Deep as the Marrow

“Did you get all that. Decker? Is it all on tape? Then get this: I’m going back to my room. I’m sure you know where it is. I want to see you there. If you don’t show up, I’ll come looking for you in D.C. Face me now or face me later, but one way or another, you’re going to explain this.” He slammed the handset back into the cradle.

  16

  Bob Decker winced at the harsh click echoing through the trailer.

  Harris cut the speaker feed as Canney turned to him. “Ouch.”

  “Shit,” Bob said. “What else can go wrong? We lost Vanduyne’s ex—who somehow found Poppy Mulliner when we couldn’t. We can’t find this guy Mac or Snake or whoever he is, but apparently he managed to find Poppy too. We’ve got all these men running around and we haven’t had so much as a glimpse of her. Dammit!”

  A few minutes ago he’d been fantasizing a triumphant call to the presidential suite at Bethesda, informing Razor that his godchild was safe and he could head for The Hague free of guilt.

  Now…

  “How are you going to handle Vanduyne? Stonewall him?”

  Bob shook his head. “No. He has a right to know. I’ll go see him.”

  “You want me along?”

  Bob smiled. “For protection?”

  “Don’t knock it.” He pointed to the speaker. “That sounded like one angry man.”

  “Yeah. And he’s got a right to be.” Bob turned to Harris. “Anything on the trace?”

  Harris said. “A cell phone. Used an Absecon tower, which means she’s inland from here.” He shrugged. “Sorry. Didn’t have time to get closer than that.”

  “Heading for those Pine Barrens, I bet,” Canney said.

  “If we only knew what she was driving, we—” He snapped his fingers.

  “Vanduyne’s ex! She must have seen Poppy Mulliner. Maybe she saw her car too.”

  “Good thought,” Bob said. “But let me ask you something. I’m a little bothered by this ‘Mac’ guy showing up here. How the hell did he know Vanduyne or Poppy or Katie was going to be in Atlantic City?”

  Canney shrugged. “We know he wasn’t tapping Vanduyne’s phone—our equipment would have registered someone else on the line. Probably followed him here. Just like his ex.”

  “Yeah? That’s possible, but somehow it doesn’t sit right. I get this picture of Vanduyne being tailed by our mystery man as well as by his ex, and then your man tailing the ex… half the people on Ninety-five North are following Vanduyne to Atlantic City. I don’t know, Gerry…”

  “Let me check with Trevor. He was on the road. We’ll see what he says. But that has to be it. What else can it be? Only four people on our end knew what was going on.”

  “Three,” Bob said. “Jim Lewis is in the U.K. I never got around to telling him about Atlantic City.”

  “There you go. Three of us. You didn’t talk, I didn’t talk, and Dan Keane sure as hell didn’t. Vanduyne was followed.”

  “I guess you’re right.” He rose. “Okay. Time to face Dr. Vanduyne.”

  “Good luck.” Canney glanced at his watch. “I’m going to take everyone off the boards and get them looking for Mamie Vanduyne. She may be the break we’ve been looking for.”

  “I hope so. We need one.”

  17

  John didn’t have to look through the peephole in his hotel room door to know who’d knocked. As he reached for the handle he made a promise to himself that he’d keep his rage in check. Yes, he was furious, but he was a grown man, a rational human being—a physician, for God’s sake. He wouldn’t do anything violent.

  But when he yanked the door open and saw Decker standing there, confirming all his suspicions, he snapped. He heard a small cry—his own voice as he’d never heard it—and suddenly his right hand was balled into a fist and swinging at Decker’s face.

  The Secret Service agent jerked his head to the side and John hit only air. When Decker grabbed his right wrist, John swung at him with his left. Decker caught that too.

  “I know you’re hurting. Doc,” he said levelly as John glared at him. “But you’re out of your league.”

  John knew he was right. He wasn’t a fighter. He couldn’t recall ever hurting another creature in his entire life. He dropped his gaze, pulled back, and Decker released him.

  Feeling utterly miserable—impotent, useless, helpless— he turned and stumbled back into the room. He had an urge to grab a lamp and smash it through the big picture window with its wide-angle view of the Atlantic. At least he’d have an effect on something, even if it was only a pane of glass.

