“Don’t worry,” Peter told her. “We’ll have you out of this in no time.” He started working on the knotted cords while I began picking at the edge of the tape. Yet again, my nails proved insufficient to the task, so I put the scissors I’d taken from Ben to use. I cut an opening into the tape and then managed to peel it off without taking too much of Hilary’s hair or skin with it, but when she opened her mouth to speak, only a rasp came out, and we realized her throat must be too dry for words.
As Peter continued his work on the knots, I ran to the galley and found a bottle of spring water, carefully skirting where Ben lay. I tipped the bottle to Hilary’s lips, and she drank half of it down as I waited, looking forward to everything she would tell us. It would be nice to be thanked for snatching her from the jaws of death and then to hear her version of events.
But the first thing she said was neither appreciative nor illuminating. “You look like hell, Rach,” she croaked. “What did you do to yourself?”
I managed to restrain myself from putting the tape back on, but that was partly because Peter had just managed to liberate her wrists and she would have only peeled it off again herself.
“That’s not important,” I said. “Are you all right? Did Ben hurt you?”
“Of course Ben didn’t hurt me,” she said, stretching her arms and legs with relief. “But what did you do to him? It sounded like a gong being struck from in here. We should call a doctor or something if he doesn’t wake up soon.”
I hadn’t realized two days was enough to develop Stockholm syndrome; it had taken several weeks, maybe even months, to transform Patty Hearst from an heiress to a bank robber. Still, Hilary had been through a lot, and I reminded myself to be patient. Or to at least use my patient voice. “It was either get Ben or let him get Peter,” I said. “Or you. He was going to kill you.”
“Ben wasn’t going to kill me. He was trying to rescue me.”
“Rescue you? From who?”
“I think it should be from whom.”
I clenched my jaw. “From whom, then?”
“From Iggie, obviously.”
Peter went to find Luisa and Abigail while Hilary visited the head and I searched for something to put on the lump that was already rising beneath Ben’s close-cropped hair. Judging by the increasing frequency of his moans, he’d be coming around shortly, and I hoped I hadn’t done any permanent damage. For once my lack of upper-body strength might prove to be an asset. I located an instant cold pack inside a first-aid kit, and with Hilary’s help I rolled Ben over and wedged it between the lump and a needlepoint pillow we placed on the floor. Now that we’d turned on the lights, it was even more obvious the boat belonged to Caro. The decor was sporty but feminine, and the blue-checked fabric of the curtains matched the cushions on the bench next to the dining table.
“So what exactly happened?” I was asking Hilary when Peter returned with Luisa and Abigail in tow.
“The bastard Tasered me,” she said.
“He whatted you?” asked Luisa.
“A Taser’s a type of stun gun,” Peter told her.
“Iggie with a stun gun. Can you believe it?” said Hilary.
Abigail didn’t, apparently. “It’s hard to picture,” she said. “Are you absolutely sure it was Iggie?”
“Of course it was Iggie,” Hilary replied, biting into an energy bar. We’d found the galley well stocked with the sort of healthy snacks favored by people who preferred not to let the need to eat interrupt their exercise. “He said he’d give me an interview, but he insisted on going to his house, so he drove me to the hotel and waited while I ran up to the room for my notebook and computer. But as soon as I got back into the car he shocked me. The next thing I knew, I was locked in his stupid Lamborghini in a deserted parking garage by myself.”
She took another bite, and we waited impatiently for her to chew and swallow. “Then what?” I asked.
“The doors were jammed, and I couldn’t get them to open-he must have some way to override the interior controls. My purse wasn’t there, so I didn’t have my own cell phone, but I saw another phone on the floor right in front of the driver’s seat. I guess it had slipped out of his pocket and he didn’t notice. I used it to dial nine-one-one, but there was no reception since I was underground, so then I tried to send texts. I hoped that once the car reached somewhere with better reception the messages would go through.”
“They did. But why didn’t you tell us what had happened in the texts?” Luisa asked.
“I had just started the first message to you when I heard footsteps. I didn’t have much time, and I wanted to get more than one SOS out, so I had to keep it short. I knew you’d figure out it was Iggie because people saw us leave the party together, so I sent the texts as fast as I could and dropped the phone back on the floor. Then I pretended I was still out of it. Which didn’t make any difference, because the jerk Tasered me again as soon as he was back in the car. I woke up here, and I’ve been here since. Mostly I’m amazed he was able to carry me. Do you think he’s been working out?”
“This might sound like a strange question, but are you positive it was Iggie in the car with you?” I asked. We gave her the abridged version of what we’d learned since she disappeared, explaining about the second Lamborghini and Abigail’s certainty that Iggie had been telling the truth, at least about not knowing where she was.
Hilary looked up from ripping open a bag of granola and considered my question. “Well, I did have to duck my head down when I was getting into the car at the hotel. And then my eyes were closed when he came back to the car in the parking garage. But it had to be Iggie. He knew I’d heard the rumors that he murdered his partner, Leo, and he must have thought I was going to write about that, along with all of the other problems at Igobe, because I’d been asking him about Leo at the party. That’s why he had to make me disappear. It just never occurred to me until he Tasered me that the rumors were more than rumors and that he could be violent. I mean, it’s Iggie, for Chrissakes. I thought he was too much of a nerd to be dangerous. Guess I was wrong.”
“How did you know about Leo?” asked Abigail.
“When I was researching Igobe, I came across a computer hacker who calls himself Petite Fleur, of all things. We e-mailed a few times, and then we met in person. He’s the one who told me that the technology could be hacked, and he also told me about Leo and how he died.”
“This is the guy you met at Chez Bechet on Friday?” I asked.
“You managed to figure that out, but it took you two whole days to find me? What were you people doing all this time?”
“Did Iggie come back ever?” asked Peter. “After he brought you here?”
“Uh-huh,” she said through a mouthful of granola. “Around midnight last night. He untied me so I could use the bathroom and have a drink of water, but he threatened to Taser me again if I made any noise. I was still blindfolded, so all I could see was a little sliver if I looked straight down, but I caught a glimpse of his watch, and that’s how I knew what time it was.”
“And it was definitely Iggie?” Abigail asked. “Did you recognize his voice?”
“He was whispering, so it was hard to tell, but who else could it have been?”
“Could you see any of what he was wearing?” she pressed.
“Just bits and pieces. Khakis and running shoes. And maybe a fleece? I didn’t get a good look, but I did manage to kick him pretty hard, right in the kneecap. Of course, then he did Taser me again, but it was worth it.”
Abigail and I exchanged a glance. “So you never actually saw him when you got into the car at the hotel, or in the parking lot,” I confirmed.
“And when he came back here, it was after midnight, and he was wearing khakis, running shoes and a fleece,” said Abigail.