Words of Conviction Read online

  “Don’t say a word!” Thompson said to the senator. He sat on the edge of his seat. “Senator, I strongly advise you not to engage in this line of questioning.”

  “Although it could be the most productive,” Scott said. “As you yourself pointed out, Senator, most of the people you’ve named would not be considered prime suspects. Anyone who’s engaged in criminal activity, on the other hand . . .”

  “Bruce, don’t do it!”

  Senator Grable took a deep breath, looked up at the ceiling, and closed his eyes. Kenzie could see the veins in his neck popping out. When he opened his eyes he focused on the fancy penholder on his desk, refusing eye contact with Scott. “I can’t go there, Hansbrough. On the advice of my counsel.”

  Scott waited to see what would come next. After a full minute, he gathered his notebook and said, “All right, Senator. Would you be willing to take a polygraph? On the other issues?”

  “Of course!”

  Scott nodded. “We’ll keep you advised.” He and Kenzie stood up to leave. “One more thing, sir. If we could have a list of your associates at the Senate, in all of your offices, in fact, including contact information. Volunteers as well.”

  “I’ll have my secretary get it to you as soon as I can reach her.”

  “Thank you, Senator. It’s worth waking her up.” Scott and Kenzie turned toward the door.

  “Hansbrough!”

  They looked back at the senator, who rose from behind his desk and walked toward them.

  “I want you to know I don’t like you—or her—one bit.” Grable jabbed the air with his forefinger. “But I expect you to find Zoe. You find my little girl!”

  “That’s my job, sir. I intend to do it.”

  “I’ll tell you one more thing. You fail at this and I will crush you. Your career will be over. What’s more, I’ll do everything I can to make sure your director gets nothing he wants on the Hill. Ever.”

  Scott nodded. “I understand.”

  “Do it, Hansbrough. Find Zoe!”

  4

  No pressure,” Scott said to Kenzie in a low voice after they’d left the senator’s office. He shook his head. “What did you think?”

  “I don’t think he had anything to do with Zoe’s disappearance.”

  Scott nodded.

  “But his marriage is in trouble.”

  He looked at her.

  “Did you hear his answer when you said, ‘How’s your marriage?’ He hesitated, then responded with a question. ‘What are you insinuating?’ he said. That’s not an answer. That’s deception. He’s hiding something.”

  Scott raised his eyebrows.

  “And what about the others who might have bribed him?” Kenzie asked. “He wouldn’t answer that line of questioning, obviously, but I think the area’s a good place to look.”

  “I agree. Let’s give him a little time. He may open up later. In the meantime, I’ll get somebody on the ones we know about already.” Scott set his jaw. “Come on. Let’s rally the troops.”

  There were half a dozen FBI agents in the house, leaders of the teams currently staged around D.C., waiting for orders. Scott called them into the dining room. Kenzie checked her watch. Two-fifty a.m. Scott had set up his files and computer in the middle position of the large table, with his back to a huge buffet. Typically, he liked to have a view of the entrances and exits of whatever room he worked in, Kenzie knew. It was the fallout of many years of being on the street.

  Kenzie chose a position standing next to the wall near him. She watched the agents arrange themselves in the room. She didn’t know most of them, but she recognized Jocelyn, a dark-haired, olive-skinned agent in her mid-thirties; Alicia Sheerling, a member of Scott’s squad; and an African-American agent named Jesse. The last person to walk in the room was a slender, ruddy-faced man with high cheekbones, black hair, and piercing black eyes. He walked in like he’d be comfortable anywhere. Another Scott. He looked in her direction. Their eyes met briefly.

  “All right,” Scott said, clearing his throat. “Let me update you. The last time Mrs. Grable saw Zoe was at 6:30 p.m., when she said goodbye on the way to her mah-jongg game. She reported her missing at 10:30 p.m., so we’re a little over four hours now. Ninety percent of these situations are resolved in twenty-four hours. Most of these crimes are perpetrated by sexual predators. Kidnapping for ransom is very, very rare.

  “Should we get a communication, the tracking van is ready to roll, as is a chopper. The door-to-door in this neighborhood has revealed nothing so far, which doesn’t surprise me . . . there is so much traffic up and down this street, a strange car wouldn’t be noticed.

