He pulled away and went to the window. He stood there with his hands jammed into his pockets and stared out at the front yard “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t sleep much last night. I got to thinking—I don’t do much of that, but last night I couldn’t turn it off. I kept thinking about how you stood up to me yesterday. I mean, Mac says, ‘Cut off her finger,’ I haggle him down to a toe, and I’m ready to do it. But you say no—this was something you weren’t going to do, weren’t going to allow to happen. You were ready to put everything on the line to stop it. I was pissed, as you know, but later on it hit me like a ton of fucking bricks: You drew a line and said, ‘That’s it. That’s where I stop. I don’t cross that line and neither does anybody else when I’m around.’ And so I laid there last night thinking, Where’s my line? I mean, do I even have a line? Or do I just wait for someone like Mac to tell me what to do, then go ahead like some fucking robot and do it? What kind of man is that? I couldn’t turn it off.”
Poppy stepped over to the window and slipped her arms around him, pressing her face against his upper back. She felt as if she were about to totally burst. She didn’t dare speak because she knew she’d start bawling.
So amazing… the feelings Paulie was talking about, they were the same ones that had been growing in her since the last baby-sitting job. But hers had been creeping up on her—at least until she’d seen Katie having a fit; then it all like came together. Paulie had got hit all at once.
“I’m gonna be thirty in November,” he said. “And man, I laid there and looked back over my life and you know what I saw? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. I mean, if I died now, is there any trace of me anywhere? Is there anything to say Paulie Dicastro was even here? No. There ain’t. So last night I decided I was gonna start drawing lines. Gonna learn to say ‘Stop, I don’t go past this point.’ I mean, you gotta stand for something in your life, and I never really stood up for anything, but that’s gonna change. I’m not saying this good. Am I making any sense at all?”
Poppy hugged him tighter. “Truckloads. Maybe this is a turning point for us, Paulie. Maybe we can make something good out of his whole ugly scene. We take the money we get and like go off somewhere and use it to build something.”
“Yeah, but what? I don’t know anything legal. What am I good for except taking orders?”
“Don’t worry. We’ll find something. We’re not total jerks. But the important thing is we’ll draw another kind of line—between the old life and the new life. And we’ll like never look back, Paulie.”
“Yeah,” he said, turning around and looking at her. His eyes searched her face. “You and me. We can do that.”
Poppy pressed her face against Paulie’s shoulder. She’d never felt this close to him.
4
“You will be able to come up with so much money?” Nana said. John looked up at his mother from where he sat before the computer and worried. She didn’t know the half of it—a tenth of it—and already she looked like she was falling apart. Her hair was carelessly combed, her clothes wrinkled, her once rosy cheeks now pale and pinched. And she kept digging her fingertips into the sides of her throat as if she were having trouble breathing.
No way he could tell her the truth—about the “service” he was to perform, about… Katie’s toe. So he’d lied to her. He’d told her the kidnappers didn’t really want a service from him, they wanted money—a million dollars.
“Yeah,” John said softly. “It’s in the works. I have calls out to some people who owe me favors, and a bunch of loan officers at the bank are working on it. I should be able to get it all together in a couple of days.”
“A couple of days? But Katie will be a prisoner all that time. How can you—?”
He flared. Before he could stop it, his voice jumped to a shout.
“Don’t you think I want her back too? Today? This minute? It’s not like I can just sit down and write a check!”
He saw her flinch and that doused his anger. He reached out and grasped her hand. “Sorry, Mom. I’m just on edge. I’m doing the best that I can as fast as I can.”
She patted his hand. “I know you are, Johnny. I never should have said… it is just that I cannot bear the thought of Katie being held prisoner by these people a single minute longer than absolutely necessary.”
Prisoner, he thought, feeling sick again. If only that were the worst of it.
