Two Little Girls in Blue
But that would give us the exact location from which to begin tracking them, he concluded grimly. Something tells me these people are too desperate and too evil to have any decency in them.
98
Every cop on the Cape is on the lookout for this van, Angie thought, biting her lip as she drove nervously along Route 28 from Chatham. But the marina is only a little past the town line into Harwich, and once we dump this wreck, we’ll be okay. Geez, to think I wanted this kid. What a mess she ended up causing. I don’t blame Clint for being mad at me.
She glanced up at the sky, noticing that the stars had been replaced by clouds. The weather sure changed quickly, she thought, but that’s the way it happens up here. And it could be a good thing. Now I’ve gotta watch for that turn.
With her nerves on edge because any minute she expected to hear a siren, Angie reluctantly began to slow up. The turn is right along here, she thought. Yeah, not this one, the next one. A moment later, heaving a sigh of relief, she turned left off Route 28 and drove the winding road toward Nantucket Sound. Most of the houses along the road were hidden from view behind high shrubbery. The ones she could see were in darkness. Probably closed for the winter, she decided. It’s a good spot to dump the van, she thought. I hope Clint realizes that.
She went around a final bend with Clint right behind her. The Pied Piper wouldn’t have the nerve to get too close, she figured. I guess by now he knows that I’m no dope. The pier was directly ahead, and she was just about to drive onto it when she heard the faint, brief tap of a horn.
Stupid, stupid Clint. What the heck was he blowing a horn for? Angie wondered. She stopped the van, and, livid with anger, watched as he got out of his stolen car and rushed up to her. She opened the door. “You wanna kiss the brat goodbye?” she snapped.
The odor of acrid perspiration was the last thing she remembered as Clint’s fist flew through the space between them and pummeled her into unconsciousness. As she slumped over the wheel, Clint put the car in gear and placed her foot on the accelerator. He closed the door just as the van began to move along the pier. He watched as it reached the end where it balanced for an instant, then dropped out of sight.
99
Phil King, the clerk at the Shell and Dune Motel, kept his eye on the clock. He went off duty at ten and was anxious to be on his way. He had spent all his spare time that day patching up a fight he’d had with his girlfriend, and she had finally agreed to meet him for a quiet drink in the bar at the Impudent Oyster. Only ten minutes to go, he noted with anticipation.
There was a small television set behind the desk, company for whoever was working the late-night shift. Remembering that the Celtics were playing the Nets in Boston, Phil flipped on the set, hoping to catch the score.
Instead he caught a breaking news story. Police had confirmed that Kathy Frawley had definitely been seen on the Cape that morning. Her abductor, Angie Ames, was driving a twelve-year-old dark brown Chevy van with Connecticut plates. The announcer gave the license plate number.
Phil King did not hear it. He was staring openmouthed at the television. Angie Ames, he thought. Angie Ames! His hand trembling, he grabbed the phone and dialed 911.
When the operator answered, he shouted, “Angie Ames is staying here! Angie Ames is staying here! I saw her van drive out of our lot not ten minutes ago.”
100
Clint watched the van disappear, then, with grim satisfaction, he got back in his stolen car and made a sharp U-turn. In the beams of his headlights he caught the startled look on the face of the Pied Piper who was walking toward him. Just like I expected, he’s got a gun, he thought. Sure, he was going to share with me. Real sure. I could run him over, but that would be too easy. It would be more fun to play with him.
He drove straight at him, then watched with glee as the Pied Piper dropped the pistol he was holding and jumped out of the car’s path. Now I get me off the Cape, Clint thought, but first I gotta ditch this car. Those kids will be coming out of the movie in less than an hour, and then the police will be looking for this car.
He raced back along the quiet road until he came to Route 28. He figured the Pied Piper might try to chase him, but he knew he had too great a lead. He’ll think I’m heading for the bridge, he decided, but what could he do—that was the best way to go. He turned left. The Mid-Cape Highway would be faster, but he decided to stay on Route 28. By now, they probably know that I flew to Boston and rented a car, he thought. I wonder if they fell for my asking for the map to Maine.
