Denny needed money—A LOT of money—and he needed it fast, before Monday morning. With Matt, he could get it. Without Matt, Denny was doomed to running from Hank and his henchmen.
His plan had worked fine until Bonnie showed up. Now this annoying girl with the big mouth threatened to ruin everything.
If he let Bonnie talk to Celia and Winston, he would never get the money he needed. Not only would they refuse to pay, they’d probably call the cops.
Denny could almost hear his righteous sister: “You’ve gone too far this time, Denny. Kidnapping is a crime. I’m going to have to turn you in.”
This time Denny would be in prison a lot longer than six months. The prosecutor would learn about Denny’s previous conviction and his unregistered firearm. Denny couldn’t afford a defense attorney. He’d be stuck with the public defender, who would treat him like scum and be secretly glad to lose the case.
Denny’s head pounded. Tension headaches always made him sick, and now the up-and-down motion of the ferry increased his nausea.
He looked around. He and the two children were alone on the lower deck. The cars were empty; all the passengers had gone upstairs to the warm lounge area.
He glared at Bonnie. Loathing made his eyes narrow, as if by squinting at her he could make her disappear. Matt had agreed to do everything Denny said; why wouldn’t the girl cooperate? She had wrecked it all.
Denny could think of only one solution. He had to get rid of Bonnie before the ferry docked.
Shove her overboard.
Pretend it was an accident.
Even if she screamed as she fell, no one would hear her cries over the noisy engine.
Wait. Denny took a deep breath and tried to think calmly.
What if Bonnie could swim? Other passengers might see the girl splashing in Puget Sound and call for help. The events played out in Denny’s mind.
“Girl overboard!” the person would yell, and everyone would rush to that side of the boat to gawk.
The captain would stop the engine. Someone would throw Bonnie a life preserver and she’d hang on and get pulled back to the ferry, or some hero-type would dive in and keep her afloat until one of the small lifeboats could be launched to rescue her.
If Bonnie got plucked from the frigid water, the captain and crew and all the passengers would see a dripping-wet kid, shaking with cold, and hear her accuse Denny of kidnapping and attempted murder. She’d tell everything, YAK YAK YAK, and Winston and Celia would see Denny on the nightly news as he was being led off to jail.
Denny cringed at the imagined scene. He couldn’t let it happen. He refused!
I’ll shoot her before I push her into the water, Denny thought. If she’s dead, she’ll sink right away.
Detective Morrison dreaded this visit. How could she tell Anita Sholter that her daughter was missing? This was the hardest part of police work: breaking bad news to good people.
Detective Morrison and Spike had rushed to Safeco Field as soon as the call came in. A security guard, so upset he was barely coherent, had dialed 911 to report a girl had vanished from the ballpark.
At first Detective Morrison assumed it was a typical lost-child case and she wondered why Seattle Police were alerting her. Kids often get separated from the group they came with but usually they’re reunited quickly, with no harm done. It’s easy to get turned around in crowded places. Happens all the time.
Detective Morrison had been on her first break of a busy day when the call came, and her ham sandwich seemed more interesting than a kid who went out the wrong exit at the ballpark. She only half listened to the report—until she heard the name of the missing girl.
She concentrated on the words coming from the police radio: “This girl is the sister of six-year-old Matt Sholter, who vanished from his school eight days ago.”
Detective Morrison dropped her sandwich and ran to her squad car. En route to Safeco with her siren screaming, she learned Bonnie had left her seat in the sixth inning and never returned.
When Detective Morrison arrived, she found a group of girls, plus a few adults, milling nervously around the private office of a Safeco Field official. She recognized Bonnie’s pal, Nancy. Two Seattle Police Department officers were already questioning the group.
“Bonnie told me she saw someone she knew, a friend of her mom’s,” Nancy said. “She said she was going to talk to him and would meet me back at our seats, but she never came.”
Someone she knew. Detective Morrison had wondered all along if the person who took Matt was someone he recognized—a family friend or a former neighbor, someone whom Matt would go with because he didn’t consider the person to be “a stranger,” as he’d been warned against. Had Bonnie now been lured by the same familiar person?
