The Escape Artist

  "I'm awake, Linc," she said, as she tuned in the station more clearly. She was impatient as she waited out the rest of the song. She knew without a doubt that he was playing it for her. He never played the Everly Brothers on his show.

  "Good evening, everyone," Linc said, in his slow, easy radio voice.

  She could immediately see him again in her mind's eye. His blue eyes, his high cheekbones and shaggy blond hair.

  "Got a lot of requests this week, from all over the country," Linc said. "Requests from Leslie Potters…and James Abbott…and S.T.U. Downe."

  Kim grinned to herself. He rarely read the names of his requesters. He was letting her know. Not only had he received her fax, he was saying, he had understood it, and he knew she was listening right now. Although she knew he'd taped this show four days earlier, she felt more connected to him than she had since she'd left Boulder.

  "Some songs for Ms. Downe," he said, and he opened with "Philadelphia" by Bruce Springsteen. She hadn't requested "Philadelphia," and he didn't ordinarily play Springsteen. He had to be trying to communicate something to her.

  She grabbed her sketch pad from under the bed and wrote down the song title and a few of the lines which seemed as though they might have some sort of meaning. Did he think that's where she was? Philadelphia?

  Next he played Simon and Garfunkel's "At the Zoo." Frowning, she wrote it down.

  Then "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," and she thought she was beginning to understand. Was there a zoo in Philadelphia? When he played "Saturday Night's All Right for Fighting," she laughed out loud. Did he mean next Saturday? And how would she know what time? The lion sleeps tonight. Was the zoo open at night?

  But then he played "Five O'clock World," by the Vogues.

  "Yes!" She laughed.

  Linc finally spoke again. "Those were all for Ms. Downe," he said. "And now we'll move on to Leslie Potters's selections."

  Kim continued to listen, to write down every song, every odd turn of phrase, but it was apparent that Linc was simply covering his tracks, not wanting anyone to be able to put two and two together. The music Leslie Potters and his other listeners had requested were a melange of songs more typical of Songs for the Asking. Old Joan Baez and Tim Hardin and Tom Paxton. Linc's listeners had to be wondering why S.T.U. Downe had ever tuned in to the Linc Sebastian show in the first place.

  She looked down at her pad again. Unless she was reading him completely wrong, Linc was asking her to meet him the following Saturday, at five o'clock, at the lion enclosure at the Philadelphia zoo. She had one single tiny fear that it might be a setup of some sort. Perhaps he was being coerced. Maybe they'd bargained with him. If they thought he was aiding and abetting her, could they threaten him with jail time again if he didn't cooperate to help them find her? Or maybe Linc himself was convinced that she'd done a terrible, criminal, insane thing and he would have the cops waiting there for her at the lion enclosure. Or worse, the men in the white coats. He'd had her locked up once before. But he would never betray her. If there was anyone in the world she could still trust, it was Linc. What she didn't trust completely was her own judgment. She knew that the thought of seeing him was sapping her reason, but she didn't care.

  Tomorrow she would buy a map of Philadelphia.

  –24–

  Peggy hated Sundays. She hated weekends, actually, because she couldn't talk to the man who was working on Tyler's case at the National Agency for Missing Children. She couldn't talk to the police, or to Bill Anderson, either; that is, she wasn't supposed to. She did call Bill yesterday, though, to ask him if he'd checked Susanna's health insurance records again and if he'd thought of looking up her old friends from high school. Jim had Susanna's yearbook from her junior year, she told him. She'd been reading the things people had written to her, personal notes that made Susanna sound quiet and sweet natured. Maybe she'd kept in touch with some of those old friends.

  Bill didn't appreciate being bothered on a Saturday, and he let her know it. She backed down with an apology. The last thing she wanted to do was alienate any of the people who were supposed to be helping them find Tyler, but she was disgusted with herself for her weakness. She was changing, and the change was not for the better. Her entire life, she'd been strong and capable, someone who took action, who righted wrongs. Now she'd been reduced to a timid, ineffectual woman who was expected to wait around for others to solve her problems. And it was taking those others entirely too long. No one cared as much as she and Jim did about getting Tyler home. She worried that she was not putting enough of her own effort, her own brain cells, into finding him.