He turned on the radio in time to hear an excited announcer report that Kathy Frawley had definitely been sighted in Hyannis. With her was her abductor, Angie Ames, who also used the name Linda Hagen. Roadblocks were being set up.
Clint gripped the wheel. I’ve got to get out of here fast, he thought. I can’t waste any time. The suitcase with the money was on the floor of the backseat. The thought of it and what he could do with one million dollars kept Clint from dissolving into panic as he drove through South Dennis, then Yarmouth, and finally to the outskirts of Hyannis. Twenty more minutes and I’m at the bridge, he thought.
The sound of a police siren made him cringe. Can’t be me, I’m not going too fast, he thought, then watched aghast as one police car swerved ahead of him and cut him off, while another pulled up behind him.
“Get out of the car with your hands up.” The command came from a loudspeaker in the squad car behind him.
Clint felt rivulets of perspiration run down his cheeks as he slowly opened the car door and stepped out, his thick arms high over his head.
Two policemen, guns drawn, approached him. “You’re out of luck,” one of them said amiably. “The kids didn’t like the movie and left in the middle of it. You are under arrest for possession of a stolen motor vehicle.”
The other cop shone his flashlight in Clint’s face, then did a double take. Clint knew he was comparing him with the description the police undoubtedly had of him.
“You’re Clint Downes,” the cop said positively, then angrily demanded, “Where is that little girl, you bum? Where’s Kathy Frawley?”
101
Margaret and Steve and Dr. Harris and Kelly were in the police chief’s office when the news came that Angie Ames had registered under her own name in a motel in Chatham and that the clerk had seen the van pull out only ten minutes ago.
“Was Kathy in it?” Margaret whispered.
“He doesn’t know. But there was a child’s shoe on the bed, and there was an indentation on the pillow. It seems probable that Kathy had been there.”
Dr. Harris was holding Kelly now. Suddenly she began to shake her. “Kelly, wake up,” she demanded, “Kelly, you must wake up.” She looked at the police chief. “Get a respirator,” she demanded. “Get one now!”
102
The Pied Piper had watched as the squad cars cut off Clint’s stolen vehicle. He doesn’t know my name, but as soon as he describes me, the FBI will be on my doorstep, he thought. And to think I didn’t have to come here, he reproached himself—Lucas hadn’t told him who I am.
He forced back the burst of blinding anger that made his hands tremble so much that he could hardly grasp the wheel. I’ve got seven million dollars, less the bank cut, waiting for me in Switzerland, he thought. The passport is in my pocket. I’ve got to get on an overseas flight right away. I’ll have the plane fly me to Canada. Clint may not give me up right away since he can use me as a bargaining chip. I’m his ace in the hole.
His mouth dry, his throat choked with terror, the Pied Piper turned off Route 28 North. Even before a handcuffed Clint was led to a police car, the Pied Piper was on Route 28 South, heading for Chatham Airport.
103
“We know your girlfriend left the Shell and Dune Motel twenty minutes ago. Was Kathy Frawley with her?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Clint said, his voice a monotone.
“You know what we’re talking about,” FBI Agent Frank Reeves of the Boston off
ice snapped. He, Realto, Carlson, and the Barnstable police chief were in the interview room of the Barnstable police station. “Is Kathy in that van?”
“You just read me my rights. I want a lawyer.”
“Clint, listen to me,” Carlson urged. “We believe that Kathy Frawley is very sick. If she dies, you’ve got two murder raps going. We know your pal Lucas didn’t commit suicide.”
“Lucas?”
“Clint, the twins’ DNA must be all over that cottage in Danbury. Your friend Gus told us he heard two children crying when he was on the phone with Angie. Angie charged the clothes she bought for the twins on your card. A Barnstable policeman saw her this morning with Kathy. So did a waitress at McDonald’s. We’ve got all the proof we need. Your only chance for any kind of leniency is to come clean now.”