Detective Morrison felt sick to her stomach. Bonnie was a smart, capable girl. She would never willingly leave the ballpark, even with someone she knew, without first telling the people she had come with. It flat out would not happen. Which meant Bonnie had left against her will.
After questioning Bonnie’s team and the chaperones, the three police officers left, each with an urgent assignment. Detective Morrison offered to do the worst task of all—inform Bonnie’s mother—because she already knew Anita Sholter.
The rain began again as Detective Morrison drove out of downtown Seattle and headed east across the Mercer Island Bridge. By the time she stopped in front of the Sholter house, her mood matched the dismal weather.
With a heavy heart, Detective Morrison rang Anita Sholter’s doorbell.
Mrs. Sholter took one look at the detective’s face and knew she brought bad news. “Come in,” she said.
“It’s Bonnie. She told her friends she saw someone she recognized and would be back in a few minutes. She never returned.”
The color drained from Mrs. Sholter’s face. “Bonnie’s gone?”
“She’s missing. As soon as Seattle Police got the call, they ordered roadblocks around the whole district. They’re checking every car in the parking garage. Those who parked on the street will be searched before they leave the area.”
Mrs. Sholter nodded as if she understood, but Detective Morrison knew the woman was too shocked to pay full attention.
“Bonnie left the others during the bottom of the sixth inning,” Detective Morrison continued. “They didn’t report her missing until the game ended, nearly an hour later. Until then her group thought she was watching the game with the friend she’d seen. They didn’t start to worry until the crowd began to thin out. Then they looked for her, and realized she wasn’t coming back to her original seat.”
“So Bonnie could have left the area before the road-blocks went up,” Mrs. Sholter said.
“Correct.”
“Do you think the same person who took Matt managed to take Bonnie?”
“We can’t be sure, but it’s awfully suspicious. It makes me wonder again if Matt recognized his abductor.”
“If the same person was after Bonnie, he must have followed her to the Mariners game. How could someone have stalked her like that? Where was Matt while this happened?”
Chills crept up Detective Morrison’s arms. Was Matt dead and now the killer had come for Bonnie? Was this revenge on Mrs. Sholter by someone with a twisted mind and an old grudge?
“We don’t know if Matt is still with his abductor,” Detective Morrison said. Then, seeing Mrs. Sholter’s stricken look, she added, “The kidnapper could have left Matt locked in somewhere, or had someone guarding him. Or maybe Matt was there. Maybe Bonnie saw him and followed him.”
Bonnie’s grandpa, who had listened to the whole conversation, said, “Perhaps the abductor used Matt as a decoy, to get Bonnie to go with him, the same way he used Pookie to trick Matt.”
“You think Matt was at the ball game, in plain view of thousands of people?” Mrs. Sholter said. “Surely someone would have recognized him. Besides, if he had been out in public, he’d have screamed for help, and if Bonnie had seen him she would have call
ed the police immediately.”
Detective Morrison nodded. Mrs. Sholter was right. On the other hand, if Bonnie had not left the ballpark voluntarily, it meant she had been kidnapped. How could that happen to a thirteen-year-old girl in a crowded baseball stadium?
“Bonnie would never have left the game without consulting Mrs. Tagg,” Mrs. Sholter said.
Detective Morrison knew this girl, knew this family, and she knew in her bones that Mrs. Sholter spoke the truth. Bonnie could be trusted to do the right thing.
What had happened? What in the world could have seemed so important to Bonnie that she would go against everything she’d been taught? Especially now, with her brother missing.
Grandpa said, “Whoever she went with had a weapon and forced her to leave the stadium.”
Grandma said, “She wouldn’t have gone otherwise.”
Detective Morrison believed they were right. “There’s no point speculating what happened,” she said. “The important thing now is to find Bonnie as fast as possible. I’ll need a picture of her.”
