Dina Santorelli (30 page)

"She
wouldn't do that, Detective," Edward interrupted.

"Mr.
Carter, you'd be surprised at the things I've been told that people never do
that they end up doing."

Edward
was quiet.

"But
if your sister, who just got a divorce, wanted to get away from it all and not
tell anyone, it's a bit odd that she'd write where she was on her Facebook
page. Unless it was a code for someone else?"

Edward
shook his head. "I don't think so," he said, relieved that someone else besides
him was finding all this strange. "Who? She knows I'd see it."

"Or
maybe
from
someone else," Nurberg said. "Did anyone else know the
password to her Facebook profile?"

"Not
likely." Edward slumped back in his chair. "Bob, her ex-husband, maybe? I doubt
it, though."

"Mr.
Carter, a sizable percentage of reported missing persons end up not being
missing persons at all." Nurberg sucked on the pen cap at the end of his ballpoint
pen. "There is a very strong possibility that your sister doesn't want to be
found."

The
ceiling lights dimmed across the police station, and Nurberg's computer screen
blinked. "Here we go," Nurberg said. "We're supposed to get a whopper of a
storm this afternoon. Looks like it's rolling in early."

Edward
put his head in his hands. "Detective, I don't know what to do. It was either
drive here or drive to North Carolina."

"North Carolina?"

"Yes,
the Facebook post said, 'Help Albany Charlotte.'"

Nurberg's
pen fell out of his mouth. "What did you say?"

"I
said Charlotte."

Nurberg
swung his computer monitor toward Edward. "Do you mind logging into your
Facebook profile for me?"

"Sure.
What's the matter?"

"I
just want to see for myself."

Edward
brought up his news feed, and Nurberg studied the screen.

"What
is it?" Edward asked.

"I'm
just wondering if it's a coincidence."

"If
what's a coincidence?"

"Well,
what does your sister do for a living?"

"She's
a writer," Edward said. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"Has
she had any dealings with Governor Grand?"

"Governor
Grand? I don't understand. What does he...?" Just behind Nurberg's head,
tacked to the corkboard, was the early edition of the
Albany Times
featuring a large photo of Charlotte Grand. The headline read: "Day 3:
Charlotte Grand Still Missing."

"Oh
my God..."

"Mr.
Carter, does your sister have any dealings with the governor?"

Edward
sat forward in his seat. "Are you implying that my sister has anything to do
with the disappearance of the governor's daughter?"

Nurberg
checked the missing-persons report. "They've both been missing for the same
amount of time, correct?"

"My
sister was in Manhattan on Tuesday for a job interview. How could she be
involved?"

"Do
you know that for sure?"

"Why
is everyone asking me that?" Edward stood up. "Why would she lie to me?"

"Where
was the interview? What company?"

"I
don't know." For someone who was accused of being on top of his sister's every
move, Edward seemed to be missing a lot of important information.

"Does
your sister have any children?"

The
question forced Edward to sit back down. "No," he said quietly.

Nurberg
saw something dark come over Edward Carter. "What is it?"

Edward
shook his head. "This can't be."

"Mr.
Carter..."

"My
sister can't have children, Detective." Edward paused. "But I'm telling you
that she would never, ever, have anything to do with hurting a child in any
way."

"Mr.
Carter, I'd love to believe you, but my experience tells me otherwise."

 Nurberg
pulled out the Executive Mansion visitors' list from Tuesday and scanned it. No
Jamie Carter. But she surely would have used an alias.

"How
would she even get up here?" Edward said, mostly to himself. "Her car is parked
in front of my house."

"By
train, plane, who knows?" Nurberg was feeling an adrenaline rush. Could this be
the break he was looking for? But this wasn't his case anymore. The Feds had
taken over, and all new information had to be given to Grohl to pass over.

"But
if she wanted to abduct Charlotte Grand, why would see put clues on Facebook?"

