Heart of the Night Page 12

  “Do you have the money?” it demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “Small denominations. In a brown grocery bag.”

  “I want to talk to my wife.”

  “Tonight. Just you. Eight o’clock.” The voice rattled off an address that meant nothing to Savannah. “There’s a dumpster at the corner. Put the money in and leave. Try anything funny with the cops and you won’t see the lady again.”

  “Will she be there—my wife, will she be there?”

  “Once the money is safe, she’ll be dropped at a phone booth.”

  “She has to be there when I drop the money. She has to be there. I have to know she’s all right—”

  The line went dead.

  Trembling inside, Savannah swallowed hard. “No Megan,” she whispered and swore softly. They had been counting on some reassurance that Megan was well, but the kidnappers had denied them that, and there wasn’t a thing they could do about it.

  Struggling to accept the setback calmly, she looked up at Sam. “Can we get a number?”

  “It’s on the way. Don’t hold your breath, though. The call was probably made from a phone booth miles from where they’re holding her.”

  “Did you hear any background noise?”

  “I didn’t. The lab might. We’ll get them working on it.”

  “Do you know the drop spot?”

  “Sure do. It’s a construction site in the West End. There’s a dumpster there, plus a lot of dark alleys. He could come and go in any one of a dozen different directions. The site is like a maze. The only chance we stand of catching him would be to cordon off a five-block area, but we can’t do that without being seen.”

  “You can’t do anything until he frees Megan,” Susan argued. She was stone sober and very tense. She half wished she was hungover enough to blunt her awareness of what was happening. But Sam Craig hadn’t let her drink enough for that. She had long since decided he was the devil in disguise.

  “We could follow him,” Sam said. “If we could get a tail on him, we could bide our time until he contacts an accomplice or gets Megan himself. But in that location, the risk of his seeing us is pretty high.”

  Savannah was trying to think of viable alternatives. “What about putting a homing device in with the money?”

  “I’m not sure we can risk that either,” Sam replied. “The guy’s smart. He’s going to check the money pretty quick. Chances are he’ll dump it out of the bag into a sack of his own. If he finds anything suspicious, he’d take it out on Megan.”

  “How do we know he hasn’t already?” Susan cried. “He wouldn’t let Will talk with her.”

  “He was probably calling from a pay phone. Even if Megan had been stashed nearby, he wouldn’t have risked dragging her out in the open.”

  Susan didn’t like what Sam said or the factual way he said it. He was too sure of himself, while she was a nervous wreck. “But we don’t have any proof she’s still alive! How can Will hand over the money without knowing?”

  “How can he not?” Sam returned.

  Slowly and inevitably, the truth of his words sank in. Not even Savannah attempted to deny it.

  Hands knotted at her waist, Susan picked at her nail polish. “I can’t stand this. We’re totally powerless. Some criminal is calling the shots, and we’re doing just what he says.”

  “For now,” Savannah said. “For now.”

  “But it’s disgusting. The Vandermeer name is worth something.”

  “No,” Sam corrected. “The Vandermeer money is worth something. Our guy doesn’t give a damn about the name.”

  “Is there a difference? Name, money, power—it’s all tied together. The Vandermeers have been a force in this state for a good, long time. They don’t deserve this.”

  Savannah put a hand on her arm. “Careful, Suse.”

  “Of what?” Susan asked haughtily.

  “Of me,” Sam said tightly. “You’re talking nonsense. What makes you think the Vandermeers should be exempt from crime just because they have money or power? You think that the poor schnook who works his butt off in a factory sixty hours a week and still can’t make ends meet—you think he deserves to be victimized any more than the Vandermeers? No one deserves it, but it happens.”

  “The Vandermeers contribute more than their share in taxes and to charity.”

  Sam laughed at that.

  “There must be something that can be done!” she cried.

  “Someone to call?” he taunted. “Someone to pull a string here or there? Someone to fix things so no one’s inconvenienced and the whole thing just goes away? Sorry, sweetheart, but life doesn’t always work that way.”