  “We’ve set up a website on the secure net with this password: jeh127lf. That’s j. edgar hoover 127 louis freeh. Got it? When you get on that site, you will need to set up your own access code. There you will find the database we are using to organize the information we collect. Please upload your data as often as you can. Also, I want to be in direct telephone contact with each of you at least once every three hours. This child’s life could depend on us connecting the dots sooner rather than later.”

  The sound of shuffling filled the room. Everyone seemed anxious to get on with it. Scott continued, “Jocelyn, you go to the hospital and stick with the nanny. There’s a cop there already. I understand the nanny’s still unconscious. The minute she wakes up, the minute the doctors will let you have access to her—find out everything you can.

  “Alicia, you check out the senator’s staff. He’s getting a list for us now. Find out where each of them was last evening. Verify it. And for the ones back home in Illinois, contact the Chicago office and get them on it. When you’re finished with that, here’s a list of people the senator considers political enemies.” The agent nodded.

  “All right, Jesse, check on the mah-jongg players. Verify Mrs. Grable’s presence. Check out her demeanor. The time she arrived and the time she departed. If she got any phone calls or text messages. Cover all the bases.”

  Scott continued passing out assignments: Family and friends, financial contacts, sexual offenders known to be in the area, similar crimes committed elsewhere in the country, and finally the senator’s social contacts.

  The dark-haired, dark-eyed man was last. “Crow,” Scott said.

  Kenzie looked up.

  “Crow, I want you and your people to get background on the nanny and her relatives . . . everything. And the contractors who have worked on the house recently. Here’s a list.”

  “Got it.”

  “All right. That’s a start. Have at it.”

  “Crow?” Kenzie asked when everyone else had gone.

  “John Crowfeather. Everyone calls him Crow.”

  “Is he an American Indian?”

  Scott nodded. “Full-blooded Navajo. His grandfather was one of the World War II Code Talkers. You should get to know him. He’s interesting. And he’s single.”

  “Maybe I’ll wait until we find Zoe,” Kenzie responded dryly. She thought she’d broken Scott of his habit of trying to set her up. She changed the subject. “All right, victimology: I’d like to see Zoe’s room.”

  “Go up the stairs, take a left, and come back toward the front of the house. You can’t miss it. It’s pink.”

  Kenzie stood just inside the doorway of Zoe’s room, ignoring the black fingerprint powder that marred the pale pink of the walls and the white paint on the trim, looking instead at the décor and feel of the room. How long had it been since she’d been in a little girl’s room? Zoe’s furniture was white, trimmed in gold, and the curtains were white dotted Swiss—very old-fashioned and feminine, and charming, actually. In one corner lay a pile of stuffed animals. Next to it stood a tiny table and two bears having a tea party.

  Kenzie took a deep breath. She had come to get a sense of Zoe’s personality, to study the victim to get a clue about the psychology of the perpetrator. But instead of discovering Zoe Grable, she had unexpectedly come face-to-face with herself.

  Was it the pi
nk-and-white striped polished cotton bedspread? The stuffed animals? The shelf chock-full of books? Or the small cradle with its bald-headed baby doll?

  All of that, plus the light scent of fresh linens and the tiny sock on the floor, instantly transported her back to age five. As the only child of her father’s second marriage she had spent many hours alone in her own pink room, playing with dolls and stuffed dogs, creating her own companions, acting out the melodrama she so often heard coming up through the heating grates when both of her parents were home.

  She had adored her father. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, a successful entrepreneur, her dad lit up her world when he came home. In contrast, her mother seemed to be perpetually angry, angry with Kenzie’s dad and jealous of his relationship with their little girl. Still, every day, late in the afternoon, Kenzie kept her ears perked for the sound of her dad’s car, for the tune he so often whistled or his voice calling out, “Where’s my baby girl?”

  She was twelve the last time she heard it.

  Fingering a stuffed brown dog in Zoe’s room, Kenzie thrust away the memories. No time for that now. She had to stay in the present. She had work to do.

