Julie glanced down at her fuel gauge. About half a tank. She hoped to God that wherever this van was going, it got there before she ran out of gas.
Once they were on the highway, Julie stayed well back so as not to make the driver of the van suspicious. Her phone was somewhere on the floor in front of the passenger seat. She unbuckled her seat belt, and through some precarious contortions managed to reach the phone with her right hand, her head dipping below the dashboard, while still keeping the car going in a straight line.
Glancing back and forth between her phone and the road, she called the Promise Falls police, identified herself as a reporter for the Standard, and asked to speak to Detective Barry Duckworth.
“He’s off duty,” the dispatcher said.
“Well then fucking get him at home and tell him to call me!” Julie said.
“Excuse me?” the dispatcher said.
Julie rattled off her cell phone number. “Just have him call me, okay? It’s about the Kilbrides.”
“We’ll see,” the dispatcher said frostily, and hung up.
Shit, Julie thought. She’d come on too strong. She didn’t like her chances that the dispatcher would pass on her message.
Seconds after the dispatcher ended the call, a police car screamed past Julie in the passing lane, giving her a momentary heart attack. At first, illogically, she thought it had something to do with her call to the Promise Falls cops, but this was a New York State police car, the kind that regularly patrolled the interstate.
Julie watched as it continued to speed away from her, but as it got closer to the van it slipped into the lane behind it, rode there for a minute or so, and then the flashing lights came on.
“Yes!” Julie said as the van pulled over to the shoulder.
Julie did the same, killing her lights, but she kept driving along the shoulder, closing the distance between herself and the patrol car, so she could get a better look at what was going on. She figured if Ray and Thomas were actually being held against their will in that van, as she suspected, this would be the end of it. This would be their rescue.
The cop-it looked like a woman from here-approached the van. She shared some words with the driver, probably asking for license and registration. Then she went back to the cop car, got in, and sat there while the van waited.
“Come on, come on,” Julie said aloud.
A good three minutes went by before the cop got back out of her car and returned the paperwork to the driver. Then-hello, what was this? The driver-it was a woman, a blonde-was getting out, coming around to the back of the van with the cop.
She wants her to open up the back.
“Open the door open the door open the door.”
But just as the blonde had her hand on the lever, the cop turned and ran back to her cruiser, hopped in, and sped away.
“No!”
Julie could guess what had happened. Another, more urgent call had taken priority.
Maybe, when the trooper was talking to the driver, she’d noticed something in the back that raised her suspicions. Not actual bodies. If she’d thought she’d seen bodies-living or dead-she wouldn’t have headed off to another call. A large box, maybe? Some kind of container big enough to contain a body?
She had to have seen something.
“Shit,” Julie said as the flashing lights of the police car faded away in the distance. The woman got back into the van, and seconds later it continued on its way.
So did Julie.
Almost twenty minutes later, Julie’s cell rang. She answered without looking to see who it was.
“Hello.”
“Detective Duckworth here. What’s so important you have to get abusive with our dispatcher, Ms. McGill?”
“I think-okay, I don’t know for sure-but I think someone may have snatched Ray Kilbride and his brother.”
“What are you talking about?”
She told him about getting to the Kilbride house seconds after the van pulled out of the driveway. The fact that no one was home. The missing computer, the set of plastic cuffs.
“He was supposed to call me back,” Duckworth said.
“What?”
“Ray Kilbride called me. Then he was interrupted, said he was going to call me back soon, and he hasn’t.”
“I’m right,” Julie said. “They’ve been taken.”
“Who the hell would do that?” Duckworth asked. “Listen, I’m gonna go out to the Kilbride house, see what’s going on. You got the license plate on the van?”
“I’m not close enough to read it. When I had the chance, I wasn’t thinking.”
“Okay, look, anything happens with the van, call me at this number. This is my cell. Got that?”
“I got it.”
She stayed with the van.
There was an accident at the far end of the Lincoln Tunnel. Traffic was getting through a car at a time by the mouth. The white van was about five car lengths ahead. Once it was past the accident, it took off.
By the time Julie’s car was past the fender bender, and she drove onto the island of Manhattan, the van was nowhere to be seen.
“Motherfucker!” she shouted, banging her fist against the steering wheel.
SIXTY
After pulling off the moving blankets and dragging me from the van, Nicole or Lewis tore off the tape that was binding my legs. But the ski mask stayed on. They led me through a door and guided me no more than half a dozen feet down what I supposed was a short hallway. My shoulder brushed up against a wall at one point, and wooden boards creaked below my feet. Hands from behind held both my shoulders, as though guiding me through a doorway.
Then the hands stopped me, and turned me 180 degrees.
“Sit,” Lewis said, working my bound arms over the back of what felt like a standard wooden chair, then shoving me down into it. Then he ran a couple loops of duct tape about my waist, securing me to the chair. He didn’t tape my ankles to the legs, so I moved them around in small circles, getting my blood circulating wherever I could. Suddenly, someone grabbed a fistful of ski mask at the top of my head and yanked, grabbing some of my hair in the process.
I blinked several times as my eyes adjusted to the light, although there wasn’t all that much of it. Lewis was standing directly in front of me, then moved out of the way as Nicole brought Thomas into the room. He was pushed down onto a second chair a couple of feet away from me, taped in, and then Nicole pulled his ski mask off. He blinked a couple of times, as I had, then exchanged a frightened glance with me.
“I’ll get the computer,” Lewis said. “And let Howard know we’re here.”
We were in a windowless room, about twelve by twelve, that had the feel of being the back of a shop. In one corner was a heavy, antique rolltop desk, the sliding door in the up position to allow for a computer. The various cubbyholes were jammed with paperwork, what looked like bills, receipts, newspaper clippings. The walls were almost entirely covered in shelves, made from the same kind of planks that made up the worn, wood floor. The shelves were crammed with old, musty books, antique clocks, Royal Doulton figurines, old-fashioned cameras with bellows that could be stretched out, accordion-style. But most of all, there were toys. Decades-old tinplate cars and trucks, the paint worn off by children who were very likely dead now. Pewter toy soldiers. Dinky Toys, like the ones I had when I was a kid. I spotted an Esso tanker truck my father had given me around the time I was three. An
