The Zero Night

2

Even when Jonathan Stride was asleep, his mind was usually conscious of his wife leaving their bed, of the crunch of her footsteps on the gravel outside the open window, of the growl of her Mustang’s engine as she drove off. He knew when she’d been called away and wasn’t surprised to wake up alone. But this time, his eyes opened with a start. He’d been vaguely aware of her getting up, but he hadn’t heard her leave the house, and at least half an hour had passed since then.

He threw back the blanket and dropped his feet on the cold bedroom floor. As he did, he felt a tug in his chest, as if someone had given him a sharp punch to the ribs. Most of the pain had gone away over the past fourteen months of rehabilitation, after the surgery that had saved his life. He was running again, lifting weights again, feeling maybe 80 to 90 percent of the man he’d been before he was shot. However, his bones gave him a bracing reminder every morning of what he’d gone through on the operating table.

Stride went to the bedroom window and checked the driveway. He’d been right. Serena’s car was still there. Bare-chested and barefoot, he went into the living room, where the lights were off. When his eyes adjusted, he saw Serena sitting on the brick hearth of the fireplace. Her chin was balanced on her hands, her head down, her black hair mostly covering her face.

“What’s going on?” he asked quietly. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t move at all.

“Serena?”

She finally looked up stiffly, like a statue coming to life. “Samantha’s dead.”

Stride took a long, slow breath in silence. He hadn’t expected that news, but he realized what it meant. Samantha dying created a labyrinth of emotions for Serena, and a Minotaur was hiding in those dark corridors.

When he went and sat down beside her, he didn’t tell her he was sorry. She wouldn’t have wanted to hear that. He also didn’t try to comfort her. Given the history between Serena and her mother, this loss was prickly and precarious, and she didn’t need empty gestures from him.

“Was it an overdose?” he asked.

“You’d think, right?” Serena replied in a flat, calm voice. “But no. Heart attack, they said. Although I’m sure all those years of addiction played a part.”

“I imagine so.”

“She was homeless again,” Serena added. “They found her in a park south of the airport.”

“Do you need to go out there?”

“It’s not my responsibility,” she retorted sharply.

“I didn’t say it was.”

Serena shut her mouth, as if regretting her outburst. He watched her foot tapping sporadically on the floor, a nervous tic like Morse code.

“The body’s in the county morgue,” she went on in a softer tone. “I told them I’d find somebody to pick it up and arrange for cremation.”

“Okay.”

“I really don’t care what they do with her ashes.”

“Okay.”

“I could hear it in the cop’s voice,” she added with a little jerk of her head, like electricity had shot through her neck. “He was thinking, what kind of daughter lets her mother end up homeless?”

“I doubt he was thinking that.”

“Oh, he was.”

“You didn’t owe Samantha anything, not after what she did to you.”

“You don’t need to tell me that. Believe me, I know.”

“How long has it been since the last time?” Stride asked.

“I don’t remember. Seven or eight years now. I figured she was probably already dead. The last time, I told the cops to let her know I was done with her forever. No more bail money. No more anything, never again. She was on her own. And that’s how it worked out. She ended up dying alone in a park.”

Stride said nothing.

“The cops found my name and number folded up inside a cheap locket,” Serena went on. “That’s how they located me. She still had my number, but she never called. I guess she got the message, huh? I didn’t want to hear from her anymore. The cop also said there was a photo of a little girl in the locket. Jet-black hair, green eyes. Guess who?”

Stride exhaled sharply. He couldn’t stop himself from saying it. “I’m sorry.”

“Samantha,” Serena hissed, like the name was poison on her tongue. “Did she think keeping my picture would somehow change my mind? That I’d forget what she did? I swear, I will never forgive her. Not ever.”

“No one’s asking you to.”

Serena wiped her face, as if she should have been crying, but there were no tears. Then she got up from the hearth with another electric twitch of her head. “Anyway, I have to go. Maggie needs me on a case.”

“Take the day off,” Stride suggested. “Mags can get by without you. She’s got Guppo.”

“I’d rather work.”

“Come on, we’ll go for an early breakfast somewhere. Just you and me. Then we can drive up the north shore to Split Rock.”

“I said no.” She breathed raggedly, her chest swelling. “Right now, I just want to forget all about this, okay? Samantha’s dead. That sorry chapter of my life is finally over. I can move on.”

He stood up beside her. “Are you going to call Alice?”