  She moved toward the window. It was locked tightly, and the sill was unmarred. It appeared whoever took Zoe simply came in through the door and probably left the same way. Had they taken anything from the room? Using a pen she carefully slid a dresser drawer open enough to peek inside. She had no way of knowing for sure, but it looked to her about half-empty, like some clothes were missing. If so, that was a good sign. The kidnapper intended to keep Zoe alive long enough to need them.

  “Kenzie!” Scott’s voice boomed up the stairwell.

  “Here!” she said, emerging from Zoe’s room.

  “I need you.”

  Kenzie moved down the stairs and entered the dining room where’d they’d set up a temporary command center. “What’s up?”

  “We got an audio file of the 911 call.”

  She stood behind the table, and Scott clicked on the file he’d loaded into his computer. Kenzie held her breath as the slightly distorted audio played.

  Operator: 911. Do you need police, fire, or ambulance?

  Caller: Oh God! Help me! She’s gone, she’s gone!

  Operator: What is your address, ma’am?

  Caller: It’s my house! 3217 27th Street NW.

  Operator: OK, calm down. Now, who is gone?

  Caller: My baby! I came home and she’s . . . she’s not here!

  Operator: Could I have your name?

  Caller: This is Elizabeth Grable. Senator Grable’s wife.

  Operator: How old is the child, ma’am?

  Caller: Five! She’s only five!

  Operator: And what’s her name?

  Caller: Zoe. Zoe Grable.

  Operator: I’m dispatching the police. They’ll be there shortly. Did you check outside? Maybe she just went into the yard.

  Caller: She’s gone, I’m telling you, she’s gone! He’s going to kill me . . . oh God! My husband will kill me!

  Operator: Is your husband at home?

  Caller: Oh, no . . . oh, no . . .

  Operator: Ma’am? Is your husband with you?

  Caller: No.

  Operator: I can hear sirens. Go to the front door and let the police in.

  Caller: Officer! Officer!

  Scott looked at Kenzie as the digital recording stopped. “What do you think?”

  “Let me listen to it with headphones on,” she said, and she pulled some good headphones out of her briefcase and plugged them in. She sat down and listened again, taking notes, concentrating on the words Beth used. Then she took off the headphones and placed them next to the laptop. “Honestly, she sounds sincere. But what’s the most obvious thing?”

  “Besides her hysteria?” Scott replied.

  “She never mentions the nanny. It’s like she doesn’t exist.”

  “Why would that be?”

  Kenzie shrugged. “Maybe she wishes she didn’t exist. Maybe Beth considers her totally unimportant. Maybe she’s jealous of her. Also, she keeps saying ‘Help ME!’ not ‘help us’ or ‘we need your help.’ And she refers to ‘my house’ and ‘my baby.’ Those are fairly narcissistic statements.”

  “She says her husband will kill her.”

  “In context, I think she means figuratively. But still, it indicates conflict.”

  Scott rubbed his jaw.

  “She repeats herself a lot during the call,” Kenzie said, looking at her notes. “She says, ‘she’s gone, she’s gone!’ and then ‘Zoe. Zoe Grable.’ ”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It could be deception, or just nervousness.”

  Scott sagged back in his chair. “So, she’s neither on nor off the hook.”

  “That’s right. We can’t rule her out as a suspect; but I’m not hearing anything that makes me really suspicious.” Kenzie tapped her pen on the table. “You have the statement of the first responder? Let’s see what he said about her.”

  Scott pulled out the report from the first policeman on the scene. “Let’s see: The officer says she was upset, crying. She kept grabbing his arm and begging him to find Zoe. He entered the house and found the nanny, and was surprised Mrs. Grable hadn’t mentioned her. He called for an ambulance. He asked Mrs. Grable what had happened to her and she responded, ‘I don’t know!’ The officer became suspicious and decided to stay with Mrs. Grable rather than search the premises. He radioed for back-up . . .” Scott shook his head. “Her reaction is pretty squirrelly.”

  “I’ll say. But that’s how a narcissist would react,” Kenzie said, thinking of her own mother. “Like it had happened to her and not her child.”