  Jim took her to an afternoon movie in an attempt to "get her mind off things." She still didn't understand how her husband could simply block the situation with Tyler from his thoughts with such ease. He turned everything over to the authorities, put his trust in them, and then concentrated on his day-to-day workload. Peggy, on the other hand, was fairly useless on the two days a week she was spending at Legal Aid. She wondered if she could still call herself a good lawyer.

  When they got home from the movie, the plot of which she could not have recounted for any amount of money, she made dinner while Jim did some work he'd brought home with him. She left him parked in front of his computer while she boiled water for rice and turned on the radio. In five minutes, Linc's show would be on.

  She was sautéing chicken breasts when she decided there was something strange about Linc's show tonight. True, she'd only been listening faithfully to the program since Tyler's disappearance, but she'd never before heard Linc name the people from whom he'd received requests. And he usually had a theme to his program, some featured musician or a certain type of music. Tonight's music was a mishmash, some of it rock and roll instead of the old and mellow folk-type songs he usually played. And he played "Wake Up Little Susie." And a little later, "Fire and Rain," with the line "Suzanne, the plans they made put an end to you," and that's when she turned off the burner under the chicken and ran upstairs to Jim's study.

  He was hunched over his computer and didn't look up at her as she rushed into the room.

  "Dinner ready?" he asked.

  "Turn on Linc's show," she said, reaching for the power switch on his radio. "He's doing something weird. He's up to something."

  "What do you mean?" Jim sat back from his desk as Peggy tuned his radio to the show. Linc was playing a song by Peter, Paul, and Mary.

  "He's been playing songs with the name 'Susan' in them," she said. "And he's playing a different type of music than he usually plays. And he's naming the people who made requests."

  Jim seemed unimpressed. "This sounds exactly like the sort of song I'd expect to hear on his show."

  "Well, this one, yes. But before. He was playing…" Her mind went blank. "I don't know, but believe me, I've been listening to him ever since Susanna took Tyler, and this show is different." She sank into the armchair in the corner of the study. "Really, Jim, he's up to something."

  Jim hit the save button on his computer. "What can he possibly be up to?"

  She leaned toward him. "I think he's in touch with her somehow. He's communicating with her."

  "Hon." With a sigh, Jim rolled his chair over to hers and took her hands in his. "I think you're reading too much into it," he said. "You're making yourself nuts with this stuff. If it will make you feel better, tomorrow we can call Bill Anderson and he can try talking to Linc again."

  Tears of frustration burned her eyes. "He'll just deny he knows anything, as usual."

  Jim leaned forward to kiss her. "You know what we need?" he asked. "I think we need a vacation. Where would you like to go? This thing with Tyler has become our total focus."

  "Of course it's our total focus," she said. "A member of our family is missing. How are we supposed to think about anything else?"

  Jim nodded. "But worrying about it all the time is hurting us," he said. "I think we need a break."

  Peggy pulled away from him and sat back stiffly in the chair. "Then ta
ke a vacation by yourself," she said angrily. "I'll let you know when I find your son."

  Jim's jaw dropped open in surprise, and she immediately regretted her words. She leaned forward to hug him. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I can't think about a vacation until we have something to celebrate. All right?"

  He nodded and touched her cheek. "All right," he said. "It's just that…sometimes I feel as though my son isn't the only person who's missing. My wife is gone too."

  She winced. "Oh, Jim. Forgive me. I know I haven't been very… attentive to you lately." She had become not only a negligent lawyer and a helpless mother, but a lousy wife as well. "Dinner's almost ready. You want to come down?"

  "Sure." He rolled back to his computer. "I'll be down in a sec."

