We looked at each other.
“Rachel?”
“Yeah.”
“Suppose they don’t call.”
“Then they don’t have her, Marc.”
I let that settle in. I thought about Lenny’s son, Conner, the things he could say and do, and I tried to apply it to the baby I’d last laid eyes on in her crib. It wouldn’t compute, but that didn’t mean anything. There was hope. I held on to that. If my daughter was dead, if that phone never rang again, the hope would, I know, kill me. But I didn’t care. Better to go down this way than try to go the distance.
So I had hope. And I, the cynic, let myself believe the best.
When the cell phone finally did ring, it was nearly ten. I did not even glance over to Rachel and wait for her nod. My finger was on the answer button before the first chirp could die off.
“Hello?”
“Okay,” the robotic voice said, “you’ll get to see her.”
I couldn’t breathe. Rachel moved over closer and put her ear near mine.
“Good,” I said.
“You have the money?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“Then listen closely. Deviate from what I tell you and we disappear. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“We checked with our police sources. So far, so good. It appears that you haven’t contacted the authorities. But we need to make sure. You will drive alone toward the George Washington Bridge. Once there, we will be in range. Use the two-way radio feature on the phone. I will tell you where to go and what to do. You will be searched. If we find any weapons or wires, we will disappear. Do you understand?”
I could feel Rachel’s breath quicken.
“When do I see my daughter?”
“When we meet.”
“How do I know you won’t just take the money?”
“How do you know I’m not going to hang up on you now?”
“I’m on my way,” I said. Then I quickly added, “But I won’t hand over the money until I see Tara.”
“Then we are in agreement. You have an hour. Signal me then.”
Chapter 24
Conrad Dorfman didnot appear happy to be dragged back into the MVD office this late. Tickner didn’t care. If Seidman had come here alone, that would be an important lead, no doubt about it. But the fact that Rachel Mills had been here, too, that she was somehow involved, well, let’s just say that Tickner’s curiosity was more than piqued.
“Did Ms. Mills show you an ID?” he asked.
“Yes,” Dorfman replied. “But it was stamped ‘Retired.’ ”
“And she was with Dr. Seidman?”
“Yes.”
“They arrived together.”
“I think so. I mean, yes, when they came in here, they were together.”
Tickner nodded. “What did they want?”
“A password. For a CD-ROM.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“They claimed that they had a CD-ROM we provided to a client. Our CDs are password protected. They wanted us to give them the password.”
“Did you?”
Dorfman looked properly shocked. “Of course not. We had a call put in to your agency. They explained to us . . . well, they never quite explained to us anything really. They just stressed that we should not cooperate with Agent Mills in any way.”
“Ex-agent,” Tickner said.
How? Tickner wondered. How the hell had Rachel Mills hooked up with Seidman? He had tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Unlike his fellow agents, he had known her, had seen her in action. She’d been a good agent, maybe even a great one. But now he wondered. He wondered about the timing. He wondered about her being here. He wondered about her flashing her badge and trying to apply pressure.
“Did they tell you how they came by this CD-ROM?”
“They claimed that it belonged to Dr. Seidman’s wife.”
“Does it?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Are you aware that his wife died more than a year and a half ago, Mr. Dorfman?”
“I know that now.”
“But you didn’t when they were here?”
“Right.”
“Why did Seidman wait eighteen months to ask for the password?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Did you ask?”
Dorfman shifted in his seat. “No.”
Tickner smiled, buddy-to-buddy. “No reason you should,” he said, faux-genteel. “Did you give them any information at all?”
“None.”
“You didn’t tell them why Mrs. Seidman hired your agency in the first place?”
“That’s correct.”
“Okay, very good.” Tickner leaned forward, his elbows on his knees now. He was about to ask another question when his cell phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, reaching into his pocket.
“Is this going to take much longer?” Dorfman asked. “I have plans.”
He didn’t even bother responding. Rising, he put the phone to his ear. “Tickner.”
“It’s Agent O’Malley,” the young kid said.
“Did you find anything?”
“Oh yeah.”
“I’m listening.”
“We checked the phone records going back three years. Seidman never called her—at least, not from his house or office—until today.”
“Am I about to hear abut ?”
“You are. But Rachel Mills called him—once.”
“When?”
“June two years ago.”
Tickner did the math. That would have been about three months before the murder and kidnapping. “Anything else?”
“Something big, I think. I had one of our agents check Rachel’s apartment in Falls Church. He’s still poking around, but guess what he found in her night-table drawer?”
“Does this look like a quiz show, O’Ryan?”
“O’Malley.”
Tickner rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What did the agent find?”
“A prom photo.”
“What?”
“I mean, I don’t know if it’s from the prom exactly. It’s some kind of old formal. Photo gotta be fifteen, twenty years old. She’s wearing her hair in some flip-style and she’s got one of those flower bands on her arm. What do you call those?”
“A corsage?”
“Right.”
“What the hell does this have to do with—”