scott lifted his hand. “Now, don’t get your hopes up.”

  Blood rushing to his face, Rich said, “God, what, what?”

  “Well, this is what we have. At three thirty-five, ten miles south of Dallas on Thirty-five E, a report came in on police radio from a lady about a disturbance in the car next to her. She called nine-one-one on her cell phone.”

  “What kind of disturbance? What did she say?” Rich’s heart pounded in his chest.

  “She said that she was driving her car minding her own business, when she noticed that in the car to the left of her a woman was turned to the window while the driver, a man, was hitting her with an object.”

  “Oh God,” said Rich, and thought, maybe that’s not Didi.

  “The lady said,” Scott continued, “that the woman looked young and had long brown hair. The woman was saying something through the window, but the lady couldn’t make out what it was. She also said the woman was holding her hands up to the window as if in prayer, so she might have been saying something like ‘please’ or ‘help me.’”

  “Oh my God,” Rich said, his fists helplessly clenched.

  “We don’t know anything for sure, you understand?” Scott said.

  Rich noted that Juan and Chief Murphy had said nothing during the conversation. Scott had a cocksure and intimidating manner that didn’t allow for interjection.

  “It could have been some couple having a domestic fight,” Scott said. “It does happen, you know.”

  Rich knew it happened. But he had to believe it was his wife and his wife was alive. That was the most important thing. Not knowing what had happened to his wife was the unbearable part. Not knowing if she was all right.

  Had Scott said 3:35? What time had Rich called the cell phone? It had been about three-thirty.

  The relief flooded out, replaced by weights that dragged him deeper into despair.

  He realized that finding out that Didi was alive in a car with a man who was hitting her with an object was not great news, but she was alive. And so long as she was alive, there was hope.

  Rich saw Scott watching him intently. He wondered if he passed muster.

  Scott put his hand out to comfort Rich. “I know everything you’re feeling. Everything,” he said earnestly. “We hate this most of all. We hope that he’ll contact us, with a ransom note, or a call, with some indication of his intentions, and then we can usually pursue him. We have to hope he’ll slip up somewhere. We’ll do what we can, everything we can. But right now, we don’t even know if we have the right car, much less the right man. You must hang tight, and let us do our job, okay? I promise you one thing—we will catch the bastard.”

  Rich pulled away from Scott’s hand. “You’ve had many of these kidnapping cases then?”

  “Yes,” Scott said. “This is what I do.”

  “How often do you get the kidnapper?”

  “Nine out of ten times,” Scott said proudly.

  Rich nodded weakly. “Maybe we could get on the phone and talk to the lady who saw Didi?”

  Scott stopped chewing gum for a moment. “I wasn’t bragging. I was telling you, you’re in good hands. And I already did talk to the lady. It’s the first thing I did when I heard the woman’s message. I asked her to turn around and come back to Dallas. She’s at the station right now. If you have a picture of your wife, I’d like to show it to her.”

  Rich didn’t allow himself to be even a little bit impressed as he fumbled in his wallet. He took out the wedding picture of Didi, glowing, smiling, in white. Her shiny hair, twinkling eyes, and fresh smile were exactly the same seven years later as the day they married. Rich handed the picture to Scott, who glanced at the photo and said, “She’s pretty.”

  Rich felt light-headed. Yes, she is, he thought. I just want my pretty wife back.

  “Come with me,” Scott said, as he led Rich down the hallway and opened the door to a room with a table and some chairs. “Have a seat and sit tight. I’ll be right back.”

  Scott left. Rich realized that Juan and Chief Murphy were no longer involved. Rich sat for a few minutes behind the table, but he couldn’t stand to be with his thoughts in an empty room. He walked outside and sat on the wooden bench, where he waited.

  Wishing he could keep moving, Rich tapped his heels on the tile floor. The worst was sitting there counting off the seconds for something to happen, for some news.

  When Scott returned, Rich jumped up. Putting a calm hand on Rich’s arm, Scott said, “Take it easy, man.”

  “Yeah, I’ll just do that,” Rich said bitterly. “Thanks for the advice.” Then, after a moment’s pause, he said, “Well, anything?”

  Scott, impeccable and proper, said, “Yeah, something.” Nodding, Scott said, as if answering his own question, not Rich’s, “It’s her. The lady recognized her. It’s your wife.”