  She was quiet during dinner, but if Jim suspected that Linc and his show were still on her mind, he didn't mention it. He talked about the case he was working on. It was high stakes, he said, and she tried to insert appropriate comments into the conversation. But she was thinking about what she would do after dinner, and she knew she couldn't tell Jim her plan. He would try to dissuade her, and she didn't want to be dissuaded.

  She waited until after the dishes were done and Jim had parked himself in front of the computer once again before walking upstairs to their bedroom and dialing Linc's number. She sat down on the edge of the bed, waiting. The phone rang for a long time, and she had already planned her speech for his answering machine when he picked up.

  "Linc Sebastian."

  "Linc, this is Peggy Miller."

  A second of hesitation. "Hello, Peggy," he said.

  "Could you please tell me the meaning of your show tonight?" she asked.

  Linc laughed. "The meaning of my show? That's for each listener to decide for him or herself. A personal sort of thing, don't you think?"

  He was insufferable.

  "Are you in contact with her? With Susanna?"

  "Only in my dreams."

  "What does that mean?"

  "That means no, Peggy. I'm not in contact with Susanna. I've told you and your people that a hundred times,"

  "Then why were you playing all those Susanna songs tonight?"

  "Pardon? Susanna songs?"

  "God, you make me so angry! 'Suzanne.' 'Wake Up Little Susie.' Those songs."

  "Did I? It wasn't intentional, Peggy. I admit she's on my mind a lot. I was probably driven to play them by my subconscious or something."

  Peggy felt her lower lip begin to tremble, but she was determined not to cry. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction. "Linc, I want my baby back," she said. "Jim's and mine. I want him safe and sound, here with us. I doubt very much she'll use Jim's health insurance anymore, so that means she has no coverage for Tyler. And very little money. How can she possibly be getting him decent care?"

  "I'm sorry, Peggy. I know you sincerely care about Tyler, but he is not, no matter what the courts say, your baby. "

  She gritted her teeth. He had a way of throwing you off track. She was certain he knew more than he was telling her. "Would you meet me for lunch sometime next week?" she asked.

  "No, I won't. What's the point? So we can grouse at each other some more? Make each other feel miserable and end up with indigestion? Bad idea."

  "Please, Linc. If you'd rather not talk over lunch, we could meet at your house. Or mine. Or neutral territory. You name it. But please. I know you care about Tyler. Let's be on the same team for once."

  She heard him sigh. "All right," he finally agreed. "Thursday?"

  "Is that the soonest you can do it?"

  "God, woman, you do not give up, do you? Thursday, take it or leave it."

  "Thursday's fine. Where?"

  "Russian Cafe. Do you know where that is?"

  "Yes. What time?"

  "Noon."

  "I'll be there."

  She hung up the phone, but remained on the bed another few minutes, still reeling from the conversation. Finally, she opened the bedroom door. She could hear a few beeps from Jims computer. He would be working for the rest of the evening and probably through much of the night, and she felt a wave of loneliness wash over her. She wished she could call her brother, but she hadn't spoken to Ron since their falling out in his office, and she no longer felt as though she could turn to him with her problems. Nor did she want to call any of her friends. They would be busy with their families on a Sunday night, and besides, they had to be tired of hearing her lamentations about Tyler. What had she talked to her friends about before? She couldn't remember.

  She listened for another minute to Jim's methodical tapping on the keyboard of his computer, then walked downstairs to lose herself in her book on one year olds.

  –25–

  Kim was feeding Cody that Wednesday night when Lucy stopped by.

  "Just wanted to give you a few of my magazine clippings." Lucy set a red folder on the kitchen counter. "I thought reading them might make you feel a bit more comfortable about being featured in one of my articles."

  "Thanks." Kim slipped the last spoonful of peas into Cody's mouth, then looked at her neighbor. "By the way, I wanted to let you know that I'm going away for the weekend."

  It had taken her two days to come to a firm decision. Two days to weigh the possibly dire consequences of going to Philadelphia against her need to see Linc. In the end there was no contest. She had to go.

  "Oh, really?" Lucy said. "Where are you going?"

