He had to inform his superiors, starting with Jack Shore, about Cally Hunter’s call. Mort spotted Shore leaving the chief of detectives’ private office, was out of his chair and across the room in seconds. He grabbed Shore’s arm. “Come back inside.”

“I told you to take a break.” Shore tried to shake off his hand. “We just heard from Logan in Detroit again. Two days ago a woman whose description matches Siddons’s girlfriend got a ride from a private car service over the border to Windsor. Logan ’s guys think that Laronde told her girlfriend about California and Mexico to throw them off her trail. The girlfriend was questioned again. This time it occurred to her to mention that she offered to buy Laronde’s fur coat because it wouldn’t be needed in Mexico. Laronde refused.”

I never bought that Mexico story, Mort Levy thought. He didn’t relinquish his grip on Shore’s arm as he shoved open the chief’s door.

Five minutes later, a squad car was racing up the East Side Drive to Avenue B and Tenth Street. A bitterly frustrated Jack Shore had been ordered to wait in the lookout van while Mort and the chief, Bud Folney, went upstairs to talk to Cally.

Mort knew that Shore would not forgive him for insisting that he stay out of it. “Jack, when we were there earlier, I knew there was something she was holding back. You’ve scared her to death. She thinks you’d do anything to see her back behind bars. For God’s sake, can’t you look at her as a human being? She’s got a four-year-old child, her husband is dead, and she got the book thrown at her when she made the mistake of helping the brother she’d practically raised.”

Now Mort turned to Folney. “I don’t know how Jimmy Siddons ties into that missing child, but I do know that Cally has been too frightened to talk. If she tells us now whatever she knows, it will be because she feels that the department… you… aren’t out to get her.”

Folney nodded. He was a soft-spoken, lean man in his late forties, with a scholarly face. He had in fact spent three years as a high school teacher before realizing his passion was law enforcement. It was widely believed among the ranks that one day he’d be police commissioner. Already he was one of the most powerful men in the department.

Mort Levy knew that if there was anyone who could help Cally, assuming she had in some way been forced to cover for Jimmy again, it was Folney. But the missing child-how could Siddons be involved in this?

It was a question they were all frantic to ask.

When the squad car pulled up behind the surveillance van, Shore made one last appeal. “If I keep my mouth shut…”

Folney answered, “I suggest you start right now Jack. Get in the van.”

14

Pete Cruise had been about to call it a day. He’d discovered where Cally Hunter lived when he tried to interview her after she was released from prison, and now he was hoping her brother would show up. But there’d been nothing to watch for hours except the on-again-off-again falling snow. Now at least it seemed to have stopped for good. The van that he knew was a police van was still parked across the street from Cally’s apartment, but probably all they were doing was monitoring her calls. The likelihood of Jimmy Siddons suddenly showing up at his sister’s house now was about the same as two strangers having matching DNA.

All the hours of hanging around Hunter’s building were a waste, Pete decided. From the time he’d seen Cally come home shortly before six, and the two detectives stop in around seven, it had been a big nothing.

He’d kept his powerful portable radio on the whole time he waited, switching between the police band, his station, WYME, and the WCBS news station. No word of Siddons at all. Shame about that missing kid.

When the ten o’clock news came on WYME, Pete thought for the hundredth time that the anchor in that slot sounded like a wimp. But she did have some real emotion when she talked about the missing seven-year-old. Maybe we need a missing kid every day, Pete thought sarcastically, then was immediately ashamed of himself.

There was a lot of activity in Hunter’s building, people coming and going. Many of the churches had moved up the midnight services to ten o’clock. No matter what time they schedule them, some people will always be late, Pete thought as he saw an elderly couple hurry from the building and turn up Avenue B. Probably heading for St. Emeric’s.

The woman who had brought Hunter’s kid home earlier was coming up the block. Was she headed for Hunter’s apartment? Cally planning to go out? he wondered.

Pete shrugged. Maybe Hunter had a late date or was going to church herself. Obviously, today wasn’t the day to get the story that was going to make his name as a reporter.

It’ll happen, Pete promised himself. I won’t always be working on this lousy ten-watt station. His buddy who worked at WNBC loved to ride Pete about his job. A favorite put-down was that the only audience for WYME were two cockroaches and three stray cats. “This is station Why-Me,” he’d joke.

Pete started his car. He was just about to pull out when a squad car raced down the block and stopped in front of Cally’s building.

Through narrowed eyes, Pete observed three men emerge. One he recognized as Jack Shore crossed the street and got into the van. Then in the light from the building entrance he could make out Mort Levy. He didn’t get a good look at the other one.

Something was breaking. Pete turned off the engine, suddenly interested again.

While she waited for Mort Levy, Cally took Gigi’s Christmas presents from their hiding place behind the couch and set them in front of the tree. The secondhand doll’s carriage didn’t look that bad, she decided, with the pretty blue satin coverlet and pillowcase. She’d put the baby doll she’d picked up for a couple of dollars last month in it, but it wasn’t nearly as cute as the one that she’d wanted to buy from the peddler on Fifth Avenue. That one had Gigi’s golden-brown hair and was wearing a blue party dress. If she hadn’t been looking for that peddler, she wouldn’t have seen the wallet, and the boy wouldn’t have followed her, and …

She put that thought aside. She was past feeling now. Carefully, she stacked the presents she’d wrapped with candy-cane paper: an outfit from The Gap-leggings and a polo shirt; crayons and a coloring book; some furniture for Gigi’s dollhouse. Everything, even the two pieces of the Gap outfit, was in separate boxes so at least it looked as though Gigi had a stack of gifts to open.

She tried to avoid looking at the largest package under the tree, the package that Gigi thought was their gift for Santa Claus.

Finally she phoned Aika. Aika’s grandchildren always went home to sleep, so she was sure she could come over and stay with Gigi in case the cops arrested Cally after she told them about Jimmy and the little boy.

Aika answered on the first ring. “Hello.” Her voice was filled with her normal warmth. If only they’d let Gigi stay with Aika if they put me in prison again, Cally thought. She swallowed over the lump in her throat, then said, “Aika, I’m in trouble. Can you come over in about half an hour and maybe stay overnight?”

“You bet I can.” Aika did not ask questions, simply clicked off.

As Cally replaced the receiver, the buzzer from the downstairs door resounded through the apartment.

“The switchboard’s on fire, Mrs. Dornan,” Leigh Ann Winick, the producer of Fox 5 Ten O’Clock News told Catherine as, carefully avoiding the floor cables, she and Michael left the broadcast area. “It looks as though everyone in our viewing area wants you to know that they’re rooting and praying for Brian and your husband.”