With one hand on the wheel of the Crown Vic and the other holding his cell, Hobbs tried to calm Justine on the other end of the line, as he drove through the lush green pine forests of the Catskills. His nerves were frayed, he was beyond exhaustion, and the words coming out of his mouth rang false: ‘She’s going to be OK,’ he said, ‘we’re going to bring her home.’
‘When we do,’ Justine said, trying to keep up her end, ‘can we lock her up for a while?’
Next to him was Houssman, his face covered with stubble, his gray fedora abandoned on the seat next to him, and his wispy white hair shooting out at crazy angles. He scanned a map of New York State, trying to trace where Glash had been and might go next.
Justine had called, desperate for information, wondering, like many, why the Department of Homeland Security had been placed in charge.
‘What aren’t they telling us?’ she asked.
‘I can’t say,’ Hobbs said, doing his best to stay out of the way of Cosway and his sidekick Zane. He had let Tom Anderson, the FBI agent, phone in their discoveries from Albert’s cabin hours earlier – the recently disturbed bomb shelter and Barrett’s card; proof positive that Glash had been there. Listening in, Hobbs had heard Cosway’s dismissive response. ‘Old news,’ he’d said.
Hobbs had slammed his fist into a tree, needing the pain to keep from screaming into the receiver, ‘You fucking incompetent!’ Thank God it had been Tom on the phone and not him. The FBI agent had his phone on speaker and had calmly told Cosway that the FBI would handle the kidnappings and the murders, but there was compelling evidence that Glash wanted to pick up where Albert had left off. ‘Isn’t that why Homeland Security is involved? This looks like bioterrorism.’
‘Let me clarify,’ Cosway had screamed back, ‘we’re not involved; we’re in charge. This comes under the National Incident Management System; I am authorized by direct order of the Secretary of Homeland Security to oversee what has been determined to be a national incident. Is that understood, Agent Anderson?’
Tom had stuck his middle finger up and waved it in front of the phone. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good, I’ll send a team back to do a proper search of the shelter. I certainly hope you didn’t disturb the scene.’
Now, with Justine still on the line, Hobbs was desperately trying to tell her that everything was under control, that Barrett was going to be safe and this was all a bad dream. But with a cold trail, an incompetent commander who viewed hostages as expendable, and a killer who sought destruction of biblical proportions, he didn’t have a lot of reassurance to give.
‘Just tell me she’s going to be OK,’ Justine begged.
‘I’ll do everything I can.’
‘I know you will, Ed. I’m just so scared. You’d tell me if you’d found her … dead?’
‘I think she’s OK. She’s smart and resourceful, and if there’s a way for anyone to figure out how to get away from this guy, she’ll do it.’
‘But would she?’ Justine said. ‘Or would she figure it was her duty to try and stop him? Look at what she did.’
‘I know … Justine, I’ll call you if I find anything. Where are you going to be?’
She gave him her cell. ‘I’m at the hospital. It’s all anyone is talking about. It’s on every station. People think Homeland Security is involved because of Clarence Albert and the anthrax mailings.’
‘They wouldn’t be wrong,’ he said.
‘Shit!’
‘Exactly,’ and feeling like his head was going to explode, he hung up, and made the turn up the sweeping drive to the Bella Vista Resort.
While Ed wanted to avoid any contact with Cosway, there was no mistaking the man being interviewed by a news crew as they drove up to the grand, castle-like Victorian hotel where earlier that morning Justin Green had been abducted and murdered.
Houssman looked through the windshield. ‘Ed, stop the car. This feels wrong.’
‘Tell me about it,’ Hobbs said, his frustration at boiling point as he took in the multiple media vans and reporters tramping through the grounds, mucking up the crime scene. ‘Idiots! Morons!’ Then he watched Cosway smooth back his shiny hair as he fielded questions.
‘Whatever Glash set out to do here, is done,’ Houssman said. ‘We’ll find nothing of use, just more bodies. We’ve got to think ahead of him. I think I’ve got an idea as to who might be his accomplice. I realized I’ve been making an assumption that could be wrong.’
‘Which is?’
‘That Glash had no contact with his biologic father – Peter.’
‘Isn’t he in prison? He killed his wife … oh, shit!’
‘Exactly … nearly forty years ago. He bargained down to second degree; I doubt he served more than ten to fifteen.’
‘Is he even still alive?’ But Hobbs already had his cell out and was dialing the department’s liaison with Corrections. He identified himself and gave his shield number, while punching Peter Glash’s name into the Crown Vic’s on-board computer, and the Department of Corrections’ prisoner locater.
Within minutes they’d learned that Peter Glash had been paroled nearly thirty years ago after serving less than ten years of an eighteen-year sentence. Hobbs held his breath as he asked, ‘Do you have his current address?’ He pushed the button for speakerphone.
‘We have his last known,’ the woman said, ‘it’s fifteen years old.’ And she read it out.
Houssman scribbled it down on the edge of his map. ‘Let me have your cell,’ he said.
Peering over his thick lenses to see the buttons, Houssman punched in Felicia’s number. ‘It’s George Houssman,’ he said as she picked up. ‘Do you have Glash’s visitor’s logs?’
‘Yes, give me a minute to find them.’
‘Read me every name along with the dates.’ As they waited, Houssman fished out a steno pad from a well in the passenger-side door.
‘Think we’ll get lucky?’ Ed asked.
‘I don’t know.’
Hobbs cranked up the AC as they waited. He stared through the windshield and imagined how good it would feel to smash his fist into Cosway’s smug face. ‘I think you’re right about this being a waste of time. That address for Peter Glash, it’s in the Lower East Side of Manhattan.’
‘Yes,’ Houssman said, ‘the family owned a business there, the entire building actually.’
‘Not a bad place for a hideout.’
‘No, indeed.’
‘Care for a drive to Manhattan?’
‘Of course.’
Ed backed up and did a quick, gravel-spitting U-turn. Houssman glanced through the back window at Cosway. For the briefest moment he thought the Homeland Security agent had spotted them. ‘I’m assuming you’re deliberately not sharing our new-found insight with the energetic Mr Cosway?’
‘A correct assumption.’
‘Dr Houssman,’ Felicia’s voice came through the speaker, ‘I’ve got the list … is there any word on Barrett?’
Taking a cue from Hobbs’s earlier call, he said, ‘She’s a smart woman, she’ll know better than anyone how to work with Glash; I think she’ll be OK. Now read me the list, and don’t leave anything off.’
Hobbs nodded, gritted his teeth and floored it.