No Second Chance

“Is that how you dealt with what you heard this morning?”

He thought about that. “What Kat said. What she did in the past. It don’t matter much. There’s a core. I’ve slept with that woman for eight years. I know the core.”

“I don’t know Rachel that well.”

“Yeah, you do. Look at her.” I did. And I felt something airy and light travel through me. “She got beaten up. She got shot, for Chrissake.” He paused. I wasn’t looking, but I bet he shook his mane in disgust. “You let that go, you know what you are?”

“A dumb-ass.”

“Aprofessional dumb-ass. You give up your amateur status.”

Rachel hung up the phone and hurried back over. Maybe it was something Verne said, but I could swear that I saw a bit of fire back in her eyes. In that dress, with her hair mussed, with the confident lick-the-world smile, I was transported back. It didn’t last long. No more than a moment or two. But maybe it was enough.

“Bang?” I asked.

“Cannon-fire, Fourth-of-July bang.” She starting tapping with the stylus again. “I just need to do one more thing. In the meantime, look at this atlas.”

I pulled it over. Verne looked over my shoulder. He smelled like motor oil. There were all kinds of markings on the atlas—little stars, crosses, but the thickest line was a circuitous route. I recognized enough of it.

“That’s the route the kidnappers took last night,” I said. “When we were following them.”

“Right.”

“What’s with all the stars and stuff?”

“Okay, first thing. Look at the actual route they took. Up north over the Tappan Zee. Then west. Then south. Then west again. Then back east and north.”

“They were stalling,” I said.

“Right. It’s like we said. They were setting up that trap for us at your house. But think about it a second. Our theory is that someone from law enforcement warned them about the Q-Logger, right?”

“So?”

“So no one knew about the Q-Logger until you were at the hospital. That means, for at least part of the journey, they wouldn’t have known I was tailing them.”

I wasn’t sure I followed, but I said, “Okay.”

“Do you pay your phone bill online?” she asked.

The subject change threw me for a moment. “Yes,” I said.

“So you get a statement, right? You click on the link, you sign in, you can see all your calls. It probably has a reverse directory link too—so you can click on the number and see who you called.”

I nodded. It did.

“Well, I got Denise Vanech’s last phone bill.” She held up a hand. “Don’t worry about how. Again it’s fairly easy. Harold could probably do it by hacking, if he had more time, but having a connection or a giving a bribe is easier. Now with the Internet billing, it’s easier than ever.”

“Harold sent you her bill online?”

“Yep. Anyway, Ms. Vanech makes a fair amount of calls. That’s what took me so long. We’ve been sorting through them, finding the names, then the addresses.”

“And a name popped out?”

“No, an address did. I wanted to see if she called anybody on the kidnapper’s route.”

Now I saw where she was going. “And I assume the answer is yes?”

“Better than yes. Remember when they stopped at the MetroVista office complex?”

“Sure.”

“Over the past month, Denise Vanech placed six calls to the law office of a Steven Bacard.” Rachel pointed to the star she’d drawn on the map. “At MetroVista.”

“A lawyer?”

“Harold is going to see what he can dig up, but again I just used Google. The name Steven Bacard pops up frequently.”

“In what context?”

Rachel smiled again. “His expertise is adoption.”

Verne said, “Sweet mother of God.”

I sat back and tried to digest it all. Warning lights flashed, but I wasn’t sure what they meant. Katarina came back to the table. Verne told her what we’d found. We were getting close. I knew that. But I felt adrift. My cell phone—or should I say, Zia’s—rang. I looked down at the Caller ID. It was Lenny. I debated not answering, remembering what Zia had said. But of course, Lenny would know about the possibility of a tap. He had been the one who warned Zia.

I hit the answer button.

“Let me talk first,” Lenny said before I could even utter a hello. “For the record, if this is being taped, this conversation is between an attorney and his client. It is thus protected. Marc, don’t tell me where you are. Don’t tell me anything that would force me to lie. You understand?”

“Yes.”

“Did your trip bear fruit?” he asked.

“Not the fruit we wanted. Not yet anyway. But we’re getting very close.”

“Any way I can help?”

“I don’t think so.” Then, “Wait.” I remembered that Lenny had handled my sister’s arrests. He had been her main legal advisor. “Did Stacy ever say anything to you about adoption?”

“I’m not following.”

“Did she ever think about giving up a baby for adoption, or in any way mention adoption to you?”

“No. Is this somehow connected with the kidnapping?”

“Could be.”

“I don’t remember anything like that. Look, they might be taping us, so let me tell you why I called. They found a dead body at your house—a man shot twice in the head.” Lenny knew that I was already aware of this. I assumed that he was saying this for the benefit of whoever might be eavesdropping. “They haven’t made an ID, but they did locate the murder weapon in the Christies’ backyard.”

I was not surprised. Rachel had figured that they’d plant the gun somewhere.

“The thing is, Marc, the murder weapon is your old gun, the one that’s been missing since the shooting at your house. They already ran a ballistics test. You and Monica were shot with two different thirty-eights, remember?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that gun—yourgun—was one of the two used that morning.”

I closed my eyes. Rachel mouthed a “what?” at me.

“I better go,” Lenny said. “I’ll look into Stacy and an adoption angle, if you want. See what I can dig up.”

“Thanks.”

“Stay safe.”