Murder Inside the Beltway - Margaret Truman [79]
Rollins had overheard the exchange. “What if I go there?” he suggested.
“I’d prefer that,” said Kloss. “One of my men will drive you.”
Rollins got on the line with Colgate. “Bob, it’s inconvenient for you to come here. The detective in charge says I can come to your house. Is that okay?”
“I suppose so. Bring Sue with you.”
“I’m not sure she’ll want to, but I’ll ask.”
Fifteen minutes later, Rollins sat in the backseat of a marked patrol car. His wife had declined to leave, which he understood. There was something strangely, weirdly comforting being close to the phone on which Samantha’s captor might call again. Although Colgate’s Georgetown townhouse was only minutes away, it seemed to Rollins as if he’d traveled to a distant place, out of touch and helpless.
A housekeeper answered the door and escorted him to Colgate’s office, which overlooked a pristine large yard carefully tended by a team of gardeners. Colgate was dressed casually—jeans, sandals, white button-down shirt he hadn’t bothered to tuck in, and a pale yellow cardigan draped over his shoulders. He got up from behind the desk, came to Rollins, and hugged him. “What a bitch,” he said. “How you holding up, buddy?”
“All right.”
“Sue’s not with you?”
“She didn’t want to leave the phone. She’s there with the detectives.”
“Sit down, Jerry. Coffee? Something stronger?”
“Coffee would be fine.”
Settled, cups in front of them, Colgate asked whether there had been any progress in finding Samantha.
“Unfortunately, no,” Rollins replied. “We received a call last night.”
“From the kidnapper?”
“Yes or so he claimed. All he said was that Samantha was okay and that she wouldn’t be hurt provided I did what they told me to do.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“What does he want you to do?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say. He said they’d be in touch again.”
“They’d? There’s more than one?”
“Evidently. He said that we would be back in touch.”
“Did the police trace the call?”
Rollins nodded and sipped his coffee. “The call was made from a cell phone in Southwest, down by those fish restaurants. The number was traced to a couple who said their phone had been stolen yesterday afternoon at the Mall.”
“Do you think—?”
“No, they had nothing to do with it, Bob. I don’t even know if it was a genuine call or not. The cops say it could be a prankster, a perverted one. I’m hoping they’re wrong.”
Deborah walked into the room. “Oh, Jerry,” she said, going to where he sat and wrapping her arms around his shoulders, “every parent’s worst nightmare. I am so sorry. I’m sure that Samantha will be fine.”
“We’re counting on that,” Rollins said.
“Can I do anything?” she asked, “be with Sue?”
“Nothing to be done, thanks. It’s a waiting game.” He told her what he’d relayed to her husband about the call and the tracing of it. He also filled them in on what Detective Kloss had speculated, that the abductor, or abductors, did not seem to be child molesters. “He thinks it’s a professional job,” he added.
“Professional?” Colgate mimicked. “What the hell could be professional about it? Money, of course. They’re looking for a ransom.”
“I don’t know, Bob. I’m just telling you what the detective said.”
Deborah excused herself. “Please give my love to Sue, Jerry, and call if I can do anything.” She kissed his cheek and left.
Colgate picked up the latest edition of City Paper from his desk and handed it to Rollins. “Seen this, Jerry?”
“No.”
“Page three.”
Rollins read Josh Langdon’s piece. When he’d finished, he tossed it angrily to the floor.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were interviewed?”
“I forgot about it. Just more trash, as I told the reporter.”
“It has Pyle’s people written all over it.”
Colgate leaned forward, his elbows on the desk. “Jerry,” he said, “is there anything you’re holding back from me?”
“Of course not.”
“This prostitute taped her clients?”
“That’s what Langdon claims in the piece.”
Colgate shook his head ruefully and regained his more relaxed pose, leaning far back in his desk chair. “Is it possible that this nasty business with Samantha has something