The 6th Target

Chapter 95

AT 8:30 THAT MONDAY MORNING, Miriam Devine took the bundles of mail from the hallway console and brought them into the breakfast nook.

She and her husband had just returned home to Pacific Heights last night after their cruise, ten fabulous days in the Mediterranean, where they were mercifully cut off from phones and television and newspapers and bills.

She wanted to keep the real world at bay for at least a couple of days, keep that vacation feeling a little longer. If only she could.

Miriam made drip coffee, defrosted and toasted two ci

When she found the plain white envelope addressed to the Tylers, she shuffled it to the bottom of the "miscellaneous" pile and continued working, writing checks and tossing junk mail until Jim came into the kitchen.

Her husband drank his coffee standing up, said, "Christ. I don't want to go to the office. It's going to be hell even if no one knows I'm there."

"I'll make meat loaf for di

"Okay. Something to look forward to anyway."

Jim Devine left the house and closed the front door behind him. Miriam finished dealing with mail, rinsed the dishes, and phoned her daughter before calling her next-door neighbor Elizabeth Tyler.

"Liz, honey! Jim and I just got back last night. I have some mail for you that was delivered here by mistake. Why don't I drop over so we can catch each other up?"

Chapter 96

I STOOD WITH CONKLIN in the Tylers' living room. It was only fifteen minutes since their neighbor Miriam Devine had dropped off the handwritten note from the kidnappers.

It had had the effect of an emotional nuclear bomb on Elizabeth Tyler and was having a similar effect on me.

I remembered canvassing the Devines' house the day of the abduction. It was a cream-colored clapboard Victorian almost identical to the Tylers' house, right next door. I'd spoken to the Devines' housekeeper, Guadalupe Perez. She'd told us in broken English that the Devines were away.

Nine days ago, I couldn't have imagined that Guadalupe Perez would have picked up an envelope that had been slid under the door and that she would have stacked it with the rest of the Devines' mail.

No one could have known, but I felt heartsick and responsible anyway.

"How well do you know the Devines?" Conklin asked Henry Tyler, who was furiously pacing the perimeter of the room. There were pictures of Madison on every wall and surface – baby pictures, family portraits, holiday snapshots.

"It's not them, okay? The Devines didn't do it!" Tyler shouted. "Madison is gone!" he yelled, holding his head with both hands as he paced. "It's too late."

I dropped my eyes back to the sideboard and the block letters on the plain white bond that I could read from five feet away:

WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER.

IF YOU CALL LAW ENFORCEMENT, SHE DIES.

IF WE FEEL ANY HEAT, SHE DIES.

RIGHT NOW, MADISON IS HEALTHY AND SAFE, AND WILL STAY THAT WAY AS LONG AS YOU KEEP QUIET.

THIS PHOTO IS THE FIRST. YOU WILL RECEIVE A NEW PICTURE OF MADISON EVERY YEAR. YOU MAY RECEIVE A PHONE CALL. SHE MAY EVEN COME HOME.

BE SMART. BE QUIET.

ONE DAY MADISON WILL THANK YOU.

The photo of Madison that came with the note had been printed out on a home-style printer within an hour of the time she was abducted. The girl seemed clean and unharmed, wearing the blue coat, the red shoes.

"Could he know that we didn't get the note? Could he know that we didn't mean to defy him?"

"I just don't know, Mr. Tyler, and I can't really guess -"

Elizabeth Tyler interrupted me, the cords of her neck standing out as she strained to talk.

"Madison is the brightest, happiest little girl you can imagine. She sings. She plays music. She has the most wonderful laugh.

"Has she been raped? Is she chained to a bed in a basement? Is she hungry and cold? Is she hurt? Is she terrified? Is she calling out for us? Does she wonder why we don't come for her? Or is she past all that now and is safe in God's hands?

"This is all we think about, Officers.

"We have to know what has happened to our daughter. You have to do more than you ever thought you could do," Elizabeth Tyler told me. "You must bring Madison home."

Chapter 97

A PLASTIC BAG WITH THE KIDNAPPER'S NOTE INSIDE was positioned on my desk so that Conklin and I could both read it.

IF YOU CALL LAW ENFORCEMENT, SHE DIES.

IF WE FEEL ANY HEAT, SHE DIES.

We were still rocked by those words, unable to shake the sickening feeling that by actually working the Ricci/Tyler case, we might have brought about Madison's death.

When Dave Stanford arrived at noon, we turned the kidnapper's note over to the FBI. Jacobi ordered a pie from Presto Pizza. Conklin pulled up a chair for Stanford, and we opened our files to him.

An hour later, it still all came down to one lead: the Whittens in Boston and the Tylers in Pacific Heights had the Westwood Registry in common.

We divvied up the client names that Mary Jordan had copied from the Register and started making phone calls. By the time the square box was in the round file, we were ready to go.

Conklin and Macklin went in Stanford's car. And Jacobi and I paired up, partners again for the day.

It was good seeing Jacobi's homely mug beside me, his expanding heft in the driver's seat.

"Pardon me for noticing, but you look like you've been keelhauled," he said.

"This goddamned case is making me sick. But since you mention it, Jacobi, I'm wondering about something. Did it ever occur to you to lie to me when I look like hell?"

"I don't think so, no."

"I guess that's one of the things I love about you."

"Ah, don't get mushy on me now." He gri

Over the next five hours, we tracked down and interviewed four Westwood Registry clients and their na

It was a short meeting because our combined twenty-five man-hours had yielded nothing but praise for the Westwood Registry and their imported five-star na

At around seven p.m. we told one another we'd pick it up again in the morning. I crossed Bryant, got my car out of the lot, and headed toward Potrero Hill.

Streetlights were winking on all across the city as I parked outside my home sweet home.

My hand was on the car-door handle when something eclipsed the light coming in from the passenger-side window, throwing me into shadow.

My heart hammered as I swung my head around and a dark figure came into view. It took a few seconds for my brain to put it all together. Even then, I doubted my eyes.

It was Joe.