  “I’d like to take a look at Mrs. Grable’s calendar. See who she’s been meeting with. How she spends her time,” Scott said.

  Kenzie paced away, tapping her lip with her finger. “In contrast, Senator Grable has been direct in his statements. When we asked him to name possible suspects, he did it. When we asked him who he thought could have done this, he didn’t hesitate and had good reasons for the people he named. People who are being deceptive usually say things like ‘Anybody could have done this!’ It’s to their advantage to keep the suspect pool wide.”

  “Interesting.”

  “When we asked him if he would take a polygraph, he readily agreed. When he talks about his daughter,” Kenzie took in a deep breath, “it’s clear to me he loves her.”

  Scott nodded. “That’s my feeling, too. I’m not as comfortable with the wife.”

  “Nor am I. Nobody likes to think of a mother hurting her own little girl, but it happens.”

  “It could be her, or it could be a random abduction, like Elizabeth Smart or Polly Klaas.”

  “In Elizabeth’s case, the suspect had been in the home, doing odd jobs months before,” Kenzie said.

  “In a high percentage of cases of abduction for sexual reasons there’s been some contact with the victim before, brief though it may be. Some visual contact, anyway,” Scott added. “That’s why I asked Crow to check out all these workmen. We could be talking about a serious pedophile. Someone bold enough or crazy enough to enter a home, rather than just take a kid off the street. If that’s the case, we won’t hear from him.” Scott rubbed his hands together as he thought. “OK, so we could have an abductor who wants to get rid of the girl for some reason, an abductor who wants to possess the girl, an abductor . . .”

  “. . . who wants to hurt the senator.” Kenzie stretched her neck and shoulders, tight from hours of tension. “If I wanted to get at him, Zoe would be my target.” She bit her lower lip, a bad habit from childhood. “Wait! Did I tell you? I think there were clothes missing from Zoe’s dresser. Did anyone else notice that? We should ask Mrs. Grable to confirm. If so, then it’s more likely we’re talking about a calculated kidnapping, for ransom or revenge.”

  “Good point. Let’s hope that’s it. Because there’s a better chance they’ll play if it’s the case.”


  “How’d the UNSUB get in?” she asked, using Bureau parlance for “unknown subject.” “There’s no sign of forced entry. The door doesn’t even look scarred. The nanny lay on the steps. Was she hit from behind? Did she know the abductor?”

  “Or was she in on it?” Scott said.

  “She had a pillowcase over her head and had been chloroformed. I can’t think of too many people who would do that voluntarily.”

  Scott blew out a breath. “Yeah, they would. If there was enough money involved.”

  Kenzie reddened at the evidence of her inexperience. “So, she could have known the guy. She could be in on it, or he could have tricked her into thinking he had a legitimate reason to be here.”

  Scott’s cell phone rang. He reached for it and took the call.

  “That was Jesse,” he said moments later. “All of the mah-jongg players confirm Mrs. Grable’s presence from start to finish tonight. And aside from her usual complaints about her husband and Zoe, she seemed in a normal mood. In fact, she won, and left there elated.”

  “But could she have been elated because her plan to get rid of her daughter finally came to fruition?” Kenzie mused.

  “There’s no telling. We’ve seen it all.”

  5

  Good grief, how long does it take to get a kid to sleep?” the man complained as Sandy walked into the living room. He’d sat there alone with his memories long enough. This house, which he’d inherited from his mother, hadn’t exactly been a happy home.

  “She’s scared, Grayson.” The redhead plopped down on the couch next to him and put her head on his shoulder. “And I don’t blame her. You’re sure this is the only way to get that money he owes you?”

  “You bet I am. You got to strike him hard, right where it hurts. That’s the only way to get him to cooperate.” He stroked Sandy’s hair. When he’d met her a month ago he knew right away she was the perfect person to help him carry out his plan. He needed someone just like her—a woman desperate for attention and not too bright, but attractive enough for him to be with. He’d sat through boring chick flicks to learn how to touch a woman, how to talk to her, how to be a man around her. He’d watched couples in bars and cafés. He’d eavesdropped on their conversations. And he’d mined the Internet for more intimate information. He’d done his homework and could play the game.