It was like watching a rerun of a horrible movie where she stood in the Sholters’ living room, asking for a photo of a missing child.
This time was worse because she knew the child personally. Knew her and liked her.
Throughout her nine years on the police force, Detective Morrison had purposely maintained a detachment from the people she served. She knew if she let herself get emotionally involved in the cases she worked, she would burn out and not be able to continue.
Over the last week, however, Bonnie’s loyalty to her brother and concern for her dog had touched Detective Morrison. The girl had distributed flyers, checked Web sites, knocked on doors, given interviews, and sent e-mails. She never gave up.
Bonnie Sholter was more than another missing person; she was a missing friend. When Mrs. Sholter handed over a picture of her daughter, her second child to vanish in eight days, Detective Morrison’s heart broke for the woman.
No one should have to endure what this family was going through.
The wind whipped Bonnie’s hair around her face as Matt huddled against her. She slipped her hands in her jacket pockets to keep them warm, and found the souvenir baseball she’d bought at the Mariners game.
“Here,” she said, handing the ball to Matt. “I bought you a present at Safeco Field.”
Matt’s eyes lit up when he saw the blue-and-green ball with the Mariners logo on it. He turned the ball carefully around and around in his hands. “Thanks,” he said. He carried the baseball to a small patch of sunlight where the colors looked brighter.
Bonnie warily watched Denny, who stared at her as if she were his worst enemy. She wondered what he intended to do.
She knew she had angered him when she said his sister would believe her and not him. Even though it was true, Bonnie realized it might not have been smart to say so. She needed to keep him calm, not get him all worked up.
Denny stepped toward her, his hand inside his sweatshirt, presumably on the gun. When he was only about two feet away, he said, “You’re going to walk as close to the edge as you can.” He kept his voice low, but Bonnie saw Matt, who was now off to the side and behind Denny, stop examining the ball and pay attention.
“Why?” Bonnie asked. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to take my son to visit my sister and brother-in-law, without you there to interfere. Back up.”
Bonnie stepped toward the rear of the ferry.
Matt, his eyes on Denny, began inching toward the stairway, but Denny looked over his shoulder and snapped, “You stay where you are and keep quiet or you won’t live to meet your cousins.”
Matt stopped.
Bonnie reached the yellow rope that stretched from side to side, preventing people from walking too close to the back edge of the boat. She looked at Denny.
“Duck under the rope and keep going.”
Bonnie went under the rope. A few feet farther, a strong mesh of rope blocked her from reaching the end of the ferry. She stopped with her back to the mesh.
“Climb over,” Denny said. He now stood next to the yellow rope.
“I’m a strong swimmer,” she said. “Even if you make me jump, I’ll survive. Someone on the upper decks will hear me yell, and see me in the water.”
“You won’t be swimming,” Denny said, “or yelling.” His voice was hard as steel. His hand stayed inside his sweatshirt.
Beads of perspiration broke out on Bonnie’s lip. She glanced at the stairs, hoping other passengers would come down to their cars, but no one came. The deck remained empty except for her, Denny, and Matt.
When she looked up, however, she saw two men watching through a window on the deck above. One of them pointed at her.
They see me, she thought. Even if they don’t realize what’s going on, they’ll know I shouldn’t be out here on the end of the boat. They’ll tell a ferry worker, and someone will hurry down to make me get back where it’s safe. I have to stall until that happens.
“Climb over the barrier,” Denny said. “Now!”
Bonnie looked into his eyes and saw the face of a madman. He’s going to fire the gun, she thought. As soon as I get to the edge of the deck, he’s going to shoot me and let my body topple into the water.
Clyde Wallace and his brother, James, stood at the back end of the ferry’s lounge, in the small outdoor smoking area. Through the window that shielded them from the wind, they looked down at the rear of the ferry.
“Hey!” James said. “Look at that girl down there. She’s climbing over the rope.”
“What’s she doing?” Clyde asked. “She shouldn’t go out there. It isn’t safe.”