  “She’s taken Katie,” he said, trying desperately to keep his voice from breaking—not in front of Decker; please. God, he couldn’t crack up in front of this man.

  “And it’s your fault.” He heard the door click closed before Decker spoke.

  “Not fair. We’ve kept this tightly confined. We—”

  John whirled and jabbed a finger at him. “You tapped my phones! You knew all my plans, every move I was going to make. And so did the bastard who kidnapped Katie. He was here, dammit! Right here in town, waiting to get my Katie. You’ve got a leak. Decker! You’ve got a mole!”

  Decker didn’t flinch. “Did our mole tell your ex-wife too?”

  The question jolted John. Decker had a point. How had Mamie found out?

  “You were supposed to be watching her.”

  “We were,” Decker said. “We watched her follow you on your trip to the Maryland House. We cut her out of that so she couldn’t mess up the transfer.”

  “She followed me?” He’d had no idea…

  “And she followed you to A.C. An accident on the interstate prevented us from diverting her. So who’s to say this Snake couldn’t have done the same thing?”

  John stared out the window at the surf. He was right, dammit.

  “Dear God. How many people have been watching me?”

  When Decker hesitated, John turned and looked at him. His brow was furrowed, his expression troubled… as if he’d just thought of something. Whatever it was, it passed.

  “Your house is under surveillance right now,” Decker said. “Just in case somebody targets your mother.” John dropped onto the edge of the bed, staring up at Decker. The horror of what he’d just said… Nana?

  “My God! I never even imagined…”

  “But we did. And truth is. Doc, you should have told us about those calls.”

  “Why?” John said, his anger flaring again. “You don’t care about Katie. I know what your primary objective is and it’s not getting Katie back. Is it?”

  For the first time, Decker’s eyes broke contact. And John felt a tiny surge of triumph.

  Gotcha, you son of a bitch.

  “I want to get her back, believe me. But no, you’re right. My primary directive is to safeguard the President and bring in the people behind this plot. But don’t ever say I don’t care about your daughter. That isn’t true.”

  John stared at Decker. Somehow, for some reason, he believed him.

  The phone rang. John leapt to it. Could it be? Had Poppy had a change of heart?

  But no… a male voice, asking for Decker. John handed it to him and went back to the window. Behind him he heard Decker say, “Tell you what. Come up here and tell me. Yeah, he’s here, but I see no reason why he shouldn’t know.”

  John turned as he hung up. “Shouldn’t know what?”

  “New information on Poppy and Snake. We’ll both find out at the same time.” John realized Decker was making a gesture.

  “Thanks,” he said softly. “I appreciate that.” While they were waiting for the caller to ride up from the lobby. Decker filled him in on what they knew about Poppy Mulliner and their theory about the violence at the Falls Church house.

  A blond-haired man who looked like he’d just come off the beach arrived and was introduced as Supervising Special Agent Gerry Canney of the FBI. He seemed hesitant about speaking in front of John, but finally relented at Decker’s insistence.

  “Okay,” he said, l
ooking at John. “We got this call from the A.C. Medical Center emergency room about some woman saying she was beaten up in a parking garage and her daughter kidnapped. We checked it out and guess who it was?”

  “Mamie,” John said.

  “Right. Says she found her daughter wandering around alone in a souvenir shop.” John remembered a big souvenir shop north of the pay phone where he’d spent the better part of the afternoon.

  “Not the one—?”

  Canney nodded. “Yeah. Peanut World. About fifty yards from where you were standing.”

  “Aw, no.” He felt sick. Katie had been so close.

  “She said she was taking Katie to her car when this twenty-something woman with spiked hair starts beating on her. Broke her nose, knocked her out.”

  John closed his eyes. Yes! How many times had he wanted to do that? Give Mamie a taste of what she’d done to Katie. But he’d never raised a hand to her. Kept telling himself she was sick, couldn’t help herself.

  Thank you once again, Poppy Mulliner…

  “The fallout from all of this is we have a good description of Poppy—a lot different from her three-year-old mug shot, believe me—and the changes she made in Katie.”

  “Changes?”

  Canney explained about Katie’s new look: boy’s clothes, short reddish hair.