  "New York." She untied Cody's bib and wiped his face with it, avoiding Lucy's eyes. "To visit some friends."

  "Are you taking the train up?"

  "No. I'm driving."

  "Driving in New York! Ugh. Are you sure you want to do that?"

  Kim gave her a reassuring smile. "I've done it lots of times," she said. She had never even stepped foot in New York.

  "You know," Lucy said, "I'd be happy to watch Cody for you. Then you wouldn't have to cart him around with you. I'd love having his company for a few days."

  Kim tried not to react with overt horror to the suggestion. "Oh, that's sweet of you, Lucy." She wet a hand towel and washed Cody's hands. "My New York friends haven't seen him for several months, though, and they'd be furious if I didn't bring him along."

  "Okay." Lucy gave up. "And when you come back we can do that interview."

  "Sure." She glanced at the clock on the stove top. She was supposed to be at Adam's in a few minutes. Lifting Cody out of his high chair, she smiled at her neighbor. "I'm going out now, Mom," she said. "I have a painting lesson with Adam. And I may be gone overnight, so don't worry about me, all right?"

  "That's a pretty long painting lesson." Lucy shook her head as she walked toward the door. Then she laughed. "Don't mind me, dear. I'm just jealous, that's all."

  Kim gave Cody a quick bath and dressed him in his pajamas for the ride to Adam's. Once in the car, though, she took a detour to West Annapolis. She wanted to drive past the home of Ryan Geary, the next victim on the list. She felt the need to see where he lived. It was the only way she could make herself believe that the man and his home were real, not some fictitious name and address on her computer.

  The neighborhood was very different from her own. The houses were large, with spacious, tree-filled yards, and they were set quite a distance back from the street. The Geary house had the distinction of being separated from its neighbors by a small patch of woods on either side. The house was real, all right. It was big enough to hold any number of people, all of whom were in danger.

  Kim finally had a plan of sorts. She would wait until November 6, exactly one week before the bombing was to occur at the Gearys' house. If she'd heard nothing encouraging on the news about the capture of the killer by then, she would have to act. She would send the information on the list to the police, along with a brief letter of explanation, but she'd drive to a town at least a few hours away to mail it. Then she'd sit back and hope that the police would hunt for the killer instead of the messenger.

  She'd considered sending the information
from Philadelphia, but didn't want to take the risk of doing so until she had no other choice. She was hoping against hope that the police would close their net on the bomber before she had to intervene. There hadn't been any mention of the bombings in the paper in nearly a week, and she was beginning to wonder if the police even had a net to close.

  She stopped at a Chinese restaurant a few blocks from Adam's house and picked up some lo mein. Once at Adam's, she tucked Cody into Liam's bed while Adam and Jessie set the kitchen table. Adam was in a good mood—cheerful, hungry, and excited about a dream he'd had the night before.

  "My colors are back," he said as he dug into the lo mein. "Everything's vivid again."

  "The bank mural looks wonderful," Kim said. "It's almost finished, isn't it?"

  "Finished it today, actually," Adam said. "Now I'm starting to think about something new. The Waterfront Museum has been after me to paint a mural on one of the walls of its entryway for years. So I've been telling myself before I go to sleep at night to focus my dreams on the museum. I've already gotten a few ideas."

  "That works?" Kim asked skeptically.

  "It takes some practice, but it definitely works. At least it does for me now that my mind's freed up a bit."

  Jessie looked up from her plate where she'd been running her fork idly through the noodles. "Do you think you should start another painting right away?" she asked. "Maybe you should take a break first."

  "I'm on a roll, Jess." He squeezed his sister's hand reassuringly. "Everything's under control."

  Kim and Adam talked about his dream from the night before, while Jessie continued toying with her food. She helped them do the dishes after they were finished, then excused herself.

  "A friend of mine's coming over to see the kittens," she said. "She has two kids. I'm hoping she'll want a couple of pets for them."

  Upstairs in the studio, Kim worked on her painting of the house across the street from her apartment, while Adam experimented with colors, hunting for the shades in his dream.