Alice Frye was a therapist. Serena hadn’t had good luck with therapists for most of her life, but Alice was different — a seventy-something ex-hippie who told filthy jokes and didn’t treat Serena like a busted toy. For months, Serena had kept her visits to Alice a secret, but eventually she’d admitted that she’d been seeing her. That was a big part of how Serena, who’d been a closed door when he first met her, had finally opened up and let out the things she’d gone through as a child. But she’d concluded more than a year ago that she didn’t go to therapy anymore. She was done. Cured. That was what she’d told him. Stride thought she was making a mistake.

“Samantha has been out of my life for years,” Serena insisted. “This doesn’t change anything. I’m fine.”

“Maybe so, but talking to Alice couldn’t hurt.”

“I appreciate the concern, Jonny, but I’m fine. Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll text you later.”

“Sure.”

He watched her go. At the back of the house, he heard the slam of the door as usual, then the crunch of her footsteps as usual, and then the roar of her Mustang as usual. She sped away with a squeal of her tires the way she always did.

She wasn’t fine.

Maggie sipped coffee in the deserted breakfast area of the Comfort Suites tourist hotel in Canal Park. Gavin sat across the table from her with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He stirred hot chocolate that he’d made from a powder packet. A gas fireplace beside them gave off a little heat, but she still felt the chill of her wet hair and the dampness that had made its way inside her clothes. Outside, rain continued to pound the boardwalk. All she could see in the lakeside windows were their own blurry reflections.

“We’ll be mounting a search for your wife,” she told him, “but I need to know what happened. Tell me everything, right from the beginning.”

Gavin worked the stirring stick around the cup without drinking any of the hot chocolate. “What day is it?” he asked, with the vacant stare of someone overwhelmed by the smallest details. “Is it Friday?”

“Yes. Early Friday morning.”

“I got home late on Tuesday. It was after ten o’clock. I’d been with my parents in Rice Lake for a couple of days, and I drove home after dinner. It took about two hours.”

“Why didn’t Chelsey go with you to Rice Lake?” Maggie asked.

Gavin shrugged. “Spending time with the in-laws? That wasn’t her thing.”

“When did you last talk to her?”

“I called her before I drove home, to tell her I was on my way. That was around eight fifteen or eight thirty.”

“Did she sound okay?”

“Yes.”

“She was home?”

“Yes, she said she was watching a movie.”

“Where do you live?”

“We have a little house on 5th Street on Observation Hill. We used to have a place on Skyline, but we sold it and got this place instead. It’s a lot cheaper, but it still has a view.”

“Do you have neighbors close by?”

“A few. One next door, plus some houses on the north side of the hill. They look down on our place.”

“Okay, go on,” Maggie said.

“I got home and parked in the driveway. We have a one-car garage, and Chelsey usually parks her car there. I went inside the house through the downstairs door and called out to let her know I was home. She didn’t answer, which surprised me. Usually, she’s up late. I checked the garage, and I saw her car was there, so I called again, but she still didn’t respond. So I went upstairs to the main level of the house. The front door was open and the window shattered. There was a lot of damage in the hallway, furniture overturned, pictures off the wall, like there’d been some kind of fight. When I turned on the light, I saw... I saw blood, too. Not much, but some on the wall and the floor. Chelsey was gone.”

“Why not call the police?” Maggie asked.

“I was about to do that when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but — I don’t know — somehow I knew I had to answer it. When I did, I heard Chelsey on the other end. She was screaming, terrified. Then she got cut off with a cry, like somebody hit her. And there was this voice. It wasn’t a real voice. It was electronic. This voice said, we have your wife. If you call the police, she’ll be killed immediately. Follow instructions, and you can get her back.”

“The caller said we?”

Gavin nodded.

“When you were driving home from Rice Lake, did you notice anyone following you? Did you see anyone parked on the street near your house?”

“No, but it was dark, so I’m not sure I would have noticed.”

“What instructions did the kidnappers give you?” Maggie asked.

“They gave me two days to gather one hundred thousand dollars in cash. They said I’d find a small red backpack in the kitchen. I was supposed to put the money in there after I got it.”

“And then?”

“And then wait. They said they’d call back on Thursday evening with further instructions on where to drop the backpack. Then they told me again that if I brought in the police, I’d never hear from them. Chelsey would be killed.”

Maggie eased backward, the front legs of her chair lifting off the ground. She studied Gavin over the steaming top of her foam coffee cup. “Did they give you any clue about who they were? Or anything that indicated their motive or their connection to you?”

“No, there was nothing like that,” Gavin replied. “It was a short call. They made their demands and hung up.”

