38
Sunday, 10:59 p.m.
Black Atlantic. Black sky. A dusting of drab stars. Rachel is sitting on the deck smoking a cigarette when the Wickr app on her phone sounds an alert. A message for her.
She reads it, digests it, goes into panic mode, calms herself, gets a burner phone, calls Pete at the Appenzellers’, and reads him the message.
“Aren’t the Dunleavys supposed to take care of this?” he asks.
“The Chain bastards contacted me. This is the blowback they were talking about, Pete. If the Hoggs screw it all up, that means the Dunleavys have screwed up, and I’m supposed to kill Amelia and pick a new target or they’ll come for me.”
“Wait there. I’ll be right over,” Pete says. “Amelia’s asleep.”
Rachel dials Helen Dunleavy’s number but the phone rings and rings and eventually goes to voice mail. She dials again, but no one answers. She waits a minute and dials a third time, but still nothing—either the stupid bitch is dead or she’s turned her phone off.
Their PC is off too. There are no traces from any of their electronic devices. What’s happened to them? What the hell?
She signs into Wickr and sends a message to 2348383hudykdy2: Dunleavys not answering phone.
There’s an immediate response: That’s not our problem, Rachel. That’s your problem.
A minute later Pete arrives. “What did the Dunleavys say?” he asks.
“No answer. The stupid bastards have their phone turned off.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“I’m not going to kill Amelia and start again.”
“Of course not.”
Pete hopes that Rachel doesn’t notice his glazed eyes. He shot up about fifteen minutes earlier. He’d thought they were done for the night, and his body was craving opiates. He had to give in and shoot up in the Appenzellers’ kitchen.
“Pete?” Rachel says.
“I’m out of ideas,” he replies dully.
“We go down to the Dunleavys’ now, tonight, and we tell them they have to get their boy in line.”
“Call them up.”
“I’ve called them! They’re not answering. Aren’t you listening?”
“Who doesn’t leave the phone on when their daughter’s been kidnapped?” Pete wonders.
“Maybe they’re already dead. Maybe the blowback has killed them and we’re going to be next,” Rachel says.
“They might be coming for us right now.”
“We’ll bring Kylie to the Appenzellers’ house. Nobody knows about that place except us,” Rachel says.
“I’ll get things ready.”
Rachel goes to Kylie’s room. She’s still awake and on her iPad. “I’m sorry, honey, but it’s not safe for you to be here tonight. Something’s happening with The Chain.”
Kylie is terrified. “What? Are they coming for us?”
“No. Not yet. I have to sort something out. I’m going to take you over to the Appenzellers’. You’ll be safe there.”
“They’re coming back for me, aren’t they?”
“No. It’s not that. You’re safe. It’s fine. It’s just a precaution. Your uncle Pete and I are going to take care of everything. Come on, pack a bag.”
Rachel and Kylie drive over to the Appenzellers’ and slip in the back. Pete is waiting in the kitchen with his .45 and Rachel’s shotgun.
Kylie looks at the weapons, swallows, then gives Pete a hug.
“Is the little girl here?” Kylie asks.
Rachel nods.
“Where is she?”
“Basement. Asleep,” Pete says.
“Pete and I have to go out. Amelia probably won’t wake up, but if you need to go down there, put this on,” Rachel says, giving her a black ski mask.
“So she can’t identify me,” Kylie says, fascinated and appalled.
“I was praying you wouldn’t get further involved, but if Amelia starts to cry, I guess you’ll have to go down there and comfort her,” Rachel says. “We can’t have her making too much noise.”
“I think she’ll sleep until morning, though. I had her skipping rope for an hour,” Pete says.
“Where are you guys going to be?” Kylie asks her mom.
“Pete and I have to go deal with an emergency.”
“What sort of emergency?”
“It’s OK, honey, it’s not bad, but both of us have to go and you’ll have to stay here with Amelia.”
“You need to tell me what’s happening!”
Rachel nods. She deserved that. “One of the families farther down The Chain is thinking about going to the police. We have to stop them. If they go to the police, we could all be in danger.”
“So where are you going?”
“Providence.”
“You’re going down there to tell them to pay the ransom and do everything you did?”
“Yes.”
“What if you…what if you don’t come back?”
“If we’re not back by morning, call your father to come and get you. Stay in this house. Don’t go home. When he gets here, tell him everything. Keep your phone turned off until then.”
Kylie nods solemnly. “What time in the morning?”
“If you haven’t heard from either of us by, say, eleven, it probably means we’ve been compromised,” Pete says.
“Dead?” Kylie asks, her lip trembling.
“Not necessarily. Just that something’s going wrong,” Rachel says, although she thinks dead is the most likely scenario.
Kylie hugs her mom and Pete. “I’ll be OK,” she says. “And I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Her daughter is now co-opted into a kidnapping scheme. Rachel feels mortified and angry. But she can’t indulge these feelings for very long. The clock is ticking. She wipes the tears from her cheeks. “Let’s get this show on the road, then,” she says to Pete. “I’ll drive.”
39
Sunday, 11:27 p.m.
Swamp to the left, marsh to the right. High beam on the headlights. Smell of gun oil, sweat, fear. Nobody talking. Rachel driving. Pete literally riding shotgun.
Beverly, Mass.
Old wooden houses. Oak trees. The occasional apartment building. Quiet. Blue light from TVs and burglar alarms.
Suburban-nighttime ennui. Which is good. Fewer busybodies on the sidewalks.
Poseidon Street.
The lights are off in the Dunleavy house.
“Drive around the block,” Pete says. “Don’t stop.”
Rachel does and then parks one street over.
Quiet town. No one around. Only one question: Why won’t Helen Dunleavy answer her goddamn phone?
Rachel has an image of the entire family tied to chairs in the kitchen with their throats cut.
“We can go in through those little scrubby woods next door to their house,” Pete says. “And then in through the back door.”
“How?” Rachel asks.
Pete holds up a wrench and a lock-pick kit. “If we’re definitely going to do this,” he says.
“Yeah. We’re pot committed,” she replies.