  “But here’s the best part. We canvassed the parking garage and the area around it and came up with somebody who saw a woman and a child fitting Poppy and Katie’s new descriptions climbing into a red panel truck. She noticed them because they were in an otherwise restricted church parking lot.”

  Decker smacked a fist into his palm. “Great! You put the description out?”

  “Just before I came here. Jersey State cops have it, all the local munis. Every major road is being covered. But I’m willing to bet they won’t come up with a damn thing.”

  “Why not?” John said.

  “Because she’s not on a major road. I’ll bet next year’s salary she’s heading into the pines. Home… to Sooy’s Boot.”

  Decker was on his feet. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  John rose too. “I’m going with you.”

  “No way,” Canney said.

  “Damn right, no way,” John said. “No way you’re leaving me behind. If this Sooy’s Boot is where Katie is, then that’s where I belong. You don’t take me along, I’ll go on my own.”

  “Look,” Canney said. “I’ve got a little girl too. I understand. But we can’t let you jeopardize a federal investigation.”

  But John was concentrating on Decker. “You owe me, Bob.”

  Decker hesitated, then nodded to Canney. “We’ll bring him along.”

  Canney’s eye went wide. “What? We can’t—”

  “We can discuss it later. Right now we’ve got some traveling to do.” He turned to John. “Pack up and we’ll—”

  “To hell with packing. Nothing here I can’t do without. Let’s go.” The grief, the rage, the frustration of the past few hours had vanished. Suddenly John felt alive again.

  Hang on, Katie. I’m on my way.

  18

  Poppy drove past the house three times before she had the nerve to stop.

  “Is this where you grew up?” Katie said.

  “No. This is my Uncle Luke’s house. He’s my father’s brother. They were like real close.” So close, she thought, that he probably won’t even speak to me.

  She sat and stared at the mailbox: #528—LUKE MULLINER. Dad’s name was Mark, and he’d had five brothers: Matthew, Luke, John, Peter, and Paul. Yeah, Grandma Mulliner had been like real heavy into the Bible. All the Mulliner boys had been close, but Dad had always found Uncle Luke the most simpatico. He saw the most of Luke, and so naturally, Luke was the uncle she’d known the best. And loved the best.

  She knew Luke had been royally pissed that she went and got knocked up and had to quit the basketball team—not for himself, but for what it had done to Dad’s dream’s of her going to college. And if he’d been so mad about that, would he ever like forgive her for running away and leaving Daddy alone? And for not showing up at his funeral?

  I didn’t know he died! But that probably wouldn’t cut it. All the Mulliners tended to carry grudges to their grave. And Uncle Luke’s temper was like legendary.

  She checked out the yard. The grass looked kind of weedy and scraggly, and would need cutting soon. An old Ford pickup sat in the driveway. Beyond it stood the tiny two-bedroom ranch Uncle Luke had called home for longer than Poppy had been alive. As far as she was concerned, it had been here like forever, nestled amid the close-packed scrub pines. And in all these years, no other homes had joined it. Uncle Luke’s was still the only house along this whole stretch of potholed and crumbling asphalt.

  Even in the fading light she could see how the place needed some paint. So did the flaking propane tank peeking around the right rear corner.

  She noticed how the toolshed in the backyard leaned to the left. And that made her kind of sad. Looked like Uncle Luke wasn’t keeping things up the way he used to. Not that he was too old. He couldn’t be fifty yet.

  Maybe he was just lonely. His wife. Aunt Mary, had died not long after Mom, and his one son. Poppy’s cousin Luke Jr.—“Little Luke,” who surely wasn’t little anymore—was probably married and living on his own. So who was around for him to keep the place neat for?

  A light came on in the front room.

  “He’s home,” she said aloud. She didn’t see how she could put this off much longer. “Come on, honey bunch. Let’s see if Uncle Luke will take us in.” She lifted Katie in her arms and carried her up to the front door. She put her down on the stoop, took her hand, and reached out to knock… and hesitated.

  She sent up a little prayer. If he’s gonna say no, please just let him say no. Don’t let him start yelling and screaming. Katie’s seen too much trouble already today. And I feel I’m about to break into like a million or two pieces.

  She knocked. She waited but no one answered. As she was about to try again, the door swept open.

