But the kid was a problem. He had to get rid of him right away. He thought the situation through quickly. He’d get off at the nearest exit, take care of him, dump him fast, and then get back on the road. He looked at the boy sleeping beside him. Too bad, kid, but that’s the way it’s got to be, he said to himself.

On the right he saw an exit sign. That’s it, Jimmy thought, that’s the one I’ll take.

Brian stirred as though starting to wake up, then fell back asleep. Drowsily, he decided that he must have been dreaming, but he thought he had heard his name.

18

Al Rhodes saw the haunted look on the face of Catherine Dornan when she realized the implications of Brian being with Jimmy Siddons. He watched as she closed her eyes, ready to catch her if she fainted.

But then she opened her eyes quickly and reached out to put her arms around her older son. “We mustn’t forget that Brian has the St. Christopher medal,” she said softly.

The mask of adult bravado that Michael had managed to maintain throughout the evening’s ordeal began to crumble. “I don’t want anything to happen to Brian,” he sobbed.

Catherine stroked his head. “Nothing is going to happen to him,” she said calmly. “Believe that, and hold on to it.”

Rhodes could see the effort it took for her to talk. Who the hell leaked to the media that Brian Dornan was with Jimmy Siddons? he wondered angrily. Rhodes could feel his fist itching to connect with the louse who had so thoughtlessly jeopardized the kid’s life. His anger was further fed by the realization that if Siddons was listening to the radio, the first thing he’d do was get rid of the boy.

Catherine was saying, “Mother, remember how Dad used to tell us about the Christmas Eve when he was only twenty-two years old and in the thick of the Battle of the Bulge, and he took a couple of soldiers in his company into one of the towns on the fringe of the battle line? Why don’t you tell Michael about it?”

Her mother took up the story. “There’d been a report of enemy activity there but it turned out not to be true. On the way back to their battalion, they passed the village church. Midnight Mass had just started. They could see that the church was packed. In the midst of all that fear and danger, everyone had left their homes for the service. Their voices singing ‘Silent Night’ drifted out into the square. Dad said it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.”

Barbara Cavanaugh smiled at her grandson. “Grandpa and the other soldiers went into the church. Grandpa used to tell me how scared all of them had been until they saw the faith and courage of those villagers. Here these people were, surrounded by fierce fighting. They had almost no food. Yet those villagers believed that somehow they’d make it through that terrible time.”

Her lower lip quivered, but her voice was steady as she continued. “Grandpa said that was when he knew he was going to come home to me. And it was an hour later that the St. Christopher medal kept the bullet from going through his heart.”

Catherine looked over Michael’s head to Officer Ortiz. “Would you take us to the cathedral now? I want to go to midnight Mass. We’d need to be in a seat where you could find me quickly if you have any news.”

“I know the head usher. Ray Hickey,” Ortiz said. “I’ll take care of it.”

She looked at Detective Rhodes. “I will be notified immediately if you have any word at all…?”

“Absolutely.” He could not resist adding, “You’re very brave, Mrs. Dornan. And I can tell you this for sure: every law enforcement officer in the northeast is dedicated to getting Brian back safely.”

“I believe that, and the only way I can help is to pray.”

“The leak didn’t come from our guys,” Mort Levy reported tersely to Chief of Detectives Folney. Apparently some hotshot kid from WYME was watching Cally’s apartment and saw us go in, knew something was up, and followed Aika Banks home. He told her he was a cop and pumped her. His name is Pete Cruise.”

“Damn good thing it wasn’t one of ours. When all this is over, we’ll hang Cruise out to dry for impersonating an officer,” Folney said. “In the meantime we’ve got plenty to do here.”

He was standing in front of an enlarged map of the northeast that had been attached to the wall of his office. It was crisscrossed with routes outlined in different colors. Folney picked up a pointer. “Here’s where we’re at, Mort. We’ve got to assume that Siddons had a car waiting when he left his sister’s place. According to her, he left shortly after six. If we’re right, and he got in a car immediately, he’s been on the road about five and a half hours.”

The pointer moved. “The light snow band extends from the city to about Herkimer, exit 30 on the Thruway. It’s heavier throughout New England. But even so, Siddons probably isn’t more than four to six hours from the border.”

Folney gave a decisive thump to the map. “Amounts to looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Mort waited. He knew the boss didn’t want comments.

“We’ve got a special alert along the border,” Folney continued. “But with the heavy traffic, he could still be missed, and we all know that someone like Siddons probably knows how to get into Canada without going through a checkpoint.” Now he waited for comments.

“How about staging an accident on the major roads to force a one-laner about twenty miles before the border?” Mort suggested.

“I wouldn’t rule that out. But on the same principle as erecting a barrier, traffic would build up in two minutes, and Siddons might just try to get off at the nearest exit. If we go ahead with that plan we’ll have to put barriers at all the exits, as well.”

“And if Siddons feels trapped…?” Mort Levy hesitated. “Siddons has a screw loose, sir. Cally Hunter believes her brother is capable of killing both Brian and himself rather than get captured. I think she knows what she’s talking about.”

“And if she had had the guts to call us the minute Jimmy left her house with that boy, he wouldn’t have gotten out of Manhattan.”

Both men turned. Jack Shore was in the doorway. He looked past Mort Levy to Bud Folney. “A new development, sir. A state trooper, Chris McNally, got a hamburger about twenty minutes ago at the travel plaza between Syracuse, exit 39, and Weedsport, exit 40, on the Thruway. He didn’t pay much attention at the time, but the woman at the pickup station, a Miss Deidre Lenihan, was talking about a St. Christopher medal that some kid was wearing.”

Bud Folney snapped, “Where is the Lenihan woman now?”

“Her shift ended at eleven. Her mother said her boyfriend was picking her up. They’re trying to track them down now. But if Cally Hunter had called us earlier none of this would have happened, we could have been at every travel plaza between here and…”

Bud Folney almost never raised his voice. But his increasing frustration over the agonizing twists in the manhunt for Jimmy Siddons made him suddenly shout, “Shut up, Jack! ‘If only’s’ don’t help now. Do something useful. Get the radio stations in that area to broadcast a plea to Deidre Lenihan to call her mother. Say she’s needed at home or something. And for God’s sake, don’t let anyone connect her to Siddons or that child. Got it?”