other TV people-the young ones with clipboards, the ones who stare at monitors and keep a cell phone stuck to one ear at all times.
Mayor Sinclair speaks first.
“Thanks for coming out, everybody. Well, we have good news and bad news.”
Did I tell you-our mayor can be a real jerk?
He's wearing khaki shorts, a polo shirt, and snazzy sunglasses dangling around his neck on a Croakie because he's the young, hip mayor of Fun-In-The-Sun City.
“First, the bad news. We recently received a ransom demand from Ashley Hart's kidnapper. The police will have more to say about that in a second. The good news? Well, the ransom note means Ashley is alive. It also means Sea Haven's pristine sandy beaches are once again safe for everybody else to enjoy! Folks, this whole tragedy is a
The doofus is beaming, proud of how he worked in the Chamber of Commerce's slogan like that.
“And now-Chief Cosgrove?”
The chief gives the mayor a look. Thank God he's never used it on me.
“Thank you, Mayor Sinclair. I'm going to turn this thing over to Officer John Ceepak, who is heading up the task force on our end.”
Ceepak takes the microphone.
“Thank you, Chief. First, as the mayor stated, we are in possession of the kidnapper's monetary demands. I assure you we are taking all steps necessary to facilitate Ashley Hart's safe return. We intend to do whatever needs to be done. You have my word on that.”
I'm watching the video feed on a monitor set up on the lawn. The Code is oozing out of his eyes.
“As I said, the monetary demands are clear and appear quite doable. However, what remains unclear are the details. The where. The how. You mention a very specific time frame….”
Now everybody knows he's talking directly to the kidnapper.
“… and we hope to meet it. However, to do so, we require more information. Any clarification would prove most helpful. Thank you.”
Ceepak steps back.
“Are you using us to talk directly to the kidnapper?” a reporter shouts from the crowd.
Morgan steps forward and eases Ceepak to the side.
“We have nothing further to say.”
Now all the reporters are screaming.
“Are you paying the ransom?”
“How do you know the girl is alive?’
Morgan simply turns his back on the crowd, gestures to everybody else on stage to do the same, and the choir walks up the porch steps and goes back inside.
We're sitting inside the interrogation room-Morgan, Ceepak, and me.
The mayor is out walking the beach, personally encouraging everybody he can to stick around town.
On the table in front of us are copies of the ransom fax, the photograph, and the scribbled note that came with it.
“I've sent all this material to Quantico. We'll run a handwriting analysis, try to work up a psychological profile….” Morgan has circled the phone number in the header with a felt-tip pen.
“Your man drops a lot of clues, doesn't he?” he says to Ceepak.
Ceepak nods. “You think he wants us to catch him?”
“You mean is this one of those ‘stop me before I do this again’ calls-for-help you see in the serial-killer movies?”
“Right.”
“Nah.” Morgan takes a sip of coffee. “I think he's trying to be clever. Show how smart he is. He knew you'd trace the fax number in about five minutes flat. That's why he did the auto-dial deal. Why he left the picture for you to find. He's Hansel, dropping bread crumbs like crazy.”
Ceepak rotates his copy of the Polaroid to show Morgan where he's been doodling on it with his pen, outlining something blurry in the background.
“More like a bread loaf, I'd say.”
“What you got? Lighthouse?”
“Could be.”
“The north shore,” I say.
“Danny's a local,” Ceepak explains. “Knows this island like nobody's business.”
Morgan hands the photo to me.
“Yeah. Okay. That looks like the old Ship John lighthouse. See how it's got this big band painted around the middle of the tower, here? Makes it look like a barber pole or a rugby shirt: white stripe, red stripe, white stripe. Makes it a daymark too.”
“Where's Ship John?” Ceepak asks.
“Bottom of the ocean. They named the lighthouse after a ship that sank in the shoals. That's why boats needed to see the lighthouse day and night … the shoals….”
“Hence the red band.”
“Right.”
“You know how to find this lighthouse, Danny?”
“Sure. It's been closed for years, but I know where it is.”
“Excellent.” Ceepak actually claps me on the back. Then he turns to Morgan. “Looks like he's sticking pretty close to familiar stomping grounds. We know he used to squat in an abandoned hotel up that way. Might be prudent to do some RST up that way. Reconnaissance, Surveillance, and Targeting.”
“I don't know.” Morgan leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes. “You don't want him going all jumpy. Don't forget-the guy's a junkie. No matter how smart he thinks he is, when he's wired he could do something pretty damn stupid.”
“That's why we'll go up tonight. Cover of darkness.”
Morgan looks at Ceepak for a second.
“You want me or my guys to go with you?”
“No, sir. Like you say-a big crowd will only draw unwanted attention. Danny and I can handle it. We're just going up for a look-see. Get our bearings for tomorrow. We have to figure the money drop will be somewhere in the general vicinity-”
Gus sticks his head in the door.
“Uh, excuse me, fellas. Ceepak?”
“Yeah?”
“Chief said to grab you guys. Another freaking fax is coming in.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“You got the number?” Morgan asks.
“Yeah,” the chief says. “We're on with the phone company … pinpointing the location.”
We're all standing behind Gus's desk, staring at the fax machine as it prints out page number three.
“It's a self-serve machine on Ocean Avenue,” Jane Bright yells from a desk phone. “Boardwalk Books. 1733 Ocean Avenue.”
“Helen?” the chief barks into the dispatcher's cubicle. “Who's close to 1733 Ocean?”
“Cochran?” Morgan's yelling at one of his men.
“Pescatore and Murphy,” the dispatcher yells back to the chief.
“Send them!”
“Boardwalk Books!” Morgan's bellowing at a guy who must be Cochran. “1733 Ocean. Take the forensics
