together.”
“This isn’t about Shoswitz.”
“With the mind-set of a Jonny Garman, we do not want a hostage situation, believe me.” She added spitefully, “And I will not have Ben at the mercy of an ERT rescue attempt.”
The battle lines had long since been drawn between the department’s psychologist, who believed in talking through an incident, and ERT, which believed in quick, efficient strikes. There were marks on both sides of the scoreboard; each solution had its place. But Daphne Matthews was outspoken and one-sided on the issue. Boldt was not about to debate it with her.
She worked his paternal emotions, like a potter with clay. “If that were Miles in there, what would you do?”
“I’ve called for backup,” he informed her, dodging the question.
“How many?” she asked, panic seizing her.
Boldt told her. “Two pair. Unmarked. No ERT.”
That seemed to both relieve her and disgust her at the same time. He saw her in a different light. Was she too far invested in Ben to remain even partially objective? He feared she was, which left him alone in his decision making. As if to confirm this, she admitted, “I don’t know that I can make it over that fence.” She paused, studying it. “But I’m going to try.”
He grabbed her by the arm; she looked down at his handhold with disdain. “If it were Miles, I’d go in,” he answered honestly. “I wouldn’t let ERT within a mile of the place.”
A faint smile found her eyes.
“But I’d do it smart,” he continued. “And I’d have as much information available as possible.”
“Yes, you would,” she agreed, knowing him well.
“We don’t know for a fact that the boy is in there. We certainly cannot confirm that Garman is. What Ben reported seeing and what actually is the case are two different animals. He doesn’t know Garman.”
“He saw him at the airport,” Daphne corrected. “He
Boldt felt the wind knocked out of him. He had forgotten that connection, and the reminder of it blanked his mind momentarily. He tried to regain his thoughts. Either you stayed ahead of Daphne Matthews, or you played catch-up from then on.
“If you’re suggesting reconnaissance,” she encouraged, “I’m in.”
“He’s under the name Babcock at a rooming house over on Washington,” he informed her, stunning her with the news. “If he used the same name here, it would be in the files in the office. We’d know which unit is his.”
“Forget him,” she repeated. “We get Ben out, then we worry about him.”
“No way,” he said.
“You know I’m sorry to do this,” she said, turning her head slowly to face him. Their eyes met. And then, all at once, she shoved him-struck him with open palms, sending him off-balance from where he crouched and skidding back through the loose stone and gravel.
She took several long strides with that athletic body of hers and leapt up onto the chain link like a cat, vaulting it as if it were a regular exercise. Both legs cleared the top and she was on the other side and down with a minimum of effort. She did not look back, did not give him a chance to wield power over her.
She stole into the dark and was gone.
70
“I never had me a little brother,” Garman said to Ben, as the boy came awake from unconsciousness. “I’m Jonny.”
Ben found himself on the storage unit’s cement floor, sitting in a corner away from the large garage door. His wrists were stuck together, as were his sneakers, sole to sole. He tried to speak, but his lips wouldn’t open.
“Super Glue,” Jonny explained. “I only had a little tape left, and I needed it. Now don’t go fighting it,” he said, as Ben struggled with his wrists. “At best you’ll only tear your skin open, and I’ll have to reglue you. You’ll make a mess and it’ll hurt. Just sit still.”
The sweatshirt hood was off his head and hanging down his back. The skin on his face looked strange, like smooth white clay, but his ear looked like a big scab, yellow and rust colored, like pus and dried blood. It took Ben a few minutes to adjust to not breathing out of his mouth. Every time he became too scared, he got dizzy. Things would go soft and fuzzy, but when he awakened everything was clear again. He realized it all had to with his breathing. If he kept himself from getting scared, he’d stay awake.
Jonny was soldering something, using what to Ben looked like an oversized butane lighter. There was a Coleman lantern going, making a loud hissing sound and throwing off a tremendous amount of bright light.
“I ain’t going to hurt you,” Jonny said, reading Ben’s thoughts accurately. “You shouldn’ta followed me here, you know that.”
Ben nodded, as terrified as he’d ever been. It looked like the guy was making some kind of bomb, all those wires coming out of a piece of plastic tubing.
“But what’s done is done.” He raised a finger to Ben. “You fucked with my head back there at the tree. I thought you was dead.”
He didn’t sound like other grown-ups to Ben. Besides having a voice that was like a cat’s hiss, he seemed more like a kid than an adult-someone who hadn’t aged, like a movie where the kid is trapped in an older guy’s body.
“Why the hell did you follow me?” he asked the boy who couldn’t answer. “My face?”
Ben shook his head violently no. He dared to look into those eyes and felt light-headed again. He was going to pass out. He heard the words “You can admit it” but only faintly. “And now, ’cause of you, I gotta pack up and leave. Leave you here. Never killed no kid.” Ben’s world went woozy-he hyperventilated-and he lost several minutes to the blue darkness.
When Ben came to again, Jonny was through soldering. Ben endeavored to keep his eyes off the man, because every time he looked at him he felt queasy. The area was occupied nearly entirely by a large pickup truck, with just enough room left over for a pair of oil drums marked USAF, lots of black plastic pipe, and a green metal trunk unlocked but not open. Jonny sat on the trunk, working off the truck’s tailgate. There was a car jack and a pair of beach chairs stacked along the wall and a couple of cardboard boxes that were taped shut. There were boxes from Radio Shack that had once contained radio-controlled four-wheel-drive cars.
There were only two pictures in the place, a postcard of Jesus and a slightly larger image of a woman being burned at the stake.
Ben thought about God. He believed in him. He prayed to him. He made all sorts of promises about how he would live his life, how he would obey Emily or whoever ended up taking care of him; he would even spend the night at the detention center, if that were asked of him. He promised not to run away. To listen. To learn respect. The prayers gushed out of him.
In his mind’s eye, he saw Daphne’s red car driving past. He wanted so badly to believe it had been her car. Although he didn’t know exactly how long he had been held captive, he guessed at least ten minutes, maybe more. His hope of being rescued waned, and he returned to his prayers.
The man who called himself Jonny spoke to the wall but intended it for Ben. “You and I aren’t so different.” A half minute later he added, “I ain’t never had no little brother.”
Ben hung his head to the floor. He didn’t want the man to see he was crying.
71
Boldt climbed the chain link fence quickly, tearing his coat sleeve and slicing his right forearm on the sharp spikes at the top, but he was up and over more easily than he had expected. He landed at a run, pursuing Daphne
