Two Little Girls in Blue (40 page)

“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.

W
e'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.

“M
om, 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.

“Mr. Mason, will you please accompany us quietly?” a voice asked.

Richie looked up. Two men were standing there. “FBI,” one of them said.

The stewardess was about to collect Richie's glass. “There must be a mistake,” she protested. “This is Mr. Steven Frawley, not Mr. Mason.”

“I know what it says on the passenger manifest,” FBI Agent Allen said pleasantly. “But right now, Mr. Frawley is on Cape Cod with his family.”

Richie took a last gulp of the single malt scotch that he had been nursing. That's my last scotch for a very, very long time, he thought as he stood up. His fellow passengers were staring at him. He gave them a friendly wave. “Enjoy the trip,” he said. “Sorry I can't join you.”

“W
e have stabilized Kelly, but even though her lungs are clear, she still is having difficulty breathing,” the doctor in pediatric intensive care said gravely. “Kathy, though, is much worse. She is a very, very sick little girl. The bronchitis has developed into pneumonia, and she has obviously been given heavy doses of adult medicine which has depressed her nervous system. I wish I could be more optimistic, but . . .”

Steve, his arms heavily bandaged, sat with Margaret next to the crib. Kathy, almost unrecognizable with her short dark hair and the oxygen mask on her face, was lying perfectly still. The alarm monitoring her respiration had already gone off twice.

Kelly's crib was down the hall in the pediatric wing. Dr. Harris was with her.

“Kelly must be brought in here right away,” Margaret ordered.

“Mrs. Frawley. . . .”

“Right away,” Margaret said. “Kathy needs her.”

N
orman Bond had stayed in his apartment all day Saturday, spending much of the time sitting on the couch, staring out over the East River and catching updates of the Frawley kidnapping on television.

Why did I hire Frawley? he wondered. Was it because I wanted to pretend I could start all over again, that I could turn back time, and be in Ridgefield with Theresa? Did I want to pretend that our twins had lived? They'd be twenty-one years old now.

They think I had something to do with the kidnapping. I was such a fool to refer to Theresa as “my late wife.” I've always been careful to say that I believed she was alive, and that she'd dumped Banks the same way she dumped me.

Ever since the FBI had questioned him, Bond hadn't been able to get Theresa out of his mind, not for one single minute. Before he killed her, she had begged for the life of the twins she was expecting the way Margaret Frawley had begged for the safe return of her children.