Now are you ready, Teresa?
She gave no audible response. Jack had no way to gauge Mia's readiness, but her compliance was evident. Her right hand came into view, grasping a broken lightbulb by the base. The jagged glass was crystal clear and razor thin. She turned it one way, then the other, as if trying to decide which edge would be the more efficient scalpel.
Do it, he said.
Her scarred leg heaved up and then down, ever so slightly. Jack could almost feel her lungs expand and contract with a deep, calming breath. Perhaps he was imagining it, but he thought he noticed the muscles tightening beneath her skin. Then, with surprising steadiness of hand, she brought the long, jagged shard of glass to the top of the scar. It was so sharp that the first drop of blood came with hardly any pressure at all. Slowly, however, she applied more pressure, and the very tip of broken glass disappeared beneath her skin. Deeper it went, until a rivulet of blood trickled onto the glass and ran down to her thumb. The pressure ceased, and she pulled the glass from her thigh. The bleeding continued, so much blood for such a small wound, like a nasty razor cut that just wouldn't quit. The camera remained steady, focused on the newly opened wound.
All of it, he told her. Show him the whole thing.
Somewhere beneath the blood was a puncture wound. She brought the crimson-coated tip of glass toward her scar and slowly reinserted it. For a moment, the video streaming across the screen was like a still photograph, no sound, no bodily movement whatsoever. Finally, her hand began a slow journey downward, the shard of glass opening the old scar from top to bottom. The bleeding intensified, but the job wasn't finished. With a surgeon's care, she retraced the cut from bottom to top, then top to bottom, then back up again. With each pass of the hand, the wound grew wider, the glass dug deeper, the blood flowed more freely. Then she dropped the broken bulb between her legs, and the screen went black.
Jack took a breath. Andie switched off the monitor, as if to erase all trace of the disturbing image. Neither of them said a word, waiting instead for the reaction of the criminal psychiatrist.
Eve Stapleton had twenty years of experience with law enforcement, ten with the bureau's Investigative Services Unit in Quantico, Virginia, where she'd seen the worst of the worst. It wasn't that she had any less empathy for victims, but her training enabled her to maintain an almost academic air about herself, even when viewing something like this.
Stapleton took a moment to frame her thoughts. Let's start with the e-mail you received. The subject line, in particular.
Jack said, It came to me with a three-word description: Our little secret.' Which made me immediately suspicious.
Sounds to me like just another tagline for spam. What made you so suspicious?
In my last conversation with the kidnapper, I in effect told him that I was well aware of his past as the Got the Look Rapist. We came to an understanding of sorts that I would keep my discovery between us. I wouldn't tell the police.
Andie slid her chair away from the computer table, putting a little more distance between herself and the others. The fact that the e-mail was labeled Our little secret' is obviously sarcasm. We issued the BOLO yesterday morning. The whole world is looking for Montalvo.
Looks like Mia paid the price for that one, said Jack.
It seems like more than payback, said Stapleton. The obvious point the kidnapper is trying to make is that Mia - Teresa - cut herself seven years ago to fabricate a rape claim.
Well, wait just a second, said Jack. Just because some lunatic points a camera at his prisoner and tells her to cut herself doesn't mean that the original wound was self-inflicted.
Obviously this was compelled. I presume he edited out her screams to create the false impression that she was comfortable with cutting herself.
I can have our AV people check for that, said Andie. They'll be checking for background noises again anyway, just like the last video.
Stapleton nodded. Nonetheless, I understand that her polygraph examination did raise some question about the cause of the original injury. She answered yes when asked if Gerard Montalvo was responsible for the wound to her thigh. The examiner couldn't tell if her response was the truth or a lie.
Polygraphs aren't infallible, said Jack. Especially when you're testing a woman who has been threatened and harassed for weeks because she went to the police and reported the most harrowing physical and emotional trauma of her life.
True, said Stapleton. But that doesn't change the psychological motivation behind the making of this video. At the very least, the circumstances of the sexual assault were such that he views it as her fault. That she deserved it, or that she brought it on herself. Which is not an uncommon rationalization for a rapist.
Jack said, A twisted mind can create a pretty distorted picture of something that happened seven years ago. There's no doubt in my mind that he was applying some form of coercion behind the scenes while making that video. This wasn't simply a demonstration of what she did to herself seven years ago. It was self-mutilation with a gun to her head.
I agree with Jack, said Andie. As I see it, the real question raised by the video is why does the kidnapper find it so important to convince Jack that the original wound was self-inflicted?
Jack had his own theory, but he waited for Stapleton's take on it. She said, My impression is that he thinks it's relevant to Jack's determination of how much Mia is worth. He's demanding a ransom that not only covers what she's worth to Jack, but also pays him back for the damage she did to him when she - as Teresa - accused him of a rape that, in his own twisted mind, was her own fault.
Andie gave Jack an assessing look. Are you sure you want to take money out of your own pocket and pay a ransom to someone with that kind of mind-set?
What choice do I have?
You could choose not to pay a ransom.
That would make me no better than her scumbag husband. She'd be dead in an hour. I'm sure of it. You and I have been over that before. You promised to try for more money to use as bait.
I got more.
Jack's interest was piqued. You did?
Yes, but it's to be used only as bait. I made it clear before that the FBI would never give you money to pay an actual ransom. You could show him the money. You might even allow him to take a small amount of cash, with the hope that the FBI could trace the marked bills. But this is not a loan or gift for you to use as you see fit.
