“Yep,” I said.

“I want to talk to him.”

“You guys have a little more muscle when it comes to gaining warrants,” I said. “And getting someone to flip on their employer.”

“But you like this guy Murphy for it?”

I shrugged. “Not especially,” I said. “But it’s pretty much all we got besides the Lima family.”

“You explain the odds to your client?” he said. “About actually ever seeing his son again?”

“I tried.”

“Maybe we should both try harder,” Connor said. “Everything about this feels wrong.”

46

At dawn, Tom Connor and I sat down with Kinjo and Nicole. Neither of them had slept. I worked on a record-setting cup of coffee as the sun rose over their fence and trees, silver and harsh. A bright, winter wind coming way too early for September.

We had gathered in the study after a fourth message had arrived.

BE READY. 2-MINUTE DRILL.

In a new photo, Akira wore an oversized white T-shirt, holding up two fingers. He’d turned his head away from the camera, a postcard-size bandage affixed to his neck. We all saw the blood.

“We just want both of you to be ready when this happens,” Connor said. “Mr. Heywood will probably be asked to deliver the money. Or his representative.”

He turned to me and nodded. I gave the old combat-pilot thumbs-up.

“What is that?” Nicole said. “What the hell’s wrong with his neck?”

She dropped her forehead into her outstretched hand and closed her eyes. Her chin quivered, but she did not cry. She had nothing left.

“I want to bring it,” Kinjo said. “Look them in the eye.”

“Probably won’t see them,” Connor said. “They’ll send you an address, you drop the cash, and then leave. They’ll have someone watching the drop. And watching it before they tell you, to make sure we don’t set up shop. It will be quick and dirty, and you’ll have to leave.”

Kinjo nodded. “Okay.”

“But you both must know something,” Connor said, looking to me. I met his eye and nodded.

“No guarantees,” I said.

The air very briskly left the room. All of us sat together at a basic grouping in what the realtor had probably called the library. Instead it had been turned into a storeroom of Kinjo Heywood memorabilia. Unhung framed action shots, old trophies, bobbleheads, and boxes of free T-shirts and sporting goods. There was an empty white marble fireplace with unlit gas logs.

The chairs were old and ragged and seemed to have come from Kinjo’s previous life. Nicole looked to me and then to Connor and said, “We know what to expect.”

“We’ll do everything to make sure your child comes home,” Connor said. “But I’ve worked a dozen of these cases before, and often the kidnappers don’t keep to the plan.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Kinjo said.

“It means you can’t trust what they say.”

“And it means they don’t like witnesses,” I said.

Kinjo was seated but rocked back and forth in his chair. He still had some tears left and started to cry. His face was as solid as granite under the streams, jaw clenching and unclenching. “I want to deliver the goddamn money.”

“If that’s what they want,” Connor said. “But I recommend you stick to the plan, play by the rules, until they change their script.”

Kinjo nodded. The library was sealed off from the rest of the house with two French doors, and through the beveled glass we could see more agents had arrived. I spotted at least ten surrounding the big family dining table, laptop computers and cell phones heating up, waiting for the next word.

“How often does that happen?” Nicole said. She had on jeans and a silk top, a small silver cross hanging from her neck.

Connor took in a breath. “More than half.”

“In more than half of the kidnappings you’ve worked on,” Kinjo said. “More than half the time, nobody comes back.”

Connor nodded. I did not like the son of a bitch, but knew he was telling the truth.

“How often when the money is paid?” Nicole said.

“In every case, the money was paid,” Connor said.

“But he’s alive now,” Kinjo said. “That’s what we got to believe.”

I nodded. I did not want to tell him that every photo they had could have been taken within hours of his kidnapping and that Akira could very likely be dead. A week was a long while to hold a victim before calling in a ransom. Moving the child around or keeping him hidden would be problematic. When I told Susan about this, she said be positive but honest.

“What if we say they don’t get the money unless we see Akira in person,” he said. “Get him back right there.”

“You can ask that,” Connor said. “But they won’t go for it.”

“Why not?” Kinjo said.

“Because they know we could swoop down on them and grab them all,” Connor said. “They want to convince you to give them the money, let them get away, and that Akira will be released once they feel safe.”

“And then what?”

“When Akira is back?”

Kinjo nodded. Nicole just stared at Connor. I could tell she disliked him a little more than she disliked me. That was saying something.

“We birddog their asses to the ends of the earth.”

“And if he doesn’t come back?” Nicole said.

Connor leaned back in the chair. “The same.”

Kinjo stood up and walked to the windows. He stared out into the backyard with his back to us. Everyone was quiet for a good long while. The sun rose brighter and higher, bringing long shadows onto the wood floor and up onto the walls. Kinjo illuminated against the glass. “What if I don’t pay?”

“Shut up,” Nicole said.

“What if I don’t give them the money?” Kinjo said.

“Shut the fuck up, Kinjo,” Nicole said. “You will pay it all.”

I rubbed my jaw and stood. I was tired of sitting and talking. I was tired of waiting and being pawns of kidnappers with cell phones and all the time in the world.

Connor stared at me, and without breaking the gaze, said what I knew he’d say. “Same odds,” Connor said. “Fifty-fifty, whether you give them the five mil or not. These are bad people who want your money and want nothing or nobody to connect them.”

Nicole buried her head in her hands. Kinjo was a large darkened shadow against the bright windows. When he turned, something very ugly had happened to his face.

Kinjo did not acknowledge any of us as he bolted from the room, grabbed his car keys, and sped out from his mansion’s driveway.

I put my hand on Nicole’s shoulder. She brushed my hand away.

I left the room.

47

Two hours later, there was no word from the kidnappers and no word from Kinjo.

I’d left the Heywood household and walked down the hill, away from the Feds, reporters, cameramen, and anonymous weirdos, and returned to my Explorer. A few minutes later, Z pulled in behind me and crawled into the passenger seat.

He had brought a sack from Dunkin’ and two coffees. The bag was heavy. Being a trained detective, I knew something was amiss.

“Breakfast sandwiches,” Z said.

“Is this retaliation?”

He shook his head. “Eggs and ham,” he said. “Some protein to give you some strength today.”

“May not need it,” I said. “Our client has flown the coop.”

Z reached over and turned on the radio, scanning the dial to the Sports Monstah. Paulie and the Gooch were on early, talking about the kidnapping. I reached over to turn it off and Z stopped me, telling me to wait. After a few seconds, I heard a third voice in the studio with them. Kinjo Heywood.

I looked to Z.

“Came into the studio about ten minutes ago,” Z said. “Said he wanted to reach out to his fans through the show. He said his true fans would look out for him because everyone else had failed him.”