He threw on his heavy coat, grabbed all the money and loose change he could find, and headed out the door.’
He was almost gone when it called to him. Called him to come back.
Aren’t you forgetting something? the bottle said.
He heard the sweet siren song ringing in his ears. It’s me you really want, it sang to him. It’s me you care for.
“It isn’t true,” he said aloud, teeth clenched. “It isn’t.”
When he heard the sudden shrill sound, he almost jumped out of his skin. “Cops,” he murmured. “Gotta run.” He was almost on the fire escape when he realized the ringing sound was coming from his coat pocket. His cell phone.
“Who could …” He didn’t finish his question. There were only two possible answers. And they both seemed incredible.
He extended the antenna and pushed the Send button. “Hello?”
There was some static on the line, but not so much that he couldn’t make out the words. “Daddy! Please come, Daddy!”
“Tommy?” He pressed the phone close against his ear. “Tommy? Is that you?”
More static. “Daddy, please! Help!”
“Tommy? Tommy, listen to me!” He felt torn apart, desperate. “Tommy?”
“He’s hurting me, Daddy. He’s hurting me real bad.”
“Who is? Tommy? Can you hear me? Who’s hurting you? Frank?”
The voice on the other end of the phone cried out in agony. “Please, Daddy.
Carl ran toward the door. “I’m coming, Tommy. Are you at home?”
“Yes, Daddy. And-can you wear the Santa suit? Like you used to.”
Carl’s brain raced. What had he done with the thing? Under the bed, in the closet… “I think so, son.”
“Good. Wear the Santa suit, Daddy. Come to the back door-over the fence. So the neighbors won’t see you.”
Carl nodded. If one of those neighbors saw him now, they’d call the police in a heartbeat.
“Come at nine-thirty, Daddy. I’ll sneak downstairs and meet you. You can come and take me away forever. Please!” The other end of the line clicked off.
Carl stood motionless, paralyzed with horror. He didn’t want to wait, he wanted to run out the door as quickly as he could.
But Tommy was right. If he just showed up like an idiot and got himself shot, he wouldn’t do anyone any good. Least of all Tommy. And he couldn’t call the police. They’d come after him, not Frank.
He ran back into the apartment. Like it or not, he would have to find that Santa suit and do as he was told.
He knew he was confused, knew he was probably screwing up somehow. But what could he do? His little boy was hurting. His little boy needed him!
He would have to go to him. Whatever the consequences.
20
Megan raced across the parking lot, shouting at the top of her lungs. “Mr. Collins! Mr. Collins!”
Mr. Collins, a balding middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper mustache, stopped.
His hesitation gave Megan the chance she needed to catch up. She ran the rest of the distance, watching her breath circulate in the cold night air. It was getting colder; those predictions of snow seemed more likely by the minute.
She stopped just before she collided with the man. He stood patiently, hands in his trench coat, an eyebrow arched. “Something I can do for you, ma’am?”
She pressed her hand against her chest, trying to catch her breath. The night air stung in her throat. “You’re the top man in ballistics, right?”
His brow wrinkled. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”
“That’s what they told me at the front desk. Just before they closed up.”
He nodded. “It is Christmas Eve.”
“Believe me, I know.” She took another deep breath. “What have you learned about the bullet that was fired at Carl Cantrell?”
He paused and scrutinized Megan with careful interest. “I don’t think I recognize you. Are you on the police force?”
“Uh … no.”
“DA’s office?”
“No.”
“Member of the fourth estate?”
“No. But I took some journalism classes in college.”
He did not appear amused. “Mind telling me why I would want to discuss the details of an ongoing investigation with you?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“Ah. Well, that makes everything perfectly clear.” He turned and started toward his car.
“Wait.” She ran forward, positioning herself between Collins and his Dodge. “I’m trying to find out as much as I can about what happened out there today. At the shooting. Before I arrived.”
“Are you representing someone?”
“I represent Bonnie Cantrell. Or did, anyway.”
“And she wants to know the results of the ballistics tests?”
“Well, no. Not exactly.”
“Then I fail to see-”
“Look, I can’t explain everything perfectly, okay? I haven’t got it all figured out myself. I just have a really bad feeling about this, and sometimes, you have to trust your instincts and have faith-” She stopped, startled to find herself using the word. “I’m just afraid something terrible might happen if I don’t get to the bottom of this.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sure I would love nothing more than to help you … trust your instincts. But all investigations are confidential till the chief says otherwise.”
“How do I get ahold of him?”
“On Christmas Eve? You don’t.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket and tried to gently nudge Megan out of the way.
“Wait!” she said, but he didn’t. He popped open the driver’s side door.
“But couldn’t you just-”
“No! Now if you don’t mind, I have some Christmas Eve plans of my own.”
With the door open, the car interior was lit and Megan could make out the photo dangling on a string from the rearview mirror. “Is that your family?”
“Of course.”
“I guess you’re going home to them. For Christmas dinner.”
He hesitated only a moment before answering. “Yes. Precisely.”
“Lucky man.” She inched forward. “Look, couldn’t you just answer a few questions? You don’t have to actually tell me anything. Just shake your head yes or no.”
“I will not.”
“Please!”
“I said no.”
“It could be a matter of life or death.”
