U Is for Undertow (Kinsey Millhone 21)

“I don’t suppose either of them mentioned their names?”

“No. I probably should have asked, but it didn’t occur to me.”

“Your recall impresses me. Much of my life at that age is a total blank.”

“I hadn’t thought about the incident for years, but once the memory was triggered, I was right there again. Just like, boom.”

I reran the story in my mind, trying to digest the whole of it. “Tell me again why you think there’s a connection to Mary Claire. That still seems like a stretch.”

“I don’t know what else to say. Intuition, I guess.”

“What about the kidnapping. How did that go down? I remember the broad strokes, but not the particulars.”

“The whole thing was horrible. Those poor people. The ransom note said not to contact the police or the FBI, but Mr. Fitzhugh did it anyway. He thought it was the only way to save her, but he was wrong.”

“The first contact was the note?”

Sutton nodded. “Later they phoned and said he had one day to get the money together or else. Mr. Fitzhugh had already called the police and they were the ones who contacted the FBI. The special agent in charge convinced him they’d have a better chance of nabbing the guys if he and his wife appeared to cooperate, so they advised him to do as he was told . . .”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars, wasn’t it? Somehow the number sticks in my head.”

“Exactly. The kidnappers wanted it in small bills, packed in a gym bag. They called again and told him where he was supposed to leave the money. He stalled. They must have thought there was a trap on the line because they cut the call short.”

“So he dropped off the ransom money and the kidnappers didn’t show.”

“Right. After a day passed, it was clear the FBI had bungled it. They still thought they had a chance, but Mr. Fitzhugh said to hell with them and took matters into his own hands. He notified the newspapers and the radio and TV stations. After the story broke, Mary Claire was all anybody talked about—my parents and everyone else.”

“What day was it by then?”

“Sunday. Like I said before, she was kidnapped on Wednesday and I saw them on Friday. The paper didn’t carry the story until Sunday.”

“Why didn’t you speak up?”

“I did. I’d already done that. When my mother came to get me, I told her about the pirates. I felt guilty. Like I’d done something wrong.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know how to pin it down. I believed what they said about digging for treasure. When you’re six, things like that make perfect sense, but on some level I was anxious and I wanted reassurance. Instead, Mom got mad. She said I wasn’t supposed to talk to strangers and she made me promise I’d never do it again. When we got home, she sent me straight to my room. On Sunday we heard the news about Mary Claire.”

“And your mother didn’t see the relevance?”

“I guess not. She never mentioned it and I was too scared to bring it up again. She’d already punished me once. I kept my mouth shut so she wouldn’t punish me again.”

“But it worried you.”

“For a while, sure. After that, I put the incident out of my mind. Then I saw Mary Claire’s name and it all came back.”

“Did you ever see either guy again?”

“I don’t think so. Maybe one of them. I’m not sure.”

“And where would that have been?”

“I don’t remember. I might have made a mistake.”

I picked up a pencil and made a mark on the yellow pad lying on my desk. “When you explained this to Cheney, what was his re sponse?”

His shoulder went up in a half-shrug. “He said he’d check the old case notes, but he couldn’t do much more because the information I’d given him was too vague. That’s when he mentioned you.”

“Sounds like he was passing the buck.”

“Actually, what he said was you were like a little terrier when it came to flushing out rats.”

“Sucking up,” I said. Mentally, I was rolling my eyes because Cheney wasn’t far off the mark. I liked picking at problems and this was a doozy. “What about the house itself? Think you’d recognize it if you saw it again?”

“I doubt it. Right after I read the article, I drove around the old neighborhood, and even the areas I knew well had changed. Trees were gone, shrubs were overgrown, new houses had gone up. Of course, I didn’t cover the whole of Horton Ravine, but I’m not sure it would have made any difference since I don’t have a clear image. I think I’d recognize the place in the woods. The house is a blur.”