Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [108]
“My daughter’s return, Kevin. These people you say are behind it, when will they return her?”
“It is my understanding, Jerry, that she will be back in your loving arms tonight. I have been told through these other parties—and I emphasize that I do not know their identities—that you are to tell no one of her imminent release, not the police, not your lovely wife, no one. You are to be by your phone tonight. That’s all I can tell you, because that is all I know.”
Rollins grabbed his briefcase from the floor, stood, and walked to the door. He paused, his hand on the knob, turned, and asked, “How did you know that I had the tapes, Kevin?”
“How else, Jerry. The person who sold them to you was quite forthcoming with us. Enjoy your reunion with your daughter, Jerry. And forget this ever happened. It didn’t.”
Rollins returned to his office and announced that he was leaving for the day and could be reached at home. No one questioned him, although Caroline was tempted. He seldom took part of a day off. Of course, these were different times. Perhaps he needed to be close to Sue as the days dragged on without word or sign of Samantha. It was good, she decided, that he gave in to what must be exhausting and unending mental anguish. As he was leaving, she did mention that Mr. Scraggs had called to ask the status of his book proposal.
“Did he ask about Samantha?” Rollins asked.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Call him back and say that I have been unable to find a publisher and no longer wish to represent his book. Send his ridiculous proposal back to him. Call me if you need me.”
“Yes, sir,” Caroline said, smiling.
When Jackson was told that Rollins had left for the day, he called Kloss, who instructed him to return to the house. The afternoon was spent as all afternoons were—waiting for a fateful phone call that never came. Jackson observed that Rollins seemed unusually tense. He did a lot of pacing. When he wasn’t in motion, he sat close to the phone in the living room, staring at it as though to will it into action. Afternoon turned to dusk and early evening.
“When will it end?” Sue asked at one point.
No one had an answer, except perhaps her husband, and he was mute.
THIRTY-FIVE
The call from Y-man came at 7:30 that night. The man who answered to “Paul” took it.
“Time to move,” Y-man said. “Deliver her.”
“All right.”
“You’re sure of every detail?”
“Of course.”
“Good.”
“What about the money?”
“It will be at the planned place at midnight, provided everything goes as planned on your end.”
“It will.”
The click in Paul’s ear was loud and final.
Greta had been with Paul when he took the call. He told her to prepare Samantha to leave. Greta slipped on her homemade mask before entering Samantha’s room. “Hi, honey,” she said in her nicely modulated voice. “I have good news for you.”
Samantha was sitting up in her bed. Her ankles were fastened together with tape. A tray containing the remnants of her dinner—a hot dog in a bun, cole slaw, potato salad, and a black-and-white milk shake purchased by Greta from a luncheonette and deli a few miles away—rested next to her.
Greta joined her on the bed and placed her hand on the girl’s bare knee. “You’re going home, honey,” she said.
Samantha squirmed to face her captor. “I am? When?”
“Tonight.”
Samantha cried. Greta pulled her close and massaged her slender back. “There’s no need to cry, honey,” she said, “but I understand. Tears of happiness.” She held the child at arm’s length. “Now,” she said, “there are a few things I have to say, and you have to promise to listen to me closely. Okay?”
Samantha wiped her eyes with her hands and nodded.
“First of all, do you agree that we’ve never hurt you? Oh, I know, the tape we use hurts a little when we pull it off, but we never hit you, do we?”
Samantha agreed that they hadn’t.
“We never beat you. Right?”
A nod.
“And we fed you good. I ran out many