“I hope she doesn’t jump in the water. A guy leaped off the Tacoma Narrows Bridge a couple of months ago. Tried to kill himself and ended up paralyzed.”
“She won’t jump. It’s a kid, showing off.”
“Maybe it’s a dare,” his brother said. “The guy with her sees where she is. He doesn’t seem concerned.”
“He’s old enough to know better,” Clyde said. “I have half a mind to notify one of the ferry workers.”
“Oh, don’t get involved,” James said. “We might have to stay and give a statement or something, and we’d be late getting home. My wife’ll have a fit if I’m not there before her parents come to dinner.”
“The girl is almost to the edge of the ferry.”
“And we’re almost to Bainbridge. The girl will come back on this side of the rope as soon as people start downstairs to get in their cars.”
Clyde snuffed out his cigarette. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Let’s go back inside.”
Denny withdrew a short black gun, not much bigger than Matt’s water pistol, and pointed it at Bonnie.
Bonnie stared at the gun. She didn’t know what kind it was, only that it was aimed at her heart. A small gun could be just as deadly as a large one. Fear crashed against her like ocean waves.
Denny wouldn’t get away with it; Bonnie was positive of that. As soon as Denny shot her, Matt would scream and run upstairs for help—and what would Denny do then? Shoot Matt, too? She shuddered.
Even if Matt got away and brought help and Denny was caught, it would be too late to save Bonnie.
She had to take action now, before Denny pulled the trigger.
Bonnie’s mind flew in all directions, trying desperately to think of a workable plan. She glanced up again, but the two men had left; no one was watching.
“Keep going,” Denny said. “Move!”
Bonnie lifted her left leg over the mesh rope and put her foot down on the other side. The edge of the ferry was only a couple of feet behind her. Trembling, she clung to the top of the mesh, one foot on either side.
Denny held the gun steady.
Over Denny’s shoulder, Bonnie saw Matt move closer. His eyes showed his horror as he stared at the gun. He held the baseball against his chest.
Matt has a strong arm, Bonnie though
t. He practices pitching all the time. Could he throw the ball hard enough and accurately enough to save her?
If he threw the ball at Denny and missed, Denny would be even more angry. He would shoot Bonnie instantly and then might turn the gun on Matt. Bonnie didn’t want to endanger Matt to save her own life, yet she thought her idea could work. Matt was already in danger, and time was running out.
“You brought this on yourself,” Denny said. “You always did talk too much.”
“Zinger!” Bonnie yelled.
“What?” Denny said.
Matt froze. ZINGER was the word he and Bonnie used for his hardest, fastest pitch.
Please, Matt, Bonnie thought. Please figure out what I’m asking you to do, and do it!
Bonnie lifted her right foot over the mesh rope. If she kept moving she hoped Denny would stay focused on her and not notice if Matt came closer.
“Zinger!” she shouted again. The wind lifted the word and carried it back toward Seattle, toward home and school and Mom. Bonnie wished the wind would pick her up, as well, and let her fly like a kite away from this cruel man and his lies.
She stood on the far side of the mesh now, gripping it with both hands. The wind was stronger out here, and the sea spray blew against her, dampening her hair and clothes. She tasted salt from the seawater on her lips. Or was it tears?
She looked straight at Matt and screamed, “Zinger!”
Matt understood Bonnie’s message. Could he do it? With his heart racing, he gripped the Safeco Field souvenir ball in his hand. He saw the gun in Denny’s hand but decided it was too small to be a good target.
Matt pretended he was in a ball game. The strike zone was Denny’s back, and Matt knew he had only one chance; he couldn’t miss.
“Good-bye, brat,” Denny said.
Bonnie heard a click as Denny removed the safety catch. She stuck her left foot back, feeling for the deck, but she felt only empty space under her shoe.
She dropped to her knees and ducked her head, making herself into a smaller target. Hurry, Matt, she pleaded silently. Hurry!
Matt raised both arms over his head, his eyes focused on Denny’s back. He gritted his teeth, lifted his left leg off the ground, and threw the baseball with every ounce of strength he had.