Eleven Hours (11 page)

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.

Lyle pulled up to the pump and said, “Now, I want to show you something.” Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he pulled out a gun. “Are you familiar with guns?” He stared at her. “I'll take your silence to mean no. Believe me, I didn't want to show you this, but you have a tendency to rant and rave and all. This gun? It's a thirty-eight Super Automatic Colt. It's got a muzzle velocity of thirteen hundred feet per second. That's about half of a Fireball, but pretty powerful, anyway. I want you to know that no matter how nice I've been, I mean business, okay? I don't want to kill you, but I'd much rather kill you than die myself. Do you understand?”

Didi nodded silently.

“If you scream or carry on in any way to make yourself known to Johnny, I'll have to shoot you and shoot poor Johnny, too, who never did anybody any harm. So by your screaming not only are you going to die, but you'll kill an innocent person, too. Do you understand that much?”

Again she nodded.

“All righty then. I'm glad we understand each other. First I'm going to gas up. Did you say you needed a bathroom?”

“Let me go to the bathroom first,” Didi said pleadingly. “I'm dying here.”

Lyle smiled. “Gosh, I forgot. Pregnant women do have to go a lot, don't they? My wife could barely drink one beer before she was off to the ladies' room.” He looked around. “The bathrooms are probably out back. Let me drive you.”

As they were pulling around the corner, a heavyset, elderly man walked out of the small convenience store and calmly waved a key on a large wooden ring in front of Didi's window.

“Do you want me to get that?” she asked casually, her hand on the door handle.

“No!”
he said, slamming the shift into park. “I'll get it.”

Nodding, Didi focused straight ahead. Bald, round-faced, kindly-looking Johnny didn't deserve to die because of her.

It made no sense for Lyle to take the key when the man was standing so close to Didi's side of the car. All she would have had to do was roll down her window and stick out her hand. But Lyle went around the front of the car, took the key, and said something to the man. The man nodded, looked at Didi, and smiled. Didi shook her head. They're having a moment on my account, she thought. She tried to listen through the glass. She could barely make out what Lyle was saying.

“I have a riddle for you. See if you can guess.”

Johnny stared warily at Lyle's jacket.

Gritting his teeth, Lyle said, “Ready?”

“I'm not much into riddles right now,” said Johnny, handing Lyle the restroom key. “Too hot out here.”

Lyle didn't extend his hand to take the key. “Listen to me. Tell me if it's easy. My wife over there says it's a piece of cake.”

“Okay, shoot,” said Johnny.

Didi rolled down her window an inch, straining to hear. Lyle didn't notice.

“You have to guess a female name, okay?” he said. “From an old classic play about a man who loves a woman and another man who wants to, and does, both of them harm. It begins with a D, and it rhymes with—” here Lyle chuckled. “‘Barcelona,' ‘Arizona,' ‘my bologna.'”

“Desdemona,” said Johnny immediately. “Do you want the bathroom or not?”

Taking the key, Lyle looked bleakly at Johnny. “How did you know that?”

“Piece of cake,” said Johnny, smiling at Didi.

Didi turned away from Johnny. So hot, so hot. All Didi wanted was a restroom and a drink.

They drove around back. While still in the car, Lyle gave Didi the key, and said, “In exactly sixty seconds I'm coming in to get you.”

“Got it,” she said. “Can I take my bag?”

He was instantly suspicious. “What for?”

She tried to sound pleasant. “So I can brush my hair and put on some lipstick. I feel yucky.”

He eyed her—nervously, she thought. He reached over and grabbed the bag; after rummaging through it, he pulled out the cell phone. Didi's spirits sank, but it was moot. The LCD display on the phone said
LOW BATTERY.

He threw the phone in the glove compartment and, handing her the bag, said, “Hurry up.”

“Okay,” she replied. “Of course I will. Just give me an extra minute to freshen up, okay?”

“Just hurry up, that's all,” he said.

Didi placed her fingers around the handle and opened the door. She opened the door!

Opened the door and left his car with her bag.

The outside air stood still and thick and heavy with heat. She had to fight her way through it,
stagger
her way through it, as if the heat were a jungle, full of trees and branches that hit her in the face. It was just as hot as it had been in his car but not as sour. She hoped that airing the car out would help. Her legs moved sluggishly.

The small, dark restroom reeked of old urine and shit. There was dirty water on the floor. Didi didn't want to speculate on the nature of that water. She turned on the light and shut the door. She carefully laid her bag on top of the tank and then squatted above the toilet. Relief.

But just as quickly, terrors overwhelmed her and she felt no better. After flushing the toilet, she glimpsed at herself in the mirror.

It wasn't her own face she saw. The woman in the mirror was drenched and weak and ghastly. Didi turned on the water, and Lyle banged loudly on the door. She heard him say, “Come on.” The handle turned. Thank God she had locked it.

“Hold on,” she said. “I'm going to the bathroom. Wait a second, okay?”

After hearing him move away from the door, Didi frantically searched through her bag, looking for anything that might help her. A toothpick, a nail file, scissors.

She found a paper clip on the bottom of the bag, a couple of quarters, and Irene's
Hunchback of Notre Dame
board book.

She examined the paper clip and then threw it on the floor in frustration. Stifling her helpless sounds, Didi cursed softly under her breath and ran her hands under the water, then cupped them, filled them, and drank from them. Big gulps, one, two, three, four, five, six. As many handfuls as there had been rings on her phone before she opened it and breathed her husband's name into it.
Rich,
she whispered now.
Dearest Rich, you'll forgive me for standing you up and for shopping so much and for getting caught up in the karma we talked about yesterday. You didn't believe me when I told you I was afraid, but here we are.

Lyle banged on the door again. “Come on,” she heard him say.