She regarded him with a long look. “You think maybe you’re giving them too much credit? Just because they’ve vanished once doesn’t necessarily mean they’re geared up to do it again.”
“In fact, they have done it again.” Paul seemed a little embarrassed to be stating the obvious.
She sighed and rubbed her temples. Frankel’s tirade hadn’t yet stopped echoing in her brain. “What else do you have?”
He looked down. “Well, you know, it’s still early in the investigation…”
“Don’t go into excuses mode on me,” she warned.
He paged through his notebook one more time, looking for a ray of hope, but ultimately flipped it closed. “Honestly? Beyond the interesting trivia, we don’t have anything useful yet. I mean, we’ve got all the physical evidence in the world that the Brightons are really the Donovans, but so what? We knew that before we got here. What we really want to know is where they’ve gone, and there we don’t have a clue. Not yet, anyway.” The words hung heavily in the air. His boss looked like she might start to growl. “I wish I could tell you something you want to hear,” he concluded, “but I can’t.”
She set her jaw. “Do you have any idea how tired I am of people telling me what they can’t do?” She found herself repeating Frankel’s words, nearly verbatim. “I can hire a sixth grader to tell me what we can’t do. Careers, on the other hand, are built on the ability to find answers.” She strode back toward the kitchen, with Paul close behind. They helped themselves to seats at the table.
Stung by her reprimand, Paul would wait till next week before he broke the silence. After all these years, he deserved better than this, and his expression showed it.
“One more time,” she prodded. “Tell me what we do know.”
He took a deep breath and swallowed his anger. “Okay. What we know: They’re very careful people. They were ready to run and presumably have been for quite some time. We’ve found all the trappings of family life. You know, books, magazines, toiletries, toys for the kid. At first glance, their reading tastes tend to run toward romances and thrillers, and there’s a collection of Goosebumps books in the kid’s room my son would kill for. The only thing of even marginal interest is some of the magazines we’ve found. Lots of outdoors stuff-sportsmen’s rags. To me, that’s significant, if only because outdoor survival skills make it easier for them to disappear.”
Irene scowled as she listened. “What about correspondence? Are there letters and such with return addresses we can trace?”
He opened the notebook again. Actually, he knew there were no notes relevant to the question, but it was a convenient way to stall for time. “We really haven’t found much of substance there, either,” he said. “Some unpaid bills and junk mail, mostly. We’ll have a better answer in a couple of hours, once we get everything logged and examined.” He sighed and raised his palms. “It’s just early, Irene. I don’t know what to tell you.”
A new shadow appeared in the doorway. “Excuse me…”
The timid voice belonged to Special Agent Mike Jamison, who stood at the front door, waiting to be recognized. If people truly looked like their pets, then Jamison should have owned a horse farm. God, what a face. In J. Edgar’s day, when FBI agents were required to look the part, Jamison’s overbite would never have made it as far as the academy. Even today, despite an allegedly more progressive Bureau, the young agent’s looks remained a threat to his livelihood. Timid and quiet, Jamison was widely accepted as a loser. Within five years, Irene figured, he’d be permanently consigned to Bureau Hell, raiding Indian stills somewhere in North Dakota.
Paul was first to acknowledge the newcomer. “Yeah, Mike, what’s up?” As Jamison’s immediate supervisor, Paul always looked embarrassed in his presence.
“Forget the Toyota Celica,” Jamison announced, as though reciting information he’d practiced and memorized. “We just got a call from Phoenix P.D. Seems that two of their cops let the Donovans go a couple of hours ago, half a block from the school.”
Irene’s jaw dropped, and she closed her eyes. “Tell me you’re joking.”
Jamison shrugged. “I wish I was. The cops involved never saw Jake, and no one had bothered to fax the picture of Carolyn. Guess everybody was in a hurry.”
“Oh, God,” she moaned. “Is there anything-a single detail, somewhere-that Sherwood and his gang haven’t screwed up today?”
Paul suppressed a smile and stayed focused on Jamison’s report. “What about the Celica?” he prodded.
“Well, the folks stopped by Phoenix P.D. were in a white van,” Jamison explained. “We’ve got a plate number. North Carolina, registered in the name of Durflinger.”
“And let me guess,” Irene growled, her eyes still closed. “The Durflingers are dead, right?”
Jamison looked deflated, his thunder stolen. “How did you know?”
“Because that’s how you get a new name,” Paul said, his voice heavy with disdain. It was the oldest trick in the book.
“I don’t believe this,” Irene moaned. “Well, put it out on the Net, pronto. Every state east of the Mississippi.”
“Sherwood’s already done that,” Jamison offered.
Irene glared. “Yeah, well, Sherwood’s done a lot today. Let’s just back him up, okay?”
Jamison nodded but didn’t move.
Paul’s patience evaporated all at once. “Mike, if you’ve got more, spit it out.”
Jamison cleared his throat and took a moment to search his memory. He seemed anxious to get it all right this time. “Apparently, some guy at a bank outside of town saw the news about the Donovans on TV. He just telephoned to tell Phoenix P.D. that he saw Carolyn Donovan in the bank this morning.”
“Ah, the bank again…” Irene was growing tired of old news.
“The guy said she needed to get into a safe-deposit box,” Jamison concluded.
“And?” Jesus Christ, it was like pulling teeth getting this guy to talk!
Jamison shrugged. “And he opened it for her.”
“No shit, Mike,” Boersky snapped. “What did she get out of the box?”
Agent Jamison looked a little panicky, like he’d forgotten to do something. “I don’t know. The guy can’t say for sure. He said that she entered the little room empty-handed and came out with a paper bag full of stuff. No one saw what she put into it.”
Irene and Paul exchanged glances. “Cash?” she wondered.
Paul nodded. “That would be my guess.”
Irene dismissed Jamison by turning away from him. “You said you’ve got somebody down there already?”
“Either there or on the way.”
Irene waited until Jamison was gone before she talked about him. “He’s totally hopeless, isn’t he?”
Paul nodded and sucked on a cheek. “Yep, and he’s allowed to carry a firearm in public. Makes you wonder sometimes, doesn’t it?” He stood. “Great at gathering information, he just can’t get out of his own way. Should have been a technician instead of an agent.”
Irene’s mind had already moved on to other things. “And you, Agent Boersky,” she said, pointing. “I want you to get on the horn with the U.S. Attorney’s Office and get me a court order to get into that safe-deposit box.”
Paul looked at her like she was nuts. “Why? You think she went there to put something in?”
“Actually, no,” she said with a frown, intentionally putting him back on edge. “I think the box is empty. Now I want you to prove it for me.” She arose from her chair and headed for the door. “Besides, you look like you need something to do.”
Travis sat in a folding lawn chair between the rows of shelves in the back of the van. They drove on in silence for a long time, Travis convinced that his parents had reneged on their deal to clue him in on what was going on. As the sun dipped below the mountain ridges ahead, he marveled at the different shades of orange and red and blue streaking the sky. The ridges looked like they were on fire; bright lights against a dark background. With the darkness, though, came a whole new world of fear.
He’d never seen his folks like this, so tense. He’d probably spent a million hours over the years watching them from this angle as they drove all over the place, but tonight they looked different, and the transition scared him. His dad’s jaw was set sort of funny, and the muscles in front of his ears worked all the time. And there was the new look in his eyes-same as the one when the cop came up to the window. And his mom! Jeeze, she looked ready to explode.
These long silences were frightening, too; second only to those intense, whispered conversations they’d have