So the FBI puts up the bait, but you don't put it at risk, said Jack.
We operate within strict constraints is what I'm saying.
How much are you willing to pony up?
I got approval for fifty thousand dollars.
That's not enough.
It's all I can get. And even at this level, I'm going to need certain concessions from you.
Ah, the fine print, said Jack. Talk to me.
The FBI would need greater control over your dealings with the kidnapper.
Are you still hacked off about the fact that I mentioned the Got the Look Rapist to him?
That's one example, said Andie. But I'm talking about more comprehensive control. The decision to pay a ransom, how much to pay, where to pay it, how to pay it, when to pay it - all that has to be under my direction. Your communications would have to be more scripted, your movements and day-to-day actions more choreographed.
What if I disagree with your recommendations?
She hesitated, seeming to search for the right spin. I think you should recognize that this is our job, and that you can't be objective about these kinds of decisions.
In other words, if I take your money, I give up my right to disagree.
I'm not going to shove anything down your throat, Jack. The only thing you definitely give up is the ability to tell the FBI to get lost. You've decided to handle this on your own.
Jack didn't want to insult her, but he was thinking about Ashley Thornton. The FBI hadn't done her much good. Let me ask you something, said Jack. That first Wrong Number kidnapping that you discovered through VICAP. The one with the young auto mechanic up in Georgia who paid nineteen thousand dollars - everything he had - to get his wife back.
What about it? asked Andie.
Was the FBI involved in that?
No. The kidnapper warned him not to call the cops, so he didn't. He reported the crime after he got his wife back.
Did the kidnapper also warn Drew Thornton not to call the cops?
Yes, she said quietly.
Jack's response didn't come quickly. It was more like a slow-moving freight train, impossible to stop. I'm not saying I don't trust you. I'm not even suggesting that I don't want the FBI involved. But I'm keeping my options open.
You don't want our money? said Andie.
Not on your terms. Look, I agree that under the best of circumstances, the safer approach would be for me to engage this guy in a dialogue and draw out information that hopefully would enable the FBI to pinpoint his location. But this video makes it crystal clear that we don't have time for that. Hell, he's too smart to even talk to me. He's sending tapes, no negotiation. We need to force his hand, force him into making a mistake.
Andie didn't answer, but she didn't disagree, either.
I say it's time to angle for a simultaneous exchange, said Jack. If I have to use my own money to lure him into the open, then that's the way it's going to be.
Chapter
50
Andie ate lunch at her desk. Stacked beside her cup of microwaved minestrone were leftover copies of the FBI's original psychological profile for the Wrong Number Kidnapper. She dabbed away a drop of soup from the margin and gave the top page a quick once-over. Angry white male, probably midthirties. Possibly a former high roller, a once-successful businessman who lost everything - money, family, friends. May even be homeless.
What a rabbit hole that had turned out to be. A team of agents wasted a solid week in Miami's cardboard cities looking for the bankrupt CEO of Never_Turned_A_Profit.com.
Andie laid the old profile aside and took one last swallow from her bottle of noni juice. She didn't care for the taste, but in her mind it was the tropical equivalent of cod-liver oil. Aggressive snow skiing had taken a toll on her right knee, and the juice of the noni, an exotic fruit from the Cook Islands, seemed to combat the added pains of rainy days. A doctor had once warned that the joint could become arthritic, though the future was difficult to predict in Andie's case. As an adopted child, she had only limited knowledge of her biological parents' medical histories. Nonetheless, potentially crippling arthritis was yet another theory that friends and colleagues had posited to explain her decision to leave Seattle and its cold, damp winters. Wrong again, of course. Her sudden beeline to Miami had had nothing to do with health.
Unless you were talking about mental health.
The intercom buzzed, and the receptionist told her that Cassandra NuA+-ez was in the lobby.
I'll be right out, she said. Since the trip to Atlanta, Andie had remained in phone contact with Mia's sister, so she was well aware that Cassandra had come to Miami. The latest videotape warranted another face-to-face discussion. Andie greeted her in the lobby and escorted her back to her office, where they spoke behind a closed door.
Thanks for coming in, said Andie as she took the seat behind her desk. I thought I might as well take advantage of the fact that you're in town, do this in person.
Of course, that's why I stayed down here instead of going back to Atlanta. Even if I can't help, it makes me feel better just to be here. I need to be close. That's the way my sister and I always were. Close.
I can relate to that.
Do you have a sister?
Uh that's a complicated situation.
Cassandra scoffed. It can't be more complicated than me and Teresa. For the past seven years, I thought my sister was dead.
No, but it's still pretty screwy. I hadn't thought about it until just now, but I had sort of the opposite situation with my sister. I never knew she existed until I was a teenager.
How could that be?
Andie paused, not sure that it was advisable to share too much of her personal life. But there were things she wanted to know about Cassandra and her sister, and revealing a little something about herself might open up a dialogue. I grew up in foster care until I was adopted at age nine, said Andie. I didn't get interested in my biological family till I was in high school, and my adoptive parents helped me piece some things together. That's when we found out about my twin sister.
Wow. Did you become close after that?
It took some time - years, actually. But we did become very close.
Cassandra turned quiet, though she seemed to be thinking more about her own situation than Andie's. That was a good thing, as it was Andie's intention to steer the conversation in that direction. Tell me something about your sister, would you?
What would you like to know?
What was she like when you were younger?
I'm not sure what you want to hear. She was the pretty one, the athletic one, the popular one in school. She was the girl every other girl wanted to be, including me.