CHAPTER7
At eight o’clock Thursday morning, Savannah was in the Vandermeers’ basement, listening to a playback of the call. It was short and concise, coolly professional.
“Hello?” Will had said.
The voice that answered him was just muffled enough to complicate voiceprint analysis without obliterating the words. Its sound was unearthly, chilling Savannah to the bone.
“Do you have the money?” it demanded.
“Yes.”
“Small denominations. In a brown grocery bag.”
“I want to talk to my wife.”
“Tonight. Just you. Eight o’clock.” The voice rattled off an address that meant nothing to Savannah. “There’s a dumpster at the corner. Put the money in and leave. Try anything funny with the cops and you won’t see the lady again.”
“Will she be there—my wife, will she be there?”
“Once the money is safe, she’ll be dropped at a phone booth.”
“She has to be there when I drop the money. She has to be there. I have to know she’s all right—”
The line went dead.
Trembling inside, Savannah swallowed hard. “No Megan,” she whispered and swore softly. They had been counting on some reassurance that Megan was well, but the kidnappers had denied them that, and there wasn’t a thing they could do about it.
Struggling to accept the setback calmly, she looked up at Sam. “Can we get a number?”
“It’s on the way. Don’t hold your breath, though. The call was probably made from a phone booth miles from where they’re holding her.”
“Did you hear any background noise?”
“I didn’t. The lab might. We’ll get them working on it.”
“Do you know the drop spot?”
“Sure do. It’s a construction site in the West End. There’s a dumpster there, plus a lot of dark alleys. He could come and go in any one of a dozen different directions. The site is like a maze. The only chance we stand of catching him would be to cordon off a five-block area, but we can’t do that without being seen.”
“You can’t do anything until he frees Megan,” Susan argued. She was stone sober and very tense. She half wished she was hungover enough to blunt her awareness of what was happening. But Sam Craig hadn’t let her drink enough for that. She had long since decided he was the devil in disguise.
“We could follow him,” Sam said. “If we could get a tail on him, we could bide our time until he contacts an accomplice or gets Megan himself. But in that location, the risk of his seeing us is pretty high.”
Savannah was trying to think of viable alternatives. “What about putting a homing device in with the money?”
“I’m not sure we can risk that either,” Sam replied. “The guy’s smart. He’s going to check the money pretty quick. Chances are he’ll dump it out of the bag into a sack of his own. If he finds anything suspicious, he’d take it out on Megan.”
“How do we know he hasn’t already?” Susan cried. “He wouldn’t let Will talk with her.”
“He was probably calling from a pay phone. Even if Megan had been stashed nearby, he wouldn’t have risked dragging her out in the open.”
Susan didn’t like what Sam said or the factual way he said it. He was too sure of himself, while she was a nervous wreck. “But we don’t have any proof she’s still alive! How can Will hand over the money without knowing?”
“How can he not?” Sam returned.
Slowly and inevitably, the truth of his words sank in. Not even Savannah attempted to deny it.
Hands knotted at her waist, Susan picked at her nail polish. “I can’t stand this. We’re totally powerless. Some criminal is calling the shots, and we’re doing just what he says.”