“I am going to lie down. Those pills you gave me make me so sleepy. I am too tired even for my yoga.” He’d started her on a tranquilizer last night. He wished he could pop a few himself, but he had to stay alert, had to stay on top of things.
“Do that. Mom. Lie down, close your eyes, try to sleep. It’ll make the time go faster.”
When she was gone, he got up and went downstairs to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and looked inside. He knew he had to eat something, but his appetite was gone, maybe forever. He closed the door but didn’t move away. His eyes were drawn to the freezer compartment.
He could almost see it through the door, still in the plastic bag, sealed in a white envelope tucked away behind the ice cube trays: Katie’s little toe.
He had no delusions about reattaching it, and if he had, freezing would not be the way to preserve it. But what else could he do?
After dragging himself in from the mailbox and vomiting, he’d taken the Baggie and its contents down to the basement where he could cry without his mother hearing. He remembered shaking, sweating, and sobbing for only a few minutes, and then it was as if a circuit somewhere inside of him overloaded and tripped a breaker. He went numb. He’d sat there with the Baggie in his hand, not looking at it, staring off into space instead.
Finally he stood and began moving about, in circles at first, trying to focus. He couldn’t wallow. He had decisions to make. Katie’s life depended on those decisions.
But first, the toe… that horrid, precious, bloody little toe. He couldn’t let Nana see it, and he couldn’t bear the thought of letting it rot. He’d had to do something, and the freezer was all he could think of.
Thinking… God, that was such a problem. Trying to force his thoughts to get in line and make sense—it took such effort.
But after hiding the toe, he managed to sit down at the computer and tap out a reply to Snake. It wasn’t all that coherent, but John didn’t care.
All he wanted to do was let this monster know that he would do anything— anything—he was asked, just please don’t hurt Katie any more.
And he meant that. Snake had made his point: He held all the high cards. He was in charge. John had been tortured by the choice between his best friend and his daughter. But Katie’s toe had dissolved the conflict.
Katie.
He chose Katie.
Katie would live. And Tom would have to find some way to survive.
Snake’s blood-freezing reply had reinforced that resolve.
NOW we understand each other! You know what you have to do. Do it soon. VERY soon. Or we’ll start testing your jigsaw puzzle skills.
John dragged himself away from the refrigerator and went to the phone.
He blocked all questions, all speculation as he narrowed his focus to the task at hand. He pulled out the yellow pages and searched the physician listings. He found a Dr. Adelson, an internist way up in Friendship Heights, and copied down his address and phone number. As Dr. Adelson, he began dialing the downtown pharmacies until he found one that had a small stock of chloramphenicol.
In the most matter-of-fact tone he could muster, he called in a prescription for someone named Henry Johnson: “Give him Chlormycetin 250, twenty caps, one Q-I-D, No refill, and generic’s okay.” When the pharmacist asked for his address and office phone number, John supplied Adelson’s. Fine… Mr. Johnson could pick up his pills in about thirty minutes.
John leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. Step one completed.
Now for step two.
But as he picked up the phone, the doorbell rang. He jumped and
almost dropped the phone.
Not a delivery man… oh, please. God, not another piece of Katie!
John hung up and forced himself toward the door that loomed ahead of him like the portals of hell. Clenching his teeth he grabbed the knob and yanked it open.
An attractive, fortyish woman stood on the front step. She wore a mink coat and high heels. Her long, glossy black hair was tied back with a gold clasp. Her face was perfectly made up. She was smiling, but her dark eyes challenged him.
John nearly staggered back at the sight of her. This was impossible.
“Hello, John.” Her voice… so smooth, so cool, so perfectly modulated.
“Mamie!” His own voice sounded like steel dragging across concrete. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see my daughter.”
“You-you’re supposed to be in Georgia!”
“I was released.”
“I don’t believe that!”
“It’s true, John. I’m cured. I’m on medication, and as long as I maintain my dosage, I’m fine. As a matter of fact, if I keep doing this well, Dr. Schuyler says he might try tapering my dose in the fall. Isn’t that wonderful?”