  “It isn’t fair,” Susan told him. When she saw no sympathy forthcoming, she turned on Savannah. “It isn’t fair.”

  “No.”

  “Doesn’t it infuriate you?”

  “All the time.”

  “Still, you do it. Day in, day out you play the game. It’s like cops and robbers, with only one side following the rules. The robbers come and go as they please. They do whatever they want.” She made a choking sound. “And to think I envied you your job. If this is the kind of excitement you thrive on—”

  “I don’t thrive on it,” Savannah bit back. “I’m as worried as you are.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “It’s my job not to look it.”

  “She’s worried,” Sam assured Susan. “She’s got sunken eyes, just like you.” He was looking from one sister’s face to the other’s. “So there’s a resemblance after all. Sunken eyes.”

  “Those are shadows,” Savannah informed him dryly. “Tension shadows.”

  Susan glared at him. “That was just what I needed. Thanks.”

  Savannah gave her arm a squeeze, then turned to Hank, who, after nearly two days with Susan and Sam, had learned to stand out of the line of fire. “Will’s taking care of things with the insurance company, I gather.”

  Hank nodded. “In the kitchen.”

  She looked back at Sam. “Do we let him go alone tonight?”

  Sam shrugged. “We could scatter a few winos around to relay info, but the guy’s apt to smell a rat. The construction site is usually deserted after five. We can post a few unmarked cars at random spots on the chance he’ll pass them. It’d be nice to get a make on his vehicle and there won’t be much traffic, but that can work against us, too. If our guy catches wind of a tail, Megan could be in trouble. So we’ll have to be careful. Our first priority is to get her back in one piece. Once we’ve done that, her kidnappers are free game.”

  Susan snorted. “It’ll be too late then.”

  “No. Megan may be able to help us.”

  “Oh? If I were a kidnapper planning something as neatly as this one did, I’d make sure the victim didn’t see or hear a thing.”

  Savannah responded. “They’ll make a mistake, Suse. Somewhere along the line, they’ll make a mistake.”

  “Vintage Savvy,” Susan said, rolling her eyes. “Optimistic to the end.”

  But Savannah was shaking her head. “This is just the beginning. Once Meggie’s back, we’ll have manpower on our side. Local police, state police, FBI—they’ll all be involved. I don’t care how professional those kidnappers are, somewhere they’ll slip up, and when they do, we’ll be waiting.” She paused. “If only Will would let us call in help now.” Then she shivered, looked around at the somber, concrete walls, and muttered beneath her breath, “I’ve had enough of this basement.” Rubbing her upper arms with her hands, she headed for the stairs.

  * * *

  An hour later, she sat behind her desk looking over the list of convicts who had been released from prison during the last six months. She found it depressing.

  Some of her favorites had hit the streets—a bank robber, a drug pusher, a pimp, the mastermind of a stolen-car ring. None of those on the list had ever tried his hand at kidnapping, but she was sure that there were half a dozen who would have been willing to give it a shot
if the jackpot were high enough. As a precaution, and because she felt she could safely do so without risk to Megan, she called a friend in the parole office. He agreed to check on the whereabouts of several of the more dubious parolees.

  That done, she sat back for a minute and studied the list again. She was notified each time someone she had seen convicted got out, but she usually stashed the notices in a corner or under piles of papers. They made her nervous.

  She’d had her share of threats. It was common for defendants to shout things at prosecutors, particularly when a prosecutor had been either unusually powerful, dramatic, or effective in the pit. When the prosecutor was a woman, things were worse.

  Paul had always told her to ignore the threats, and she had. She was the optimist, the good guy who wore a white hat, rode a white horse, and had the law on her side. To date, she had never had a problem aside from the periodic fear that hit her. She could ignore the notices that were sent to her. She could stash them safely out of sight. They registered nevertheless in the corner of her mind.

  “Got a minute, Savannah?” came a voice from the door.

