Read Online Dead Silence by Randy Wayne White - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Randy Wayne White
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not your suspect, you didn’t catch him.” Barbara motioned to me. “This gentleman did . . . and almost died. And the man in the back of the room got me out of one hell of a dangerous spot. You haven’t met Sir James Montbard and Dr. Ford. When you do, take a moment and thank them. If you’re smart, you’ll ask for their input.”
Barbara’s voice softened but not her tone as she added, “I don’t expect miracles. I know the numbers and they’re not encouraging. There are twelve thousand taxis and limos in this city. And, what, forty-some thousand taxi and limo drivers? It’s impossible to search every vehicle. Or to seal off the island. The NYPD is as good as it gets. But you personally, Captain, haven’t done a goddamn thing to impress me. Until you do, don’t presume to give orders. You will treat my staff and associates with respect. Is that understood?”
It was like a balloon deflating, the way Denzler looked in her starched uniform, arms at her sides now, while the FBI agent took an imperceptible step, distancing himself. The cop’s eyes moved from me to Hooker as if seeing us for the first time. “I didn’t realize, gentlemen. I apologize. I read the report on the abduction and what happened at the park. Outstanding, the way you responded, especially for civilians.”
Hooker said, “High praise indeed,” sounding sincere but smiling.
Barbara had moved close enough to put her hand on the policewoman’s shoulder but didn’t. The positioning suggested endorsement yet withheld approval. The woman knew how to manipulate people and control a room.
“The important thing, Captain, is that we work together. You’re the expert. We’re the amateurs. We need your help.”
“Senator, I think we got off on the wrong foot—”
“Don’t we all occasionally? I should have discussed protocol with you privately. But let’s get down to business”—Barbara was pouring herself a glass of wine—“so please continue with your briefing. Hold all questions until you’re done?”
Denzler replied, “That works for me,” sounding grateful and eager to please.
Senator Hayes-Sorrento poured a second glass of wine. As she offered it to me, I gave her a look: Impressive.
The woman shrugged, her eyes looking into mine: Part of the job.
Nice eyes. Gray-green with flecks of gold. Power flecks , my friend Tomlinson calls them. Sensuality transceivers .
I hadn’t noticed before.
While Denzler briefed us, the FBI agent’s cell phone buzzed. He went outside to take the call. When he returned, his projected detachment told me it was important. But not too important it couldn’t wait, because he took a seat and listened with the rest of us while the policewoman told us the latest.
At 8:45 p.m., the kidnappers had e-mailed a ransom note to three general Internet addresses used by the NYPD. Nearly an hour later, the photo arrived sent as an attachment.
The note was written in precise English, but the syntax suggested it was composed by someone whose native language was Spanish. Probably male. He had written “interned” instead of “buried.” He had written “the air cylinder in testament produces” rather than “the oxygen tank will produce.” The name William Chaser was used in the subject line of the photo, but the note referred to their captive as “she” or “the politician.” The note had been written in advance of the abduction, anticipating the senator, not a teenage boy.
Denzler said she couldn’t show us the note or the exact wording. Instead, she had created a computer document outlining key points. I understood the purpose but found it irritating.
The kidnapper’s note said the Minnesota teenager would be put into a box, then buried. The box contained an air cylinder with enough oxygen for approximately thirty-six hours. A tube running from a canteen would be taped to the boy’s mouth, so he would have a limited amount of water .
If certain demands were met, the
Barbara’s voice softened but not her tone as she added, “I don’t expect miracles. I know the numbers and they’re not encouraging. There are twelve thousand taxis and limos in this city. And, what, forty-some thousand taxi and limo drivers? It’s impossible to search every vehicle. Or to seal off the island. The NYPD is as good as it gets. But you personally, Captain, haven’t done a goddamn thing to impress me. Until you do, don’t presume to give orders. You will treat my staff and associates with respect. Is that understood?”
It was like a balloon deflating, the way Denzler looked in her starched uniform, arms at her sides now, while the FBI agent took an imperceptible step, distancing himself. The cop’s eyes moved from me to Hooker as if seeing us for the first time. “I didn’t realize, gentlemen. I apologize. I read the report on the abduction and what happened at the park. Outstanding, the way you responded, especially for civilians.”
Hooker said, “High praise indeed,” sounding sincere but smiling.
Barbara had moved close enough to put her hand on the policewoman’s shoulder but didn’t. The positioning suggested endorsement yet withheld approval. The woman knew how to manipulate people and control a room.
“The important thing, Captain, is that we work together. You’re the expert. We’re the amateurs. We need your help.”
“Senator, I think we got off on the wrong foot—”
“Don’t we all occasionally? I should have discussed protocol with you privately. But let’s get down to business”—Barbara was pouring herself a glass of wine—“so please continue with your briefing. Hold all questions until you’re done?”
Denzler replied, “That works for me,” sounding grateful and eager to please.
Senator Hayes-Sorrento poured a second glass of wine. As she offered it to me, I gave her a look: Impressive.
The woman shrugged, her eyes looking into mine: Part of the job.
Nice eyes. Gray-green with flecks of gold. Power flecks , my friend Tomlinson calls them. Sensuality transceivers .
I hadn’t noticed before.
While Denzler briefed us, the FBI agent’s cell phone buzzed. He went outside to take the call. When he returned, his projected detachment told me it was important. But not too important it couldn’t wait, because he took a seat and listened with the rest of us while the policewoman told us the latest.
At 8:45 p.m., the kidnappers had e-mailed a ransom note to three general Internet addresses used by the NYPD. Nearly an hour later, the photo arrived sent as an attachment.
The note was written in precise English, but the syntax suggested it was composed by someone whose native language was Spanish. Probably male. He had written “interned” instead of “buried.” He had written “the air cylinder in testament produces” rather than “the oxygen tank will produce.” The name William Chaser was used in the subject line of the photo, but the note referred to their captive as “she” or “the politician.” The note had been written in advance of the abduction, anticipating the senator, not a teenage boy.
Denzler said she couldn’t show us the note or the exact wording. Instead, she had created a computer document outlining key points. I understood the purpose but found it irritating.
The kidnapper’s note said the Minnesota teenager would be put into a box, then buried. The box contained an air cylinder with enough oxygen for approximately thirty-six hours. A tube running from a canteen would be taped to the boy’s mouth, so he would have a limited amount of water .
If certain demands were met, the
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