Worst Case

Armando, the butler, rushed to answer it.

“There’s an FBI agent in the lobby, sir,” he called to Donald Du

What?! I thought. Who called the FBI?

“Send her up,” Du

“Sure,” I said, exchanging uncertain glances with Detectives Ramirez and Schultz, the other members of my team. We had everything ready to go. Now the Feds were here? What did that mean?

We exchanged much happier looks as a tall, auburn-haired woman came through the door two minutes later. Good-looking women, even ones who were turf-invading FBI agents, were always a pleasant surprise.

She spoke to Donald Du

“Emily Parker,” she said, offering her hand. She had a slight southern or maybe midwestern accent. “Mike Be

“I know you guys are as good as we are. I’m not here in any way to take the case away from you. Just here to coordinate resources you guys might not have, get you on the front of the line for databases and such. This is odd, I know, to come all the way up from Washington and-”

“Wait, what?” I said. “From Washington? Why didn’t they just send someone from Twenty-six Fed?”

“Because I wanted the best,” Donald Du

“It was actually three, but yes.”

Okay, now I saw where this was going. Du

He obviously didn’t realize the strange kind of animal that an investigation in New York City is. I’m sure Homecoming Queen Emily Parker kicked ass out in those big square states where they didn’t have things like subways and Brooklyn and eight million people. The NYPD, despite its gruff demeanor, Bugs Bu

But I knew if I made some kind of jurisdictional stink, the Feds could invoke the Federal Kidnapping Statute and actually take over the case.

Instead of ranting and raving, I stood there politely holding my tongue and keeping a stiff smile.

Chapter 7

“MR. DUNNING, I’D like to speak to you and your wife further in a moment,” Agent Parker said. Her demeanor was the perfect mix of directness and caring. “I just need to go over a few things with Detective Be

“Oh, of course,” Du

That was about as polite a “get lost” as I’d ever seen. I was impressed. Maybe Agent Parker had some chops after all.

She closed the French doors tightly behind him.

“Did you check out the Du

I saw where she was going. It had to be verified from the start that it was, in fact, a stranger kidnapping and not a cover-up for a murder or something else. Step one was ruling out the family. I was way ahead of her.

“Both clean,” I said, nodding. “We’re still checking out the staff. How did the Du

“The mom seems to be in a dissociative fugue, and the father looks like he’s just chugged a quart of battery acid,” Parker said with a shrug. “In this case, both typical responses. You want me to toss their name at the White Collar Squad just in case? Can’t hurt to check out any recent debt or insurance activity. We could even look up psychiatric history, if any.”

Wow, I thought. Talk about trusting no one and nothing. I liked that in a cop.

“Do it,” I said.

She took a pad from her briefcase and scribbled on it.

“Any witnesses to the abduction?” Parker said.

“None,” I said. “A girl in one of his classes has Jacob leaving some shithole in Alphabet City at one o’clock in the morning Saturday.”

“ Alphabet City?” Parker said.

“A neighborhood near his school,” Detective Schultz piped in.

“A skanky one,” added Ramirez.

“Go on,” she said with a nod.

“We’re thinking he was grabbed right then because by the look of things, Jacob never made it back to his dorm room,” I said. “We already interviewed his roommate and tossed the building. Nothing. If he went on a trip, he forgot to tell everyone he knows.”

I handed her the rough copy of the victimology report I’d already done, along with a current photograph.

“This report is excellent,” Parker said, turning the pages with an impressed nod. “Physical characteristics, behavior personality, and family dynamics. This NYPD thing doesn’t work out, we could use you down in Quantico. Tell me about the contact with the kidnapper.”

I went to the desk and pressed Play on the answering machine. Special Agent Parker squinted with surprise as the strange question-and-answer recording echoed through the room.

I clicked it off when it was over.

“Parents confirmed the person being questioned is Jacob,” I said. “Have you ever heard anything like that before?”

Parker shook her head.

“Not even close,” she said. “Sounded like an odd game show or something. Have you?”

I let out a frustrated breath.

“Sort of,” I said. “About a year ago, there was this guy who called himself the Teacher. Like this guy, he would blather on about our unjust society. Right before he blew holes in people.”

“Of course. The spree killer. The plane that crashed in New York Harbor, right? I read about that,” Parker said.

I nodded.

“Wait! The cop in the plane! Be

I nodded again as she took that in.

“So, you think this is some sort of copycat?” Parker said.

I took a breath, remembering how hard I’d knocked on death’s door.

“For this family’s sake,” I said, shaking the last drop of coffee from my cup, “I hope not.”

Chapter 8

EVERY TWO MINUTES or so, Armando came in to refill our china cups from a polished silver coffee urn. I’d told him twice that he didn’t need to go to all the trouble, but he’d turned a deaf ear to us. He seemed as concerned about Jacob as his parents were.

The whirring sound of a mixer started in the kitchen. From the study, I saw Jacob’s mother, tears pouring down her cheeks, her hair mussed, her evening gown covered in flour, open the fridge and go back to the island, carrying eggs.

Armando made the sign of the cross.

“Poor Mrs. D, always she bake when she is upset,” he said in a whisper.

I’d shown Jacob’s room to Agent Parker and had just started going over potential media strategies when Detective Schultz called me over to the study’s window. Outside the Dakota’s main entrance, a black Chevy Suburban with tinted windows had its blue police light flashing on its dashboard.

I immediately called down to the ESU guys doing surveillance on the street.

“What the hell is going on down there?” I said. “Kill those lights. Who is that jackass? This is supposed to be an undercover operation.”

“Someone from the mayor’s office,” an ESU sergeant stationed in the lobby said. “She’s on her way up.”

A minute later, a sharp-featured fifty-something woman with a salon-perfected blond bob came through the apartment’s front door.

“April! I came straight here when I heard the news,” she said.

Mrs. Du