John’s mind reeled. This couldn’t be. Mamie was supposed to be at the Marietta Psychiatric Center. What was she doing in D.C.? And why now? Of all times, why did she have to appear now?
“I don’t care what Schuyler or anyone else says, the court said you’re not supposed to leave Georgia.”
Her smile held. “Dr. Schuyler worked it out for me. I’m well enough to travel now. And I want to see Katie.”
“No,” John said, shaking his head as vehemently as he could. “Not a chance. Not a chance in hell.”
“I’m her mother, John.” The smile wavered. “I have a right to—”
“You have no rights!” he said, feeling his anger rise— and loving it. So good to feel something other than sickness and dread. “You gave them up, remember? That was the deal: No prison for you, sole custody for me. And that’s the way it’s going to be.”
Finally the smile vanished. “I want to see Katie. You can’t keep me from seeing my own daughter.”
“I can and will. And if you don’t get away from here, I’ll call the police and tell them you’re a fugitive from a Georgia psychiatric hospital.”
“That’s not—”
“And I’ll also tell them about the standing court order that forbids you from going anywhere near her. Do I call now, or do you leave?” Mamie backed up a step. And now her lips trembled.
“This isn’t fair, John.”
“That won’t work on me, Mamie. And I don’t want to hear about fair. Do us all a favor and go back to Georgia. Now.”
“I hope you’re taking better care of her than you are of yourself. You look terrible.”
“Good-bye, Mamie.” He shut the door and leaned his forehead against the inner surface. Please go away. I already have more than I can handle. I can’t deal with you too.
God he hated her, loathed the very sight of her. As an enlightened man of the nineties—and a physician to boot—he knew you couldn’t hold the mentally ill responsible for their acts. But that didn’t mean he had to forgive them.
And John would never forgive Mamie for what she had done. No matter what army of psychiatrists she assembled to proclaim her mentally and emotionally stable and perfectly fit to return to society, he would never allow Mamie back into Katie’s life.
He stood on tiptoe and peeked through the miniature fanlight in the upper panel of the door. The front yard was empty. Mamie was gone. And she’d better stay gone or she’d screw up everything. But he didn’t doubt for a moment that she’d be back.
“John?” His mother’s voice, coming from upstairs.
“Yeah, Mom?”
“Was someone at the door?”
“Just a salesman. Mom. Go get some rest. I’ll let you know as soon as anything happens.” Katie, Tom, Mom, Snake, Mamie—how long could he keep all the balls in the air without dropping one?
Feeling as if he were about to explode, John returned to the kitchen and settled down to the task of arranging to poison the President of the United States.
Steeling himself, he punched in the direct line to Betty Kenny. Betty had started out as a clerk-typist in Tom’s office when he was a lowly congressman. She’d moved with him to the Senate and was now his personal secretary, controlling his all-important appointment book. To get to Tom you had to get past Battleship Betty. But she knew John and liked him; and he knew how she worried about her boss’s health.
“Hi, Betty,” he said, trying to sound light and carefree with no idea if he was succeeding. “It’s John Vanduyne. I need a few moments with your boss tomorrow to check his blood pressure. Will he be around?” He crossed his fingers. Please say yes.
“Hi, John. Let me check. Weren’t you here for that just the other day?”
“Yeah. Wednesday. And I didn’t like what I found.” Her voice dropped.
“Really? Was it bad?”
“I probably shouldn’t have said that. Forget what you just heard, okay?”
“I won’t say a word. You know that. But I want to know: Should I be worried?”
He played on her concern. “His pressure was borderline high, but I want to keep an eye on it. Especially if he’s traveling to The Hague next week.”
“I understand. Let’s see… he’s got a meeting in the Oval Office at ten… this won’t take long, will it?”
“Ten minutes, fifteen at most.”