“Have you received any threats lately?”

“No.”

“What about unhappy clients?”

Gavin shrugged. “If I lose a case, clients are always unhappy.”

Maggie nodded thoughtfully as she took another sip of coffee. “One hundred thousand dollars? That was the ransom demand?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s what you gave them?”

“Yes.”

“I have some questions about that.”

“I’m sure you do.”

She dropped the front legs of the chair back on the floor and leaned across the table. “No offense, Gavin, but you’re not some corporate partner. I see your ads on bus-stop benches. I can’t imagine you coming up with a thousand dollars to pay off a ransom, let alone a hundred grand. Where did you get that kind of money?”

Gavin glanced around at the empty tables in the breakfast room, as if invisible people were listening to them. “My circumstances have changed recently.”

“How so?”

“A few months ago, my only sister died of cancer. She was a widow and had no kids. She and I were close. I was her sole beneficiary.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

“Around three million dollars.”

Maggie whistled softly. “Who knew about this windfall?”

“I don’t know. Probably a lot of people. Chelsey and I told a few friends, and I suppose my parents did, too. I have no idea how far it went from there, but gossip travels fast.”

“So people knew you could afford a sizable ransom.”

“I guess so.”

“Bank accounts are one thing, but getting your hands on cash is another. You go to a bank and ask for that kind of money, they’re going to ask questions. There are required disclosures. How’d you get it?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Gavin replied.

“Why not?”

He shrugged and still didn’t answer.

“Attorney-client privilege?” Maggie guessed. “You went to one of your clients.”

“No comment.”

“Who was it?” she went on. “Someone in the drug trade who traffics in illegal cash? I imagine you paid a hell of a premium. What was the vig? A hundred and fifty will get you a hundred?”

“No comment,” he repeated.

“Come on, I need a name, Gavin.”

“I can’t give you one.”

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that the kidnappers might be connected to your client?” Maggie persisted. “There aren’t many ways to get your hands on that kind of cash, and yet these people knew you could do it quickly.”

He shook his head firmly, refusing to tell her more. “The bottom line is, I got the money I needed. I had one hundred thousand dollars in cash stuffed in the red backpack.”

Maggie frowned. “Go on. What happened next? When did they call?”

“Nine o’clock last night.”

“Same phone number?”

“No, it was a different number this time, but the same electronic voice.”

“Did you talk to Chelsey?”

“Yes. I said no money unless I talked to her. They put her on the phone for a few seconds and then cut her off again.”

“So as of six hours ago, she was alive.”

“Yes.”

“What did they tell you to do?” Maggie asked.

“At exactly midnight, I was supposed to park on Harbor Drive where the road curves between the aquarium and the DECC. They said they’d be watching me. When they were sure I was alone — no cops — a car would come up beside me with its passenger window open. I was supposed to toss the backpack inside. When they verified the cash, they said they would call back and let me know where to find Chelsey. So I locked the backpack inside my briefcase and did what they said. I drove down here in the rain and waited.”

“Why the briefcase?”

He shrugged. “It was a Hello Kitty backpack. If anyone saw me, I figured that would raise questions.”

“Did the car show up?”

Gavin shook his head. “No. There was no car. They switched the drop. I got a second call at twelve fifteen, and they told me to take the backpack and get out of the car. I did. There was a motorboat in the bay right near where I was parked. The caller said to take the backpack to the water’s edge and toss it to the person in the boat. So that’s what I did. Once he had the backpack, he gunned the boat’s engine and left.”

“Toward the lake? Through the lift bridge?”

“No, the other way. Back into the harbor.”

“How many people were in the boat?”

“Just the one.”

“Did you see what this person looked like?”

“No. He wore a hood.”

“You’re sure it was a he?”

“Well, the build was male. Otherwise, I couldn’t see any distinguishing features. He had a hood, raincoat, gloves. I couldn’t tell you how tall he was or whether he was fat or skinny.”

“What about the boat?”

“It was dark-colored, probably blue or black, but in the rain, I couldn’t be sure. Sleek, very powerful, lots of speed. I only saw it for a few seconds, and it was gone.”

“And then?” Maggie asked.

“And then nothing. I waited in my car to get the phone call. When it didn’t come, I tried calling back the phone numbers they’d used. Neither one was in service. I imagine the phones are somewhere on the bottom of the bay. That’s it, Lieutenant. That’s all I can tell you. When almost three hours had gone by, I realized they had no intention of giving Chelsey back to me. That’s when I finally did what I should have done at the beginning. I called you.”