Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [110]
The Rollinses, Jackson, and Hall raced up the steps and into the church’s interior. It took a second to acclimate to the dim lighting, but when they did, they saw Samantha seated in a pew off to the left. She seemed oblivious at first to their arrival, as though in shock, afraid to look anywhere but straight ahead. But the sound of her name from her mother broke the spell. She turned as Jerry reached her and scooped her up in his arms. Sue wrapped her arms around them and they held the embrace for what seemed an eternity to Jackson and Hall, who watched the reunion with wide smiles, and tears.
“Let’s get her back to the house,” Jackson suggested.
It took some navigating to move vehicles and people who clogged the street to allow the car driven by Jackson, and containing Mary Hall and the Rollins family, to make its way back to Foggy Bottom and into the dry sanctuary of the Rollins home. Rollins had started trying to elicit from his daughter details of her captivity, but Jackson suggested they wait until reaching the house.
“You’re right,” Rollins said. “This isn’t the time.”
Kloss had heard the news and was there when they arrived. He took Jackson aside and asked what had brought about the release.
“I don’t know,” Jackson said. “It was the girl who called from the church. She said where she was, right down to the address and quadrant. She was calm. Whoever dropped her there had obviously briefed her pretty good.”
“What did she call on?”
Jackson handed him the plastic bag in which he’d dropped the cell phone Samantha had given him.
“Hers?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to question her until you arrived.”
“I want to put her to bed,” Sue announced. “She looks exhausted.”
“Just hold up a second,” Kloss suggested. He took Jerry Rollins aside. “I’d like to ask her some questions,” he said.
“Now?” Rollins replied, incredulous. “She’s been through a hellish ordeal. Can’t it wait?”
“I understand your concern, Mr. Rollins, but I’d like to get from her anything she remembers while it’s fresh in her mind. It’s important, sir. You and Mrs. Rollins can be with her, and I promise I won’t prolong it longer than necessary.”
“All right, but keep it short.”
Kloss, Jackson, Hall, and one of the FBI men sat with Samantha in the living room. She was huddled on the couch, between her mother and father, Sue’s arm firmly surrounding her as though the questions might come as physical blows.
“You’re quite a brave young lady,” Kloss began. “We’re all very proud of you.”
Samantha looked up at her mother and smiled shyly.
“What can you tell us about the people who took you?” Kloss asked.
A puzzled frown crossed the girl’s face. She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “There was a man and woman.”
“Did you see them?”
She shook her head. “They wore things over their faces.”
“Uh-huh. Masks. Just over their eyes?”
“No. Their whole faces, like ski masks.”
“Did they call each other by name?”
“Once I heard him call her ‘Greta.’ ”
“Okay. What about Greta?”
“She was nice to me. She had a nice voice, and she bought me food I liked.”
“That’s good to hear,” Kloss said. “Do you remember how far you drove the day they took you from the Mall?”
“I don’t remember. It was a long time.”
“A long drive,” Kloss said. “You have no idea where they kept you, whether it was in a big building or a house?”
“A house. I had a small room with a bed.” Then, as though remembering something she was supposed to say, she said, “They never hurt me, never hit me. They were nice to me.