  Dumbly, Rich nodded himself. “I just knew it. What kind of car were they driving?”

  “The lady couldn’t really remember,” Scott replied. “The man sped off, swerving in and out of lanes, going ninety or more, the lady said. He obviously didn’t want her to follow him. She said his car looked like an older-model Ford station wagon. Beige. She didn’t have a chance to get the whole license plate. She got the first three letters, though. JZ five.”

  “Oh,” Rich said, disappointed. “Is that helpful?”

  “It’s better than nothing,” Scott replied, as he opened another piece of gum and stuffed it into his mouth. “There are hundreds of plates beginning with JZ five. I already called it in. We’re going through them, but it’ll take a little time. We’ll narrow it down to the few dozen or so that are attached to tan Ford or Mercury wagons, and then we’ll start looking at photos. It’ll probably take another hour.”

  “Hour?” Rich exclaimed. “He could be in New Mexico in an hour!”

  Shaking his head, Scott said, “I thought you’d be impressed by how fast we work, but there you go. He’s not in New Mexico. He’s between Dallas and Waco. We notified the Waco police and the state police. The guy could be heading down to the border, but it’s another four hours. We’ll catch him if he stays on I-Thirty-five. It’s just a matter of time. Also, the AIC—”

  Rich raised his eyebrows. Scott said, “Agent-in-charge. Raul. Desk agent in charge,” Scott added for emphasis, as if to draw a distinction for Rich between himself, who was hands-on, and Raul, who wasn’t. “He’s a good guy.” Scott lowered his voice. “But a little bossy. Anyway, he called the wire services. Reuters and UPI are now running a description of the car, and we soon hope to have a description of the man. Did Murphy tell you about the Outreach program? We’re going to use those stations to get information about your wife on the air. It’ll be a big help. Everyone listens to the radio while they drive, in gas stations, at rest stops, everywhere. So we’ve got the traffic cops looking out for the beige station wagon, and we’ve got the news alert. He’s still in Texas and we’ll catch him.”

  While they were
talking, Juan Lopez and Chief Murphy came by to listen to what was going on, and now all three men stood around Rich in a circle as if trying to shield him from pain.

  “Is that a good idea?” Rich said uncertainly. “Putting this on the news?”

  “Yeah, man, it’s standard procedure. We want everyone who can to help us find him. Unless they know, they won’t know to help.”

  When Rich looked unconvinced, Scott said, “You’ll have to trust me. That’s the hardest thing, I know. But remember, as long as he’s driving, he can’t harm her.”

  Tell that to the blood on the pretzel bag, Rich thought, backing away from the men. Tell that to my wife, who’s being beaten as she’s screaming to passersby. Tell that to Didi.

  But nonetheless, Scott was the FBI, and he was here to help Rich. The FBI. Rich was in their hands. Looking at Scott’s serious face, Rich felt a little comfort. The only odd things about Scott were his feverish gum-chewing and his fruit-salad tie. “Okay, what now?” Rich said.

  “Now we wait,” Scott said, cracking his gum. “We wait for him to make a move. And he will. Just wait. I won’t be wrong about this. The only thing crime breeds, besides jobs for people like me, is more crime. The only move he will make will be another criminal act. You know why? Because that’s the path he’s chosen. Once he’s on that path, there’s nowhere else for him to go but deeper into the woods. I don’t know what he will do, but he will show himself again in a short while. So we’re going to sit tight and wait. I promise you, it won’t be long.”

  4:45 P.M.

  Finally Lyle got off Interstate 35, near West, Texas. Didi almost felt happy. She said a quick thank-you prayer to God, thinking, okay, well, this is the beginning of the end. We’ll go and he’ll call Rich, and then—well, and then we’ll negotiate. I’ll get to hear Rich’s voice, let him know I’m okay. Maybe I’ll even hear the girls.

  And I’ll get a drink.

  Making a right at the stop sign, Lyle drove a few miles in the direction of Aquilla until he found a gas station. Didi never thought she’d be so glad to see one. Johnny’s Auto Repair had a fuel pump out front. There was no pavement, only gravel. There was an old chair and a blaring black and white TV in front of the beaten-down store, but there was no one outside. No one in his right mind would be outside in this weather, thought Didi, sticking her head in front of the vent.