A scuffling outside the door caused them all to turn abruptly. Then they heard the voice of the sergeant at the desk. “Mrs. Frawley, I’m sorry you can’t go in there.”
“I have to. You have the man who kidnapped my children.”
Reeves, Realto, and Carlson exchanged glances. “Let her in,” Reeves shouted.
The door burst open, and Margaret rushed in, her blue eyes now coal black, her face deathly pale, her long hair a wild tangle. She looked around, then went directly to Clint and dropped on her knees before him. “Kathy is sick,” she said, her voice quivering. “If she dies, I don’t know whether Kelly will live. I can forgive you everything if only you will let me have Kathy back now. I will plead for you at your sentencing. I promise. I promise. Please.”
Clint tried to look away, but found himself compelled to look into Margaret’s blazing eyes. They have me cold, he reasoned. I won’t give up the Pied Piper yet, but maybe there’s another way to avoid having a murder charge thrown at me. He waited a long minute, quickly rehearsing his story, then said, “I didn’t want to keep the other kid. That was Angie’s doing. The night we dropped them off, she shot Lucas and left that phony note. She’s crazy. Then she took off with all the money and didn’t tell me where she’d gone. She phoned me today and asked me to meet her up here. I told her that we’d ditch the van and get off the Cape in the car I’d grabbed. But it didn’t work out that way.”
“What happened?” Realto asked.
“Angie knows the Cape. I don’t. She knew a marina not far from that motel where we could drive the van down the pier and let it go over into the water. I was following her, but then something went wrong. She didn’t get out of the van in time.”
“The van went off the pier with her in it?”
“Yeah.”
“Was Kathy in the van?”
“Yeah. Angie didn’t mean to hurt her. We were gonna take her with us. We wanted to be a family.”
“A family! A family!” The door to the interview room was still open. Margaret’s heartrending cry echoed through the corridor.
Steve, already on his way to be with her, knew what her scream meant. “Oh, God,” he prayed, “help us to bear it.” In the interrogation room, he saw Margaret lying at the feet of the pudgy man who had to be the kidnapper. He hurried over, picked her up in his arms, and looked at Clint Downes. “If I could get my hands on a gun, I would kill you right now,” he said.
The police chief grabbed the phone after Downes described the location. “The Seagull Marina, get diving equipment,” he ordered. “Get a boat.” He looked at the agents. “There’s a loading dock under that pier,” he said, then looked at Margaret and Steve. The last thing he wanted to do was to offer them false hope. In the winter the dock is supposed to have a chain across it. Maybe, maybe, there’ll be a miracle, and the chain stopped the van from going completely into the water. But the tide is coming in fast, and even if the van stopped, the lower dock will be submerged within twenty minutes.
104
We’ve got all the airports covered, Realto thought as he rode with Reeves, Walter Carlson, and the Barnstable police chief down Route 28 toward Harwich. Downes claims he’s not the Pied Piper but says he can give him to us as a bargaining chip in case anyone tries to slap him with the death penalty. I believe him. He’s not smart enough to have engineered the whole kidnapping. Once the Pied Piper knows we have Downes, he’ll realize it’s only a matter of time until Downes gives him up. He has seven million dollars stashed somewhere. The only thing he can do now is to get out of the country before it’s too late.
Beside him sat Walter Carlson, uncharacteristically silent, his hands folded, his eyes straight ahead. Kelly had been rushed with Dr. Harris to Cape Cod Hospital, but Margaret and Steve had insisted on getting in a squad car and driving to the marina. I wish they hadn’t come, he thought. They should not have to watch Kathy being removed from a car that has been dragged up from Nantucket Sound.
The traffic scrambled out of the way of the caravan of police cars. In only nine minutes time, they were turning right off Route 28 and racing down the narrow road that led to the marina.
The Massachusetts state police were already there. Through the murky fog, spotlights were shining on the pier. In the distance a boat was racing through the heavy waves.
