Worst Case (Michael Bennett 3)
Page 32
“No,” I said into my phone as I finally made out what the police were cordoning off. The camera had zoomed in on an empty wheelchair.
I felt like borrowing the rosary beads around the crucifix on the wall beside the TV. He’d taken another kid? This horror was nonstop. Was that the point? Damn it, this was all we needed!
“Where are you now, Emily?” I said as I hit the street.
“Running to the subway. Columbia’s uptown, right?” she said. “Don’t bother picking me up. I’ll meet you there.”
Chapter 37
“WHERE TO, MIKE?” Mary Catherine said as I hopped back into our van. “Starbucks? That diner on Eleventh? No, how about we score a couple of warm H and H bagels and eat them in the park? I’m famished after that all-nighter.”
“Change of plans, Mary Catherine,” I said. “Another kid just got kidnapped. I have to head over to Columbia yesterday.”
Mary Catherine’s eyes lit up as she revved the engine. She was a notorious lead foot.
“Hit the lights, Starsky. I’ll get you there in no time.”
On our way to Columbia, I called Chief Fleming.
“There you are,” she said. “The press found out about it before we did. Are you there yet?”
“Just about.”
“The TV is saying that it’s the media mogul Gordon Hastings’s son, but that hasn’t been confirmed.”
“That’ll be the first thing on my list,” I said as we arrived at the campus.
A mob of students and press had crowded into Low Plaza, at 116th and Broadway. Sirens split the air every few seconds as more and more police cars arrived.
I saw Emily Parker emerge from the subway and called to her.
“Oh, I see,” Mary Catherine said, glaring at her through the windshield. “You didn’t say she was going to be here.”
“
Of course,” I said as I got out. “She’s a kidnapping expert with the FBI. This looks like a kidnapping. What is it, Mary?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s none of my business what you do, Mike,” she said as she revved the van and ripped the transmission into gear.
“Or who you do it with. You’re welcome for the ride,” she said as she peeled off.
She whipped a screeching U-ee. I stood gaping as she dropped the hammer down Broadway.
Had she gone completely over the edge? Must have been the science fair, I thought.
“Was that your nanny?” Emily said as she arrived at a jog beside me.
“I’m not really sure,” I said.
Chapter 38
FRANCIS X. MOONEY carried a briefcase and a venti latte as he hurried with the morning rush-hour crowd through Grand Central Terminal. He was approaching the famous clock at the station’s center when he spotted the girl at the end of one of the Metro North ticket lines. He halted, weak suddenly, his heart snaring, unable to breathe.
The milky skin, the long black hair. My God, it was her! he thought, panicking. He’d messed up somehow! Chelsea Skinner was right there. She was still alive!
When the young woman turned to open her purse, the spell was broken. Francis felt a head rush of relief as he realized it was actually a thirty-something businesswoman, much too tall and heavy to be the young woman he had abducted and shot.
What the hell was wrong with him? he thought as he unrooted himself. Things were getting to him. The lack of sleep, the physical exertion. He was losing it, actually hallucinating.