Nighttime Is My Time

other side of the river.

Had she been forced from her car at gunpoint, or had she walked over to another vehicle on her own?

Whoever this psychopath is, he has Jean. Is Jean's daughter really safe? Sam wondered suddenly. He opened his wallet, raced through the cards inside, found the one he wanted, tossed the others on the passenger seat, and dialed Craig Michaelson's cell phone. After five rings a computer voice advised him to leave a message. Swearing under his breath, he dialed Michaelson's office.

'I am so sorry,' his secretary apologized. 'Mr. Michaelson is in a conference at another attorney's office and cannot be interrupted.'

'He's got to be interrupted,' Sam snapped. 'This is a police matter-a matter of life and death.'

'Oh, sir,' the manicured voice chided, 'I'm sorry, but-'

'Listen to me, young lady, and listen hard. You get Michaelson, and you tell him that Sam Deegan phoned. Tell your boss that Jean Sheridan has disappeared and that it is imperative he contact West Point immediately and warn them to put a bodyguard on her daughter. Do you understand me?'

'Of course I do. I will try to reach him, but-'

'No buts. Reach him!' Sam shouted, then snapped his phone closed. He got out of the car. I have to put a track on Robby Brent's phone, he thought, but it probably won't do any good. There's only one hope.

He brushed past the policeman, who started to explain that he knew the salesman who had alerted them to the car being there and that nobody could be more reliable. Jean's shoulder bag was on the seat.

'Nothing has been taken out of it?' he snapped.

'Of course not, sir.' The young policeman was clearly offended at the suggestion.

Sam didn't bother to assure him that he meant nothing personal by the question. He dumped the contents of Jean's bag on the passenger seat, then searched the glove compartment and all the storage areas inside the car. 'If it's not too late, we may have gotten the break we need,' he said. 'She was probably carrying her cell phone. It's not here.'

It was 11:30 a.m.

89

It was 11:45 a.m. before Craig Michaelson phoned Sam, who by then was back in the Glen-Ridge House. 'My secretary tried to get me, but I had left the meeting and forgot to turn on my cell phone,' he explained hurriedly. 'I just got to the office. What's going on?'

'What's going on is that Jean Sheridan has been abducted,' Sam said tersely. 'I don't give a damn if her daughter is in West Point and surrounded by an army. I want you to be sure that a special guard is put on her. We have a psychopath running loose around here. The body of one of the other Stonecroft honorees was pulled out of the Hudson a couple of hours ago. He'd been stabbed to death.'

'Jean Sheridan is missing! The General and his wife are on the eleven o'clock shuttle from Washington right now, on their way to have dinner with her tonight. I can't get in touch with them while they're on a flight.'

Sam's pent-up worry and frustration exploded. 'Yes, you can,' he shouted. 'You could get a message through the airline to the pilot, but it's too late for that now anyway. Give me the name of Jean Sheridan's daughter, and I'll call West Point myself. I want it now.'

'She is Cadet Meredith Buckley. She's a second-year student, a yearling. But the General assured me that Meredith would not leave the West Point campus either Thursday or Friday because of the tests she has scheduled.'

'Let's pray the General is right,' Sam snapped. 'Mr. Michaelson, in the unlikely event I meet any resistance when I call the superintendent at the academy, please be available for an immediate phone call.'

'I'll be in my office.'

'And if you're not, make sure your cell phone is on.'

Sam was in the office behind the hotel's front desk, the place where he had started the investigation into the disappearance of Laura Wilcox. Eddie Zarro had joined him there. 'You want to keep your cell phone line open, don't you?' Eddie asked.

Sam nodded, then watched as Eddie dialed the West Point number. While waiting for the call to go through, he frantically searched his memory for anything that might suggest another path of action. The technical guys were triangulating on Jean's cell phone, something they expected to complete within minutes. When they did, they'd be able to pinpoint the exact location of the phone. That should help-assuming it isn't in a garbage heap somewhere, Sam thought.

'Sam, they're ringing the superintendent's office,' Eddie said. Sam's tone when he picked up the phone was only slightly less forceful than the one he'd used with Craig Michaelson. When he spoke to the superintendent's secretary, he did not mince words. 'I am Detective Deegan from the Office of the District Attorney of Orange County. Cadet Meredith Buckley may be in serious danger from a homicidal maniac. I need to speak to the superintendent immediately.'

He did not have to wait more than ten seconds before the superintendent was on the phone. He listened to Sam's brief explanation, then said, 'She's probably in an exam right now. I'll have her brought to my office immediately.'

'Just let me be sure that you have her,' Sam asked. 'I'll hold on.'

He held the phone for five minutes. When the superintendent came back on, his voice was charged with emotion. 'Less than five minutes ago, Cadet Buckley was seen leaving Thayer Gate and going over to the parking lot of the Military Academy Museum. She has not returned, and she is neither in the parking lot nor in the museum.'

Sam didn't want to believe what he was hearing. Not her as well, he thought, not a nineteen-year-old kid! 'I understood that she promised her father she wouldn't leave West Point,' he said. 'Are you sure she went outside?'

'The cadet didn't break her word,' the superintendent said. 'Although it's open to the public, the museum is considered part of the West Point campus.'

90

Jill Ferris was in the studio when Jake got back to Stonecroft. 'Robby Brent's body was in the meat wagon by the time I got there,' he said, 'but they'd pulled the car out of the water. He was found in the trunk. I bet President Downes is having a heart attack or at least a bleeding ulcer. Can't you see the publicity we'll be getting now?'

'The president is very upset,' Jill Ferris admitted. 'Jake, are you through with the camera?'

'I think so. You know, Jill -I mean Ms. Ferris-it wouldn't have surprised me if Laura Wilcox was found in the trunk of that car with Brent. I mean, what's happened to her? I'd bet the ranch that she's dead, too. And if she is, the only one at that lunch table still alive is Dr. Sheridan. If I were her, I'd hire a bodyguard. I mean, when you think how many so-called celebrities won't stir unless they're surrounded by a couple of muscle men, why wouldn't someone like Dr. Sheridan, with a real reason to worry, not get some protection?'

It was a rhetorical question, and Jake was already on his way into the darkroom, so he got no answer.

He wasn't sure what he would do with his shots of the crime scene. It was unlikely that they'd ever see the light of day in the Stonecroft Academy Gazette. Still, he was certain that he'd eventually find a place for them, even though he hadn't yet received an offer to be a roving reporter for the New York Post.

When the pictures were developed, he viewed them with intense pleasure. From different angles he had caught the starkness of the car with its sides dented from hitting a rock pile in the river and its open trunk, dripping water. He also had gotten a good shot of the meat wagon, its lights flashing as it backed away.

The pictures he had taken in the morning of the Mountain Road house were still clipped and hanging on the