  Savannah looked up. After a disoriented second, she focused on Arnie Watts and took a steadying breath. “Sure, Arnie. Come on in.”

  But he hesitated. “Everything okay?”

  Pushing the list aside, she forced out a smile. “Sure.” She motioned him in with a small wave, then dropped her gaze to the folders he carried. “The exhibits for the arson case?”

  Arnie crossed the floor and put them on her desk. “Yup. I want to make sure they’re right. We don’t need any surprises.”

  Savannah looked over the material, but everything was in order in each folder. “How about the jury pool?”

  “I was told I’d see the list later today.”

  “Bring it here when you get it. I want to take a look.” The phone rang. Pushing a button, she took up the receiver. “Yes, Janie?”

  “Detective Monroe is calling about the house-break business in Wakefield. Do you want to take it?”

  “Tell him to hang on. I’ll be right there.” She held the receiver to her shoulder while she finished up with Arnie. “Jury selection will probably take most of Monday. On the chance it goes faster, I’m spending Sunday here working on my opening argument. I’d like to see Brady again before we put him on the stand. He’s the fire inspector. His testimony is crucial, but he comes across wishy-washy. I think we should prepare him a little more. He may be okay on direct, but he’s apt to fall apart on cross-examination. Can you do it?”

  “No sweat,” Arnie said and turned to leave. “And I’m free all weekend. If you think of anything else, just call.”

  Smiling her thanks, Savannah punched the button on her telephone panel and switched gears to deal with Detective Monroe. By the time she was done with him, Paul was on the line, calling from his car en route to the airport and a regional attorneys general conference, wanting to know the latest on the kidnapping. By the time she was done with him, her father was waiting on the other line.

  “Hi, Dad,” she called lightly into the phone.

  The voice at the other end was not as light. “You are one very difficult lady to reach, Savannah. I’ve been trying you for two days now, but you come home late and leave early. Where is Susan?”

  Savannah grimaced. “Didn’t she call you?” She had specifically asked Susan to do that.

  “She left a message with Mrs. Fritz that she’d be gone overnight. That was on Tuesday afternoon, and I haven’t heard from her since. I’d say that’s damned inconsiderate of her.”

  “She’s a big girl, Dad.”

  “But I worry. She hasn’t been behaving well lately. For all I know she’s off somewhere getting drunk, and if that’s so, I’ll tell you right now that I have no intention of going after her. I’ve had to fetch her from parties once too often. It’s embarrassing.”

  “She’s going through a rough time.”

  “Is that your excuse for it?” He made a gruff sound. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You always did make excuses for her. Why do you do it, Savannah? There you are, straight as an arrow, with a job and lots of friends, and she’s doing nothing. Nothing.”

  Savannah touched a tender spot on her forehead. “Last time we talked, you weren’t thinking too highly of either my job or my friends.”

  “You know I don’t approve of your working, and I certainly wouldn’t choose your friends for my own, but still you have them.” His tone turned imperious. “Why doesn’t Susan?”

  “She has friends.”

  “She’s losing them right and left. Give her too much to drink, and she gets bold. I won’t repeat what she told Bobo Dietz last week. I wasn’t even there, but word filtered back. It was downright offensive. You can be sure that she won’t get any more invitations from the Dietzs’, and, to be perfectly honest, I don’t blame Bobo in the least.”

  “Bobo Dietz happens to be one of the most obnoxious women in Newport. If Susan told her so, good for Susan.”

  Oliver Smith wasn’t thrilled with his daughter’s stand. “Bobo Dietz happens to be one of the wealthiest women in Newport—”

  “Which isn’t saying much. The only people in Newport who aren’t wealthy are the people who service the wealthy, and most of those can’t afford to live in Newport. Come on, Dad, Bobo Dietz isn’t worth arguing over.”

  “And that, young lady, is why you had to run away to Providence.”

  “I didn’t run—”

  “You never could learn what was important and what wasn’t. You never understood that there were certain rules to be followed in certain circles. Susan understood it. Why couldn’t you?”