  He was big, like her Dad had been, but older, heavier, grayer, with lots of new lines visible through the white three-day stubble on his cheeks.

  But his heavy red-and black plaid shirt and green work pants were the same as they’d always been, and his blue eyes were as sharp as ever.

  An ache started deep in her chest. Jesus, he reminded her of Dad.

  He stared at her and said, “What do you want?”

  “Uncle Luke? It’s me. Poppy.” His expression never changed. “Poppy who?” The ache grew as she wondered. Is this how he’s gonna play it? Like I don’t exist.

  “Your… your niece. Poppy Mulliner. Mark’s little girl.”

  He squinted at her. “You ain’t little. And you don’t look like no Poppy I ever knew.”

  The ache deepened. Don’t do this to me. Uncle Luke. I got no place else to go.

  “It’s me, Uncle Luke. I… I like need a place to stay.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. “The Poppy I knew ran off and left her father alone. She as much as killed him. Then she didn’t even bother to show up for his funeral.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “I hope you’re not telling me you’re that Poppy.”

  This wasn’t working. She knew she should go now. No sense trying to say any more to this stone-faced man. But she had to tell him…

  “I guess I am that Poppy, and I guess I’m not. Not anymore. A lot’s happened since I left. Most of it bad. I need some help now. I thought I could like come back here. I thought maybe you’d…” The ache had moved up to her throat and was pulling it tight. Almost too tight to talk. He was turning her away; no more than she deserved. She should have known shouldn’t have even bothered coming here…

  She just couldn’t believe how much this hurt.

  She took one look last look at Uncle Luke before turning away, and thought she saw a softening in his eyes.

  “That your kid?” he said,
jutting his chin at Katie.

  Poppy shook her head. Don’t ask me about Glory! She felt the tears welling in her eyes, spilling over. Her voice sounded like a gasp.

  “No. She died… when she was three months.” He looked stricken.

  “Dead?”

  She couldn’t talk about Glory. She had to get away from here before she made a complete Appleton of herself.

  “Sorry to bother you. Uncle Luke.” She couldn’t say any more. As she lifted Katie and took her first steps back to the truck, she heard a tortured sound. Almost like a… hiccup.

  She looked back at Uncle Luke and saw him leaning against the doorjamb, his face all screwed up and his mouth turned way down at the corners.

  Through her blurred eyes he looked just like the sad mask she’d seen outside theaters. His chest heaved and he made another sound—this was a sob.

  And then he was motioning her toward him. She stepped back up on the stoop and he enfolded her in his arms, pressing her against him. She felt his chest begin to heave.

  “Oh, Poppy,” he said, his voice high and strange. “I miss him. Oh, God, you got no idea how much I miss your dad.” And then they were both crying—loud, wracking wails and sobs.

  And for the first time in days. Poppy felt safe.

  She was home.

  19

  “I don’t get it,” Vanduyne said, packing back and forth in the Pineconer Motel parking lot. “Why are we waiting for tomorrow? We should be doing something.”

  Bob Decker saw Canney make a little “be my guest” gesture. Bob sighed.

  Maybe it had been a mistake bringing Vanduyne along, but he did feel he owed the guy something. And besides, this was the best way of keeping the doc under control. “We are doing something. Doc,” Bob said. “We’ve got men checking out Sooy’s Boot right now, getting the lay of the land.”

  “They should be doing more than that. And why aren’t we there instead of way the hell out here in Tuckerton or whatever this place is called?”

  “First of all,” Bob said, “do you have any idea how many Mulliners there are in these parts? Take a look at the phone book later—and those are just the ones with phones. We have to get census records to find the others, and even then we won’t have all of them. Second, they don’t have a motel in Sooy’s Boot, or anywhere near it. And third…” Bob gestured at the pine woods that surrounded the motel, seeming to grow thicker by the minute as the light faded. “Look around you. Doc. This may be New Jersey, and you may be just thirty or forty miles from Philadelphia and the northeast corridor, but you are on the edge of very deep woods. Thousands of square miles of scrub pine. No streetlights out there. No street signs. Most of the roads are unpaved, and the ones that are don’t even have lines down the middle. People get lost out there in broad daylight. What do you think we’re going to accomplish in the dark? Poppy Mulliner could be hiding anywhere.”