The Pardon

apologize. So he expressed it another way. “You’re gonna love Cindy when you get to know her.”

The governor’s eyes were suddenly moist. “I know I will.”

“Hey,” said Kimmell as he entered the room, “time to get dressed.”

Jack and his father looked at each other with confidence. There was strength in unity. “Let’s do it,” said Jack. The governor gave a quick nod of agreement, and they marched off to the adjoining room, where Kimmell helped them get ready. Both wore dark clothing, in case they had to hide. Sneakers, in case they had to run. And both wore the Kevlar vests Kimmell had brought them, in case they couldn’t hide or run fast enough.

“What’s that?” Jack asked as Kimmell wired a battery to his vest.

“It’s a tracking device,” he answered. “The transmitter sends out a one-watt signal. It’s on intermittent-duty cycle, so it’ll be easy for me to recognize your signal-and the battery will last longer, too, just in case this takes longer than we think. Any time I need a location on you, I can do it in an instant from my audio-visual indicator here in the room.”

Kimmell went ahead and rigged the antenna and was tucking the pistol into Jack’s holster when the portable phone rang.

It was exactly midnight.

Jack took a deep breath, then reached for the phone. Kimmell stopped him.

“Be cooperative,” Kimmell reminded him, “but insist on hearing Cindy’s voice.”

He nodded, then switched on the receiver. “Hello,” he answered.

“Ready to trick or treat, Swyteck?”

Be cooperative, Jack reminded himself. “We’ve got the money. Tell us how you want to do the exchange.”

“Ah, the exchange,” Esteban said wistfully. “You know, no kidnapper in the history of the world has ever really figured out the problem of the exchange. It’s that one moment where so many things can go wrong. And if just one little thing goes wrong, then everything goes wrong. Do you understand me, Swyteck?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Here’s the plan. I’m splitting you up. Your father will deliver the money to me in a public place. You’ll pick up the girl in a private place. Brilliant, isn’t it?”

“What do you want us to do?”

“Tell your father to take the money to Warehouse E off Mallory Square and wait outside by the pay phone. When I’m ready for the money, I’ll come by in costume. Believe me, he’ll recognize me.”

“What about Cindy? How do I get her?”

“When we hang up, take the portable phone with you and start walking south on Simonton Street away from your hotel. Just keep walking until I call you. I’ll direct you right to her. And so long as your father hands over the money, I’ll direct you to her in time.”

“What do you mean in time?” Jack asked.

“What do you think I mean?”

“I need to speak to Cindy,” he said firmly. “I need to know that she’s all right.”

The line went silent. Ten long seconds passed. Then twenty. Jack thought maybe he had hung up. But he hadn’t.

“Ja-ack,” Cindy’s voice cracked.

“Cindy!”

“Please, Jack. Just do what he says.”

“That’s all,” said Esteban. “If you want to hear more, you gotta play by my rules. No games, no cops, nobody gets hurt. Start walking, Swyteck.” The line went dead.

Jack breathed a heavy sigh. “No fear,” he added, speaking only to himself.

Chapter 51

After some last-minute advice from Kimmell, Jack and his father told each other to be careful. Then they left the hotel and headed in separate directions. The governor went west toward Mallory Square, an assortment of big, wide piers that had once been a waterfront auction block for wine, silks, and other ship salvage hauled in by nineteenth-century wreckers. During Fantasy Fest, the square was more or less a breaker between the insanity on Duval Street and the peaceful Gulf of Mexico. Jack walked south on Simonton, a residential street that ran parallel to Duval. The neighborhood was a slice of wealthy old Key West, with white picket fences and one multistory Victorian house after another, many of them built for nineteenth-century sailors, sponge merchants, and treasure hunters, many of them now bed-and-breakfasts.

He walked two blocks very quickly, then slowed down, realizing that he had no official destination. The Flintstones danced by on their way to the festival, singing their theme song. Others in costume streamed by on foot or on motor scooter, since cars were useless during Fantasy Fest.

Jack’s portable phone rang, startling him. “Yes,” he answered.

“Turn left at Caroline Street,” said Esteban, “and stay on the phone. Tell me when you hit each intersection.”

Jack crossed Simonton and headed east on Caroline Street. The noise from Duval was beginning to fade, and he saw fewer pedestrians on their way to the party. It was darker, too, since there were fewer street lamps, and the thick, leafy canopy blocked out the moonlight. The sidewalk was cracked and buckled from overgrown tree roots. Palm trees and sprawling oaks rustled in the cool, steady breeze. Majestic old wooden houses with two-story porches and gingerbread detail seemed to creak as the wind blew. Jack just kept walking.

“This is not about your girlfriend,” said the voice over the phone.

Jack exhaled. The phone obviously was not just for directions. “I’m at Elizabeth Street.”

“Keep going,” said Esteban, and then he immediately picked up his thought. “This is all about Raul Fernandez. You know that, don’t you?”

Jack kept walking. He didn’t want to agitate, but after two years of wondering, he had to keep him talking. “Tell me about Raul.”

“You know the most important thing already.” His tone was forceful but not argumentative. “It wasn’t Raul’s idea to kill that girl.”

“Tell me about him, though.”

There was silence on the line-one of those long, pivotal silences Jack had heard so many times when interviewing clients, after which the flow of information would either completely shut down or never shut off. He heard the man clear his throat. “Raul had been in prison in Cuba for nine years before we came over on the boat. And after nine years in jail, what do you think he wanted most when he got to Miami?”

Jack hesitated. The story about the boat fit Kimmel’s theory that the kidnapper was Esteban. But he wasn’t sure whether this was meant to be a monologue or a dialogue. “You tell me.”

“A whore, you dumb shit. And he was willing to pay for it. But there are so many whores out there who just won’t admit what they are. Just pick one, I told him. He did, but he still needed encouragement. So I went with him, to show him how easy it was.”

“You and Fernandez did it together?”

“Raul didn’t kill anyone. The knife was just to scare her. But the stupid bitch panicked and pulled off his mask. Even then, Raul still didn’t want to kill her. I was saving his ass by doing it. So how do you think it felt when he was the one arrested for murder? I did everything I could to keep him from getting the chair. I even confessed! But you didn’t do your part, Swyteck. The governor, the man who could stop it all, was your father, and you did nothing.”

Jack resisted the temptation to educate the kidnapper, but he felt a certain vindication-not for himself, but for his father. Since the murder had begun as a rape or attempted rape by Raul Fernandez, Fernandez was as guilty as the man who had slit her throat. By law, anyone who committed a felony that brought about an unintended death was guilty of murder, even if the murder was committed by an accomplice. It was called “felony murder.” It was a