  “Because I’m not Susan.”

  “Obviously. Susan has the makings to succeed here. It would have been better if she hadn’t split with Dirk, but she can still pull it off. She has the looks and the charm, and she does even better in Palm Beach. She was only down there for a month this winter. I don’t know why she didn’t stay longer. But that doesn’t matter now. Most everyone is back or coming soon. And Susan will do fine, as long as she stays sober.” He barely paused before yelling, “Where the hell is she?”

  It was Savannah who took the breath. “She’s at Megan’s.”

  “Ah. Megan. Megan. The only redeemable quality in that child is her husband. The Vandermeer name is solid.”

  Savannah didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. In lieu of either, she pressed her fingers harder to her forehead and prayed for strength. “Megan happens to be a good friend. We go back a long way together. She’s been very loyal, which is more than I can say about some of the others I grew up with.”

  “That’s your problem, Savannah. You took off to become a lawyer, and suddenly you didn’t have time for those friends. What did you expect them to do—wait with bated breath until you deigned to give them a call?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You’ve distanced yourself. So don’t blame it on them. You’ve distanced yourself from all of us. What does that say about your sense of loyalty?”

  “I’m loyal—”

  “I call to take you to lunch and you’re busy. Alex Porter calls to take you to a party in Manhattan and you’re busy. Muffy Adams calls to invite you for a weekend in Westport and you’re busy.”

  “I am busy—”

  “Working. Always working. You’re a very boring person.”

  “Dad, please—”

  “I’m serious. Your work always comes first.”

  “This isn’t the time—”

  “There’s never a time. That’s the problem.”

  She didn’t attempt to say another word, but sat with the phone to her ear and her fingertips to her forehead, and waited. Her father would eventually quiet down. Until then, nothing she tried to say would register.

  “Actually,” he ranted on, “the problem is that I never had a son. I wanted someone to pass the business on to, so what did I get? Two daughters. The odds were that one of you would be a boy.
But no, I got two daughters. Not much to found a dynasty on.” He paused, listened, demanded, “Are you there, Savannah?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Well, listen good. I want to know what your sister’s doing. Are you going to call her, or should I?”

  “I’ll do it, by all means.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” he said, somewhat mollified. “You can tell her to call me by three. I’m playing tennis at four, and after that I’ll be leaving for Stowe. Jack’s boy is flying us up for the weekend. The skiing is just fine, they say. So, you’ll keep an eye on Susan while I’m gone?”

  “We’re spending Saturday together.” She held her breath, wondering whether he’d remember what Saturday was, but the significance of the day eluded him.

  “Good,” he said. “Well then, I’ll talk with you when I get back.”

  “Fine.”

  “Bye, Savannah.”

  She nodded. He had already hung up.

  Quietly, she replaced the receiver, then bowed her head and lightly massaged her temples. She always looked forward to her father’s calls, and she was always disappointed afterward. She knew he could be a charmer. What she didn’t know was why he never charmed his daughters. He reserved a sharp tongue and a critical eye for them, and lately, whether because of age or sheer orneriness, he had been worse than ever.

  She could take it. She had her own life and her own rewards. But she worried for Susan.

  Sensing a presence nearby, she raised her head and immediately caught her breath. Jared Snow stood at the door, exuding quiet confidence and staunch maleness. The confidence was like a welcome balm; the maleness sparked a sweet curling in her belly.

  He tossed his head back toward the spot where her secretary normally sat, and said in a deep, sandy voice, “She must be on coffee break. Am I interrupting anything?”

  Savannah managed a wispy laugh. “Yes. A mammoth headache. Come in. Please. And close the door. If any of the ladies out there hear you speak, they’re apt to start a stampede.”

  He cleared the threshold and closed the door. His eyes held hers with warm probing. “What’s the headache from?”

  Normally, she would have shrugged and left her personal problems behind. But when it came to Jared Snow, nothing she felt was quite normal. He could penetrate her professional veneer with one look. “My dad. He’s a difficult man.”