“You’re right, Mom,” she said.

From the receiver in his ear, Graham heard the anchorman say, “Over to you, Alan.”

Stepping back from the car, he began, “Brian Dornan’s mother is still keeping watch at the spot where her son disappeared shortly after 5:00 P.M. Authorities believe Catherine Dornan’s theory that Brian may have seen someone steal her wallet and followed that person. The wallet contained a St. Christopher medal, which Brian was desperately anxious to bring to his father’s hospital bed.”

Graham handed the microphone to Catherine. “Brian believes the St. Christopher medal will help his father get well. If I had had Brian’s faith, I would have guarded my wallet more carefully because the St. Christopher medal was in it. I want my husband to get better. I want my child,” she said, her voice steady despite her emotion. “In the name of God, if anyone knows what happened to Brian, who has him, or where he is, please, please call us.”

Graham stepped back from the squad car. “If anyone who knows anything about Brian’s whereabouts is listening to that young mother’s pain, we beg you to call this number, 212-555-0748.”

11

Her eyes filled with tears, her lip quivering, Cally turned off the radio. If anyone knows what happened to Brian …

I tried, she told herself fiercely. I tried. She had dialed Detective Levy’s number, but when she heard his voice, the enormity of what she was about to do overwhelmed her. They would arrest her. They would take Gigi away from her again and would put her with a new foster family. If anyone knows anything about Brian’s whereabouts …

She reached for the phone.

From inside the bedroom she heard a wail and spun around. Gigi was having another nightmare. She rushed inside, sat down on the bed, gathered her child in her arms, and began rocking her. “Sshh, it’s okay, everything’s fine.”

Gigi clung to her. “Mommy, Mommy. I dreamed that you were gone again. Please don’t go, Mommy. Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to live with other people ever, ever.”

“That won’t happen, sweetheart, I promise.”

She could feel Gigi relax. Gently she laid her back on the pillow and smoothed her hair. “Now go back to sleep, angel.”

Gigi closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Can I watch Santa Claus open his present?” she murmured.

Jimmy Siddons lowered the volume on the radio. “Your mom sure is flipping out about you, kid.”

Brian had to keep himself from reaching out to the dashboard and touching the radio. Mom sounded so worried. He had to get back to her. Now she believed in the St. Christopher medal too. He was sure of it.

There were a lot of cars on the highway, and even though it was really snowing now, they were all going pretty fast. But Jimmy was in the far right lane, so no cars were coming up on that side. Brian began to plan.

If he could open the door real fast and roll out onto the road, he could keep rolling to the side. That way nobody would run over him. He pressed the medal for an instant, and then his hand crept to the handle on the door. When he put faint pressure on it, it moved slightly. He was right. Jimmy hadn’t put the lock on after they stopped for gas.

Brian was about the throw open the door when he remembered his seat belt. He’d have to unfasten that just as the door swung open. Careful not to attract Jimmy’s attention, he laid the index finger of his left hand on the seat belt’s release button.

Just as Brian was about to pull on the handle and push the release, Jimmy swore. A car, weaving erratically, was coming up behind them on the left. An instant later it was so close it was almost touching the Toyota. Then it cut in front of them. Jimmy slammed on the brakes. The car skidded and fishtailed, as around them came the sound of metal impacting metal. Brian held his breath. Crash, he begged, crash! Then someone would help him.

But Jimmy righted the car and drove around the others. Just ahead, Brian could hear the wail of sirens and see the brilliance of flashing lights gathered around another accident, which they quickly drove past as well.

Jimmy grinned in savage satisfaction. “We’re pretty lucky, aren’t we, kiddo?” he asked Brian, as he glanced down at him.

Brian was still clutching the handle.

“Now you weren’t thinking of jumping out if we’d gotten stuck back there, were you?” Jimmy asked. He clicked the control that locked the doors. “Keep your hand away from there. I see you touch that handle again and I’ll break your fingers,” he said quietly.

Brian didn’t have the slightest doubt he would do just that.

12

It was five after ten. Mort Levy sat at his desk, deep in thought. He had only one explanation for the disconnected call: Cally Hunter. The tap from the police surveillance van outside Cally’s building confirmed that she had dialed him. The men on duty there offered to go up and talk to her if Mort wanted them to. “No. Leave her alone,” he ordered. He knew it would be pointless. She’d only repeat exactly what she’d told them before. But she knows something and she is afraid to tell, he thought. He had tried to phone her twice, but she had not answered. He knew she was there, though. The lookouts in the van would have notified them if she’d left the apartment. So why wasn’t she answering? Should he go over to see her himself? Would it do any good?

“What’s with you?” Jack Shore asked impatiently. “You forgot how to hear?”

Mort looked up. The rotund senior detective stood glowering down at him. No wonder Cally’s afraid of you, Mort thought, remembering the fear in her eyes at Jack’s anger and open hostility.

“I’m thinking,” Mort said curtly, resisting the impulse to suggest that Shore try it sometime.

“Well, think with the rest of us. We’ve gotta go over the plans to cover the cathedral.” Then Shore’s scowl softened. “Mort, why don’t you take a break?”

He isn’t as bad as he tries to seem, Mort thought. “I don’t see you taking a break, Jack,” he replied.

“It’s just that I hate Siddons worse than you do.”

Mort got up slowly. His mind was still focused on the elusive memory of some important clue that had been overlooked, something he knew was there, right in front of him, but that he just couldn’t make himself see. They’d seen Cally Hunter at seven-fifteen this morning. She’d already been dressed for work. They had seen her again nearly twelve hours later. She looked exhausted and desperately worried. She was probably in bed asleep now. But every nerve in his body was telling him that he should talk to her. Despite her denial, he believed she held the key.

As he turned away from his desk, the phone rang. When he picked it up, he again heard the terrified breathing. This time he took the initiative. “Cally,” Mort said urgently. “Cally, talk to me. Don’t be afraid. Whatever it is, I’ll try to help you.”

Cally could not even think of going to bed. She had listened to the all-news station, hoping but at the same time fearing that the cops had found Jimmy, praying that little Brian was safe.

At ten o’clock she had turned on the television to watch the Fox local news, then her heart sank. Brian’s mother was seated next to the anchorman, Tony Potts. Her hair seemed looser now, as though she’d been standing outside in the wind and snow. Her face was very pale, and her eyes were filled with pain. There was a boy sitting next to her who seemed to be about ten or eleven years old.