They put Nancy in a room with cinder-block walls and into a cold metal chair in front of a stained metal table. On the other side is another chair that sits empty.
For now.
“I want to see Danny,” she says. “I think we can clear up this misunderstanding if I can just see him.”
Instead of answering, they slam the heavy steel door on her. She tries the handle.
Locked.
She settles into her chair. The room is so silent she can hear her own heartbeat. The room has a dankness to it, like an underground basement. The air has the faint sour smell of body odor. And perhaps there’s the stink of urine.
Nancy doesn’t know how long she can stand being in here. Panic starts to creep through her bloodstream.
Thank God Benji wasn’t home, she thinks.
But this thought leads to another thought. She needs to get out of here before Benji comes home from his dad’s. She wonders how long this will take before whatever has led to her mistaken arrest becomes clear.
She hears the bolt slide free, and the door swings open. She feels relieved to know they’re not going to make her wait. That must be a good sign, right? That they’re not going to make her sweat before talking to her?
But as the agents walk into the room, the expressions on their faces quell her relief. These men are tired and haggard, with loose ties and circles under their eyes.
The first man, who settles into the chair across from Nancy, has sideburns and a pair of circular eyeglasses. Under ordinary circumstances, he would probably look like a very nice man, but right now he looks like someone you wouldn’t want to cross. The other man has a mustache and is going bald. Both men have five-o’clock shadows, and their suits hang from their bodies like they haven’t been changed in a couple days.
“I’m going to make this really easy on you, Nancy,” the one with the glasses says to her. “Where is Stephen Small?”
Nancy looks back and forth between him and the other man, who leans against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Who?” she says.
The agent slams his palm down on the metal table and makes Nancy jump.
“Don’t play stupid with me!” he snaps. “A man’s life is at stake. Don’t you understand that?”
His actions are so rapid that his glasses slide down his nose. He pushes them back up the bridge of his nose with his index finger.
“Stephen Small?” Nancy says. “You mean the millionaire?”
“That’s who you kidnapped, isn’t it?”
“No, no, wait,” Nancy says, shaking her head. “There’s some kind of misunderstanding. Kidnapped? What is going on?”
Nancy knows who Stephen Small is, of course. He’s one of the wealthiest people in town. He bought that antique mansion designed by Frank Lloyd Wright. Everyone in Kankakee has heard the name Stephen Small. But she’s certainly never met him. And she doesn’t understand what they’re talking about.
He’s been kidnapped?
And they think she had something to do with it?
The agent sitting at the table points toward the door and says, “Down that hall, there’s a room just like this that Danny Edwards is sitting in. Before I came in here, I was talking to him. And when I’m done here, I’m going to go back. We’re going to get the story out of one of you. And whoever cooperates is going to get some leniency from the judge.”
“You think Danny kidnapped Stephen Small?” Nancy says.
The agent continues, as if he hasn’t heard her. “Your boyfriend has a reputation around here. He’s a snitch. I’m guessing that it’s not going to take long for him to turn on you and try to save his own skin. If I were you, I’d start talking now.”
“Can I see Danny?” Nancy asks. “I think we can clear this up if I could just—”
“So you two can get your stories straight? We’re not stupid, Nancy.”
“But you are,” the other agent adds, “if you think you can get away with kidnapping a millionaire.”
“I’m not trying to get away with anything.”
“Why should we believe you, Nancy? You’re driving around making ransom calls in the middle of the night—”
“No I’m not.”
“—and you’re living with a drug dealer.”
“He’s not a drug dealer. He’s cleaned up his act. He’s a carpenter now.”
“Well, carpenters make a lot less than drug dealers, don’t they?” the agent with the glasses says. “Money must be pretty tight right now. That can make people desperate, can’t it?”
Nancy opens her mouth to speak but stops herself. She thinks of how strange Danny has been acting, how stressed out he’s been.
She wonders if he could have something to do with what the police are talking about. But then she pushes the thought out of her mind. There is no way Danny could be involved in something like this.
Sure, he sold drugs in the past. He isn’t perfect.
But kidnapping?
That isn’t Danny. He is a good person, deep down.
“I asked you a question,” the agent says forcefully.
Nancy snaps back to the present.
“What?” she says. “I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.”
“Did you or did you not stop at the bait shop in Aroma Park last night and make a phone call?”
“Sure,” she says. “Danny made a call. He was calling his—”
“And the night before,” the agent says, “where were you at approximately three a.m.? You were making another phone call, weren’t you?”
Nancy thinks. She can’t keep pace with all that’s happening. She remembers picking up Danny at the railroad crossing. She remembers him making a phone call.
But if they think he’s mixed up in this, then she doesn’t want to get him in any trouble. She wants desperately to talk to him.
I can’t tell them anything, she thinks. Not until I talk to Danny and figure out what’s going on.
“I was home,” Nancy says.
“We know you’re lying,” the agent says with deadly earnestness. “And if you keep lying, the grave you’re digging for yourself is only going to get deeper.”