“There is just one hope that we may not be too late,” Chief O’Brien said prayerfully. “If the van landed on the loading dock and they weren’t killed in the fall . . .” He did not complete the sentence.
With a squeal of brakes, the squad car stopped halfway down the pier. The men tumbled out and began racing ahead, their feet pounding the wooden planks. At the end of the pier they stopped and looked down. The back of the van was sticking out of the water, the wheels caught by the heavy linked chain. The front wheels, however, were already in the water, and heavy waves were smashing over the hood. Realto saw that the weight of the two cops and heavy grappling equipment on the loading dock was causing it to tip forward. As they watched, one of the rear wheels rolled over the chain and the van sagged further into the water.
Realto felt himself being pushed aside, and an instant later, Steve Frawley was at the edge of the pier. He looked down, then ripped off his jacket and dove into the water. He came up by the side of the van.
“Get the spotlight inside the car,” Reeves barked.
The other back wheel was being lifted by the tide. It’s too late, Realto thought. There’s too much pressure from the water. He can’t open that door.
Margaret Frawley had run up as well and was standing at the edge of the pier.
Steve was looking inside the van. “Kathy’s on the floor in the back,” he shouted. “There’s a woman in the driver’s seat. She’s not moving.” Frantically, he tugged at the back door and realized that it was impossible to open it. He drew his fist back and punched it against the window but could not break it. The waves were pulling him away from the van. He grasped the door handle with one hand and again and again slammed his fist against the window.
A splintering, crashing sound erupted as the glass finally gave. Heedless of his broken and bloody hand, Steve pushed the rest of the glass out of his way and thrust first his arms, and then his head and shoulders inside the van.
The final wheel was now free of the chain, and the van started to lurch forward into the water.
The Coast Guard boat reached the pier, and as it pulled up beside the van, two men leaned over and grabbed Steve around the waist and legs, dragging him back into the boat. His arms were tightly wrapped around a small, blanketed figure. As he fell against his rescuers, the van tipped over the edge and disappeared into the churning water.
He’s got her! Realto thought. He’s got her! If only we’re not too late.
Margaret’s cry, “Give her to me, give her to me,” was drowned out by the wail of an arriving ambulance.
105
“Mom, I’ve been listening to the radio. I hear that there’s a good chance Kathy is alive. I just want you to know, I had nothing to do with Steve’s kids being kidnapped. My God, do you think I’d do anything like that to my brother? He’s always been there for me.”
Nervously, Richie
Mason looked around the departure lounge at Kennedy Airport. He listened impatiently to his mother’s tearful assurances that she knew perfectly well he’d never have anything to do with harming his brother’s children. “Oh, Richie, if they can save Kathy, we’ll fly up for a wonderful family reunion, dear,” she said.
“You bet, Mom,” he responded, cutting her off. “I’ve got to go. I’ve been offered a new job that really is going to be great. I’m flying out right now to the company headquarters in Oregon. They’re about to start loading the plane. Love you, Mom. I’ll stay in touch.”
“We are beginning the boarding process for Continental flight 102 to Paris,” the announcement began. “Our first-class passengers and those needing assistance . . .”
With a last, furtive glance around the departure lounge, Mason presented his ticket and walked on the plane to settle in seat 2B. At the last minute he had decided to skip picking up the final shipment of cocaine from Colombia. With the FBI questioning him about the missing kids, instinct warned him it was time to get out of the country. Luckily, he could count on that kid Danny Hamilton to pick up the suitcase wih the cocaine and hide it for him. He still hadn’t figured out which distributor he could trust to pick it up from Danny and forward his payment to him, but he’d make that decision later.
Hurry up, he wanted to yell as the plane began to fill. I’m okay, he tried to assure himself. Like I told Mom, big brother Steve has always been helpful to me. Because we look pretty much alike, his passport worked like a charm. Thanks, Steve.
The hostess had already given the departure speech. Let’s go, let’s go, he thought as he sat with his head down and his fists clenched. Then his mouth went dry as he heard footsteps racing up the aisle. They stopped at his seat.