On the Campaign Trail
Governor Alfonso was not a happy camper. “What the flaming hell do you mean, you lost her?” he yelled, pounding his desk with a hairy fist. “What are you, a bunch of morons? I thought I made it clear that this was important.”
O’Malley, who still hadn’t gotten any sleep, stared with weary eyes at his boss, the governor’s pale skin blotched red with irritation at the events they were now assessing. “Take it easy, Lou,” he soothed, “we’ll find her. She can’t have gone far. Not in her condition. The kid could barely walk.
“The kid who could barely walk, the kid Keris described as helpless as a twelve-year old, has managed to slip through our fingers twice in less than a day.” He opened his hand wide, then clenched it back into a fist.
O’Malley thought it looked like a furry starfish.
“I don’t care what you have to do or how many people it takes. I want that girl found. No mistakes, no glitches, no escapes. I don’t care if you have to drug her, wrap her in duct tape and stuff her in a laundry bag. I want her here! Got that?”
“She’s not going to cooperate if you treat her like that,” Keris said.
“She’s not going to cooperate if you treat her like that,” the Governor mimicked. “Christ! So far, listening to you people has gotten me nowhere. She’ll cooperate, one way or another. We’ll find a way to persuade her.”
Two uniformed men with red faces and hangdog postures appeared in the doorway. Captain Van Allen and Lt. Thomas Morrissey, New York State Police, wishing they were anywhere else on earth. “Get your asses in here and shut the door,” O’Malley growled. “You want the whole world to hear?” The two cops took seats as near the back as possible, staring down at their nicely shined shoes. “Where’s the boy, Tom?”
“I left him interviewing hospital personnel, sir.”
“He’ll be lucky if I don’t send him off to count antlers in some Adirondack backwater.” The Governor tented his fingers and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t suppose anybody has any good news, before we get on with this disaster?”
“I might, Sir,” Morrissey said.
“Well?” Alfonso leaned forward, his thick eyebrows pulling together over his eyes.
Morrissey was 6’ 5”, 260 lbs., and a twenty-five year veteran of the state police. Just now, with his bent head and hunched shoulders, he looked like a chastened school boy. “Last night, while she was waiting to be seen in the ER, Jennifer Cates asked to see the chaplain. She gave him a manila envelope which she said contained a personal diary documenting her betrayal by a boyfriend which she was afraid someone might read.”
The Governor shot a triumphant look at O’Malley. “So, where the hell is the envelope, Morrissey?”
“This morning a candy striper went to the Chaplain with a note and Jenny Cate’s driver’s license, and retrieved the package.”
Damn! O’Malley thought. This girl is smart.
“I don’t understand this at all.” The Governor had a deceptively mild way of delivering disapproval. “I thought you understood she was to be isolated, kept dependent, until Trask could make a connection. So you do what? Leave her alone while you two go to breakfast and you leave her her purse, so she has ID, money, credit cards. Anyone would think you did’’t have a brain between you.”
“The hospital has her wallet. She didn’t have clothes. And she’d been given a double dose of sleeping pills,” Morrissey said. “If you’d seen the shape she was in, you wouldn’t have thought she could walk across a room. She didn’t do this alone. Security found a pink robe and a wheelchair in a first floor restroom. And no one on the staff recognizes the description of the candy striper.”
“So maybe she called a friend.” Keris began.
“Here’s what we know,” Morrissey said. “While the nurse was checking her vital signs, a young woman barged into the room looking for her grandmother. When told she had the wrong room, she said she was sure it was 314, then said she wanted 341. But 341 is in the maternity wing, and the woman in that room is only twenty-four herself.”
O’Malley rose and strode to the window, staring glumly out at the glorious day. Screw sunshine. His mood was black. “You know what this means?”
Captain Van Allen got to his feet. “You think Buxton’s people snatched her?”
“We’re assuming they tried to run her off the road last night,” the Governor said. “When that didn’t work, they went to the hospital and took her.”
“Poor girl,” Keris Carlyle sighed.
“Poor? From all I’ve heard, it sounds like we’re dealing with Superwoman,” the Governor said.
Morrissey shook his head. “You ought to see her. She’s just a little bit of a thing. Ms. Carlyle’s right, she looks about twelve. Biggest thing about her is those eyes. Brave as hell, though. She’s no Superwoman, just a scared kid trying to survive.”
“I hope they don’t hurt her,” Keris said.
“Oh, spare the sentimental bullshit,” O’Malley said. “Of course they’re going to hurt her. They’re trying to kill her, remember? Unless…” The whole room hung on his ‘unless’, which he didn’t mind at all. “Unless she got away on her own.”
“So, campers,” Alfonso said, “what are we going to do about that?”
O’Malley flicked his chin at Morrissey. “You copied her address book, right?”
Morrissey nodded
“Start with her friends. Run the names, beginning with whoever’s closest.” He checked his watch. “Time to go, Lou.”
Alfonso grabbed his briefcase, pausing to glare at the assembly. “No more screw-ups,” he said, “understand?” He followed O’Malley out.