NINETY-TWO

“THERE were two of them,” I told Mike, ten minutes later.

By now I was sitting up, a fresh mug of coffee clutched in both hands. Mike was beside me, his EMT jump bag beside him.

“In my head I named them the Grunting Men because that’s all they ever did to communicate with me. I don’t know if they were hiding their voices, their accents . . .”

“What did they look like?”

“I never saw their faces. They wore ski masks and gloves when they first grabbed me. But later, while I was trapped in that room, each wore a bandanna draped over his nose and mouth.”

“Anything else? Did they molest you? Assault you in any way?”

“No. They didn’t touch me.”

Mike nodded with relief. “That’s in line with the physical exams you received after you came back to us.”

“They were both big men and strong. I did make a rush to the door once, and the guy threw me on the bed with one arm, without even spilling the bowl of soup he was holding in the other.”

“You had a bed? Can you describe more of the room?”

“It was small but well furnished. Blue wallpaper and a tiny bathroom. It was a guest room, I think, because the dresser drawers were empty. One door led to a hallway. The Grunting Men were always struggling with the lock. And the only window was that tiny porthole.”

“What did you see when you looked through the window?”

“Nothing. It was stained glass, too thick to see anything beyond whether it was day or night.”

“And Annette?”

I shrugged. “I was alone. I only ever saw the Grunting Men.”

Hands shaky, I drank more coffee. It strengthened my resolve to dredge up this memory.

“It was nighttime when I escaped, I remember that. I was feeling woozy, like I’d been drugged. I don’t think I could even remember my name at one point. But I remember wanting to escape and testing that bedroom door ten or twenty times a day. One night that messed-up lock malfunctioned, and the door opened for me.”

I closed my eyes and let the memories flow over me.

“I sneaked down a flight of stairs to the ground floor. The whole place was dark. One of the Grunting Men was snoring in the tiny living room. I was too afraid to pass him and go out the front door, so I went out the back.”

“Where did you end up?”

“The woods, I thought, because I saw trees. But then I quickly realized I was in a courtyard. I wandered around until I found the gate and stumbled out. Then I was on a sidewalk and realized I recognized the street— Omigod!”

I jumped to my feet, dropping my mug again. Thankfully the porcelain hit the rug and didn’t break. But my poor, long-suffering felines scampered away again, loudly mewing.

“That’s it. The Mews!”

“What?”

“I remember where I was! They were keeping me in a town house at the Washington Mews, right here in Greenwich Village!” I faced him. “I think I can find the place again. The Mews is just one gated street, and that round stained glass window was pretty distinctive. Should we call in the police?”

“No police,” Mike replied a little too quickly. “Let’s see what we can find first.”

I studied the man’s stone face. He was holding something back. I was about to press him when he said, “We need hard evidence, Clare. Proof that your story is true. We need—”

I touched his arm. “We need to find Annette.”