“But these new people, Ginny and Chris—”
“Are right now cruising around talking with car dealers asking about recent purchases or rentals of vans. What we have to do,” she explained in a soft but urgent voice, “is to think like the kidnappers. We have to psych them out. We have to reconstruct what they’ve already done and, from there, plot what they’re going to do.”
Realizing that she had Will’s full attention, she continued. “A crime like kidnapping isn’t committed on the spur of the moment. It’s carefully planned. The kidnappers have probably been in this area for a while. They knew about you, knew that you had the means to deliver three million dollars. They probably staked the house out for a while before they chose their time of day and entry point.
“Given the distance from this house to the next and to the woods behind you, chances are slim your neighbors would be of help. So we’ll focus on the commission of the crime. The kidnappers needed some form of transportation, preferably something without windows. A van would be perfect. They could have stolen one, but that would have been risky. We’ll check it out anyway, but at the same time Ginny and Chris will concentrate on finding a dealership in Providence that sold a van within the past few days to anyone at all suspicious. I also have two people in the office making calls—” She held up a hand against the objection Will was about to make. “They don’t know what case they’re working on, simply that they’re supposed to canvas the area beyond Providence about the recent rental or purchase of a van. They’re collecting names, that’s all, and they’re parading as members of the consumer protection division. No one will ever suspect what we want the information for.”
Will was temporarily mollified, if begrudgingly so, but Savannah was satisfied with that.
“When Ginny and Chris feel they’ve exhausted the dealerships,” she went on, “they’ll move on to local motels. The kidnappers have Megan stashed somewhere. If I were a kidnapper, I’d want a place near an airport for a quick getaway.” She paused to look at him beseechfully. “Do you see what we’re trying to do?”
Will nodded unhappily. “I just wish there were a safer way of doing it. The note says no police. I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if we find Megan dead.”
“We won’t find her dead,” Savannah said with a force that was more personal than professional. Determinedly, she lowered her voice again. “Let’s make sure we don’t.” She picked up her pen. “I’ll need the names of your plant managers.”
Will stared at her for a minute, then, in a tight voice, he gave her the names. On further questioning and only after significant prodding on her part, he also provided her with a list of workmen and service personnel who had been at the house in the last month. He gave her the names of the valets at the club, Megan’s hairdresser, and the cab company Megan regularly used. When, slightly appalled, he asked whether Savannah was planning to contact all those people, she shook her head.
“Since you don’t feel that anyone you’ve seen recently has behaved at all strangely, we won’t do anything at this point but keep their names on a list. If it turns out that the valet at the club bought a van yesterday, Ginny and Chris will pay him a discreet visit.”
Setting down her pen, she rose and poured two cups of coffee. After she’d given Will his, she put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I think I’ll wander around for a few minutes. I’ll be back.”
Heading out of the kitchen, she passed through the large foyer, continued on through the living room, and cautiously opened the library door. Sam Craig was on his knees on the carpet, gently pushing something Savannah couldn’t see into a plastic bag. His partner, Hank Shanski, was carefully dusting the part of the bookshelf that had been disturbed. They wore their jackets to protect them from the cold air blowing from the broken glass door.
At her appearance, they both looked up. With a smile, Sam asked, “How’s it going?”
She answered eloquently by raising her eyebrows. Clasping the coffee cup for the warmth it yielded, she looked around. The scene was much as Will had described. Had she not been prepared for the damage, she would have been far more upset. Right now her professionalism overrode any panic she felt within.
“How about here?” she asked. “Are you finding much?”
Hank answered first. Of medium build, he was the more easygoing of the two. Totally dedicated to his work, the row of studs in his left ear was his token rebellion. “Lots of prints.Lotsof prints. Of course, unless these books have been wiped down real good sometime in the last fifty years, we could be cataloguing prints of several generations of Vandermeers.”
Savannah would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so frustrating. “That’s swell. We can fingerprint Will for reference and probably get a makeup or perfume bottle with Megan’s prints on it, but the Vandermeers of days past?” Pulling her blazer more tightly around her, she shook her head, then turned to Sam. “Anything over there?”
Sammy Craig was the true freethinker of the duo. One need not look at the patches in the knees of his jeans or the faded Snoopy that graced the front of his sweatshirt or the dark, wavy hair that fell to his shoulders to guess that. One look in his clear brown eyes and anyone could tell that he was daring. His most invaluable skill as a detective was his imagination. In some respects she felt it was a waste to have him searching for samples for the lab, rather than working in the field, but she trusted Sammy more than any other cop. She wanted him here with Will.
Sam looked at her and said, “I’ve picked up some bits of dirt—probably from the garden—and a couple of fragmented footprints. Whether they’ll tell us anything, I don’t know.” He sat back on his haunches. “We’re dealing with pros. Whoever did this didn’t make any mistakes. I checked the patio, but there’s nothing—no trampled shrubbery, no broken branches, no discarded gloves. They picked their day well. If there were any tracks over the lawn, the rain has obliterated them.”
He glanced at the French doors. “I looked real close at those. The break was definitely from the outside, probably made with a large mallet of some sort.” He smirked at Savannah. “Not your croquet variety. Whoever did this brought his own tools, then took them away with him when he was done.”
Pensive, she nodded. “Have you been through the rest of the house?”
“Not yet. Did Vandermeer find anything disturbed anywhere else?”
“No.”
Sam looked around the room. “My guess is that everything took place right here. The kidnappers knew that Megan would come downstairs at some point during the night. There’s no covering on the French doors, so once she put on the light, she was in a goldfish bowl. They broke through the glass, opened the door, grabbed her, dropped the note on the desk, and walked out.” He looked at Savannah with intently curious eyes. “What I can’t figure out is how her husband slept through it.”
Savannah wondered about that, too. The sound of a large object hitting glass would have made a racket. Besides, she assumed Megan would have screamed. “There are signs that she fought them. They must have silenced her somehow. Any traces of chloroform, or another kind of drug?”
Slowly and deliberately, Sam shook his head. “No obvious spills or drips. There was a dried ring of something on the desk, but it smells like coffee. It’s probably been there several days. I’ve taken a sample. The lab will know for sure.” He held Savannah’s gaze. “No sign of any bodily fluids.”
She swallowed hard. “Which means she wasn’t cut.”
“Or raped.”
“Yes.” She took a deep, slightly shaky breath and let it out in a shiver as she wrapped an arm around her middle. “God, it’s cold in here.”
Returning to his work, Sam said, “Give me a minute, and I’ll warm you up.”