“Okay. Why don’t I keep that half hour between nine thirty and ten o’clock clear? How’s that?”
“Perfect.” The word was bitter in his mouth.
A little small talk and he was off the phone again, leaning back, trembling.
Stage two completed.
He’d been so cool on the phone, on autopilot, but now the weight of what he was planning crept back to him.
Especially if he’s traveling to The Hague next week…
But I’ll be doing my damnedest to make sure he doesn’t get to The Hague next week, John thought. If he shows up there, Katie dies.
I’m just going to make him sick, he told himself for the thousandth time since opening the mailbox this morning. He won’t die. He may almost die, but the cutting-edge medical care available to the President of the United States will pull him through.
But what if the chloramphenicol didn’t have any effect on Tom’s marrow? It was a possibility. What then? Or what if there was a delayed reaction that didn’t kick in for weeks? Would Snake believe he’d dosed Tom as instructed? Not for a minute.
John wanted to scream, but that would wake up his mother.
Time to go on autopilot again.
He glanced at his watch. He had to get down to the pharmacy and pretend to be Henry Johnson picking up his pills.
I’m becoming a master of deception, he thought. I’ve lied to my mother, Terri, my office, a pharmacist, Tom’s secretary, and tomorrow, my best friend.
He realized with a sick, sinking feeling that the only one he’d been truthful with all day was Snake.
Saturday
1
“John?” He recognized the voice and stiffened. He’d been standing here, waiting for the elevator to the White House’s first floor, silently screaming at it to hurry before he ran into anyone he knew.
Too late. He turned and saw Terri coming down the hall. He forced a smile.
“Terri. I didn’t think you worked weekends.”
“There are no weekends in a PR crisis of this magnitude.” Her welcoming smile faded as she neared. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” he said. “Why?”
“Because you look awful.”
I’ll bet I don’t look a tenth as bad as I feel.
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, seriously.” Her brow was furrowed as she peered at him. “That must have been some virus.” Virus? What—? Oh, yes. The virus lie. Had to keep all these stories s
traight.
Another forced smile. “Hey, you don’t think I’d pass up an evening with you for anything minor, do you.”
“I didn’t realize… are you sure you should be up and about yet? You look completely washed out.”
“I’m tired but that’s about it. Another day of pushing fluids and I should be back to normal.” The elevator doors opened then and he quickly stepped inside, praying she wasn’t on her way upstairs too. Thankfully, she held back. She smiled but her expression was concerned.
“Take care of yourself, John.”
“I will. I’ll call you to find out when you’re free. We’ll set something up.” The doors closed, separating them. He leaned back.
God, how awkward was that? At least she believed he’d been sick. He didn’t have to fake his malaise.
He patted the side pocket of his sport coat and felt the cylindrical bulge of the pill bottle. The chloramphenicol. He’d peeled off the label. The capsules inside were now anonymous… tiny masked assassins.
He still couldn’t believe he was going through with this. Only for Katie…
In the first floor hall he ran into Bob Decker, the last person he wanted to meet this morning.
All those years of training and experience… he’ll know something’s wrong the instant he sees me.
The big Secret Service agent did a double take and suddenly the pill bottle in John’s pocket seemed to quadruple in size and weight. It felt like a can of baked beans, bulging the fabric for all to see.
“Hey, Doc. You don’t look so hot.”
“A virus. Bob. But I’m getting over it.” He started to point to the door of the Oval Office and noticed his hand shaking. He dropped it and gestured with his head. “He in there?”
“Yeah. Said he was expecting you. How’s he doing?”
“That’s what I’m here to find out.”
John waved and hurried to the end of the hall. He stepped up to the door, then stopped. I can’t do this.
But he could. He’d found a way to get himself through the act: Blame it all on Tom. It was Tom’s fault. If he hadn’t put forth this idiotic decriminalization program, Katie would never have been kidnapped. Katie would be safe at home right now watching her Saturday morning cartoons.