"A
cry for help, maybe?" Nurberg asked. He was about to ask Edward for his
sister's cell phone number so that he could track it, but then hesitated. He
had gotten reprimanded last year for using a cell phone number to track a man
whose wife accused him of abducting their daughter. Turned out the woman lied
to get back at her husband for cheating on her with her sister, which meant
that Nurberg had invaded the privacy of an innocent man. Since then, the cell
phone industry and privacy advocates were calling for clear, standardized rules
to stem the widespread police practice of using cell phones to track suspects
without probable cause. Did this constitute probable cause? Probably not.

"C'mon,
you're reaching, Detective."

Nurberg
knew Carter was right. This was a shot in the dark, and he couldn't risk
another blemish on his record. Still, this was the only shot he had. He picked
up his phone.

"Who
are you calling?"

Nurberg
shook his head and spoke into the phone. "Yeah, hey, Chris, it's Mark... No,
nothing yet... But I need a favor... A location on a Facebook IP address."
Nurberg gave Jamie's information, including the date and time of her post.
"When you get it, call me on my cell. I'll be in the car. Thanks." Nurberg
grabbed his coat from the back of his chair. He wasn't sure where he was
going—for all he know, Jamie Carter's Facebook post was made from Timbuktu, but
in his mind this was still his case, and this was the closest he had to
anything resembling a lead, and he was going to investigate it himself.

"Where
are you going?" Edward said, standing up.

"Mr.
Carter, maybe it's better if you let me check this one out. Give me your cell
number, and I'll call you as soon as I hear anything."

"Call
me Edward, and I'm coming with you."

The rain pounded the windows,
streaking the glass and blurring the only view of the world Jamie had had for
three days. A never-ending parade of storm clouds, billows of thick, gray
cotton, sped eastward as the trees flapped frantically. A bolt of lightning lit
up the bedroom like a flash of a camera, followed by loud claps of thunder, the
kind that Jamie hadn't heard since she was a little girl.

The
storm had awoken Charlotte, who snuggled next to Jamie on the bed. The two of
them stared out the window as Bailino sat on the other side, putting on his
shoes. The light of the lamp blinked with each streak of lightning.

Pressed
against Jamie's chest, Charlotte was still, her tiny hand holding onto Jamie's.
What a strong little girl
, Jamie thought. How proud the governor and
Mrs. Grand must be of this beautiful child. She thought of her own mother and
of Edward, who seemed so far away.

There
was a knock on the bedroom door. Tony and Joey stood in the doorway.

"Don,
we need to talk," Tony said.

"There's
nothing to talk about." Bailino stood up. "Nothing changes. We continue on as
planned."

"But
what about Gino? Shouldn't he know?"

"Know
what? That his sick fuck of a son tried to kill me? He's got enough on his
mind. I'll tell him tomorrow. Let's just get through tonight." Bailino looked
at Joey. "Give us a minute, Ton." Tony nodded and left the room.

"You,
okay, Joe?"

"Yeah."

"Do
you have anything you need to talk to me about? Anything you want to know? About
Leo?"

Joey
shook his head.

"Okay."
Bailino took a breath. "There's something I need to tell you. Can you sit
down?"

"I
know already," Joey said. "Ma told me a long time ago."

Bailino
was surprised. "She did? Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"She
told me not to."

"Why?"

"She
said when the time was right you'd come to me."

Bailino
rubbed his chin. "I didn't mean for it to happen this way."

"I
know."

"So...
what do you think about that?" Bailino asked. It was the first time he could
remember feeling nervous in a very long time.

"You
know how I feel about you, Uncle D... I mean..."

"You
can call me whatever you like, son." Joey's eyes crinkled with tears. "What's
the matter?"

"I
feel responsible for what happened this morning."

"You?
Why?"

Joey
took a breath. "Uncle Leo was asking me questions yesterday about you when he
got back from dinner. When you were... up here."

"What'd
he say?"

"He'd
say things like 'Don't you think you guys look a lot alike?' or 'You think
that's a coincidence.' I told him that I couldn't ask for a better father
figure than you. And I think that got him mad."

"Don't
worry about it. It's not your fault. What do I always tell you?"

"That
the people who die are supposed to die," Joey said.

