“...all units on the ten-forty, ten-twenty-two, subject now tracking near East Concord...”
“Brooke,” Greg repeated, “do you still drive a white van?”
A long moment passed.
“You know I do. What—”
“Brooke,” Greg said, squeezing his phone. “Did you take Jenn and then Jake?”
It took several seconds for Brooke to respond.
“Why’re you asking me this? It makes no sense, Greg.”
The line went dead.
Ninety-Seven
Erie County, New York
Standing on the road, sobbing into her hands, Jenn didn’t realize the vehicle door had opened until someone touched her shoulder.
She raised her face.
“Bert?”
Bert Cobb, the custodian at Jake’s school, stood before her, worry in his eyes. She threw her arms around his neck, crying and shaking.
“Jennifer, how did you—what—are you hurt?”
Cobb opened the passenger door, left it open, got Jenn into the seat. He uncapped a bottle of water, passed it to her, touching a towel to her free hand then the other, while looking up and down the road.
“Where did you come—”
“I don’t know—oh, thank you for saving me, Bert!” she cried, glancing to his police scanner and walkie-talkie. “How did you find me?”
“I’m with the neighborhood watch. I was helping police look for you. It’s all over the watch network, something was happening this way. You’re going to be okay. I gotta call police, tell them I got you.”
Cobb withdrew his phone and called while Jenn drank water, weeping softly, looking around.
“Yes... Bert Cobb... I got her...” he said. “We’re at...”
Jenn saw blankets heaped behind her, did a double take, thinking they had stirred, exposing a spark of metallic glint when Cobb placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Yes... She’s right here in good condition...alert...yes...will do.” Cobb ended the call and returned to Jenn. “The police are telling us to get out of the area and meet them a couple miles down the road. Let’s get you comfortable.”
He fastened her seat belt, lowered the right armrest of her seat and placed her forearm on it while reaching behind his back. Fast as a cobra strike, a metal handcuff closed on her wrist, sending the water bottle flying, spilling as the other cuff closed on the seat’s lower metal frame.
Jenn’s eyes widened. “What’re you doing?”
Cobb slammed her door, got behind the wheel. He revved the engine, tires squealing as they drove off.
“Bert!” Jenn strained her cuffed wrist. “Please, what’re you—”
“Relax. It’s a long, long drive,” he said. “We’re taking you home.”
“We—But I don’t—”
Cobb reached behind him, snapping away the blankets for Jenn to see.
“Jake! Oh God! Jake!”
He was curled on the rear floor, his ankle handcuffed to the frame.
“Mom!” Jake shot his hand to her—reaching for each other, their fingers entwining, both of them sobbing. “Mr. Cobb told me he knew where you were and that if I went with him right away, we could save you, but it was dangerous so I had to hide and be quiet no matter what I heard. Then he clamped this on me. He said to keep me safe.”
Jenn looked at Cobb with anger, fear. Dispatches burst from the radios. She tried to decipher them, realizing he’d faked his call to police to give her false assurance, keep her calm, get her into the van.
Adrenaline coursing, she tried to think.
“Bert.” Her voice tremoring, she struggled to appear composed. “Bert, you did a good thing. You found me and Jake. Let’s stop and call police, call Greg. I’ll tell them how you did a great thing, Bert, please. Please.”
Cobb accelerated.
“Listen,” he said, patting her arm. “It’s going to be all right now. We’re together now, the three of us, that’s all that matters.”
“Bert, please stop. Please.”
“You’re not listening, Jennifer. We’re going to our new home.”
“What home?”
“I got a place for us, out west in Montana.”
“I don’t understand.”
They sped down the strip of empty road with Cobb checking his mirrors, then looking ahead. They were coming to a railroad crossing.
“It’s a lot to take in, but I told you in my note you’d know everything. Now you do and here we are together, a family.”
“I don’t understand. Please just stop.”
“Jennifer, I sent you the chime to remind you.”
“You—to remind me?”
“I was there the night your house burned.”
Shaking her head, tears rolled down her face. Turning to check on Jake, she saw him crying quietly.
“Jenn, I’m your brother. Jake’s my nephew. We’re family.”
“What? No, Bert. No, I have no brothers, no sisters.”
“You’re wrong! Dead wrong.”
“Bert, please stop!”
The bursts of staccato chatter from Cobb’s radios sounded more urgent, underscoring the horror, how nothing made sense, nothing was real, and yet it was happening.
Suspension vibrating, they rattled over the railroad crossing tracks.
Cobb’s focus went to the sudden flashing of the red engine warning light on his instrument cluster. His van stalled and he brought it to stop on the other side of the tracks.
“Damn fuel pump fuse! I shoulda fixed—”
He got out and lifted the hood, blocking his view of the interior.
“Mom, I’m scared,” Jake whispered.
“Everything’s going to be all right, honey,” Jenn said soothingly. “I’m so happy to see you—so happy. It’s going to be all right.”
Reaching for Jake’s hand, Jenn glimpsed an object in her periphery and caught her breath. A small key had fallen from Cobb’s pocket to the far side of the driver’s seat—the handcuff key.
Jenn reached but it was too far.
“Jake,” she whispered. “Come close. Can you see the little key on the driver’s seat?”