"That's
right." Bailino put his arm around Joey. "I'm going to get you out of here.
You're going to MIT, you hear me? You're a smart kid, and you've got great
things ahead of you."

Joey
smiled. "You think so?"

"Yeah."

Joey
glanced at Jamie. "Is she okay?"

"I
don't know," Bailino said.

"Do
you want anything, Jamie?"

Without
turning around, Jamie shook her head no.

"Okay,
I'll see you later then," Joey said and left the bedroom.

Bailino
sat down on the bed and put his hand on Jamie's side. "You sure you don't want
anything, hon?"

"I
want to go home," Jamie said into Charlotte's hair.

Bailino
pursed his lips. "To what?"

"To
my life."

"No
offense, sweetie, but your life doesn't seem all that great. Can you please..."

Jamie
turned around before he could finish asking her to. Charlotte was still on her
side facing the window.

"Thank
you."

The
swelling around Jamie's eyes had gone down, but the skin on her face felt
tight, like a drum. Bailino leaned over and brushed the hair out of her eyes.

"You
just got divorced, from an asshole, I might add. You have no job. You're living
in the downstairs apartment of your dead mother. Did you ever think that maybe
things could be different for you? Someplace else?" Bailino paused. "With
someone else? A change?"

Jamie
was quiet.

"When
this is over, and it'll be over very soon, I'll leave the kid somewhere safe
for them to find. That's a promise, understand?"

Jamie
watched Bailino's face closely, as lightning lit up the room once more.

"You
stay here with me. We can start again." Bailino leaned down. "I know how this
sounds... but it's really not all that crazy. People start again all the time... Think about it. Okay?"

Jamie
nodded. "Okay," she said.

"I
have to run out, but I'm going to be stopping at the supermarket to pick up a
few things. Do you want anything?"

Jamie
thought for a moment. "Maybe some chocolate milk?" she said. There were still
crease marks on the side of her face from the pillowcase as it pressed against
her skin overnight, and they made her look like a little girl.

"Chocolate
milk, it is." He bent down, and Jamie braced herself for another firm kiss.
Instead, Bailino whispered in her ear: "I'll take care of you."

To Katherine's delight,
federal agents coursed through the mansion like a factory assembly line. There
were at least three agents in every room of the main level, and groups
scattered throughout the grounds—on the porch, at the security gate, and in the
parking lot.

"Now,
this is what I'm talking about," she said to Phillip, who was facing her, seated
in one of the visitor chairs in the main hall. Empty folding chairs surrounded
him on all sides, making him look like the sole patron in a movie theater. He
was holding a stack of papers. "That schlub Nurberg is back where he belongs,
getting cats out of trees," Katherine said. "Maybe now we'll see some results.
For Christ's sake, it's been more than two days."

Phillip
lifted his head up and gave a cursory look around. "Well, it certainly is
busier around here," he said distantly.

Katherine
was worried about her husband. She had spent the better part of the morning
getting the agents—who had arrived at 6:30 a.m.—up to speed on what had
transpired since Tuesday and going over Nurberg's reports, which, she had to
admit, had been pretty thorough. Phillip had been little help, keeping to
himself. She looked at him, slumped on his chair, and was about to sit with him
when Marla, the mansion's tour guide, took one of the empty seats next to him.

"How
are you, Governor Grand?" Marla said, with an air of concern.

In
the last forty-eight hours, not one person—even from the press—had asked
Katherine how
she
was coping.

Phillip
nodded, but said nothing.

"I'm
sure they'll find her." Marla stood up, but not before Katherine detected a
slight squeeze on Phillip's arm. She nodded at Katherine as she left.

Katherine
sat down next to Phillip, who didn't seem to notice she was even there. She
leaned over and looked at his paperwork. Phillip shook his head. "I made the
mistake of trying to keep my early afternoon meeting with the Division of the
Budget," he said. "I scheduled it last Thursday, before, you know... to
discuss the revenue and expenditure plan for the state, but I think I'm going
to cancel it." Phillip looked up at the clock. Thirteen hours and three minutes
to go until the execution of Gino Cataldi.