The Perfect Husband - Lisa Gardner [97]
“Well, you’re the Einstein. If you know the secret formula for catching Jim Beckett, cough it up. Our department can’t afford any more fucking nights like this.” Houlihan’s voice contained a bitter, rusty edge that they both felt. In Quincy’s career, he’d seen eight officers go down and two damn good agents. How many times had he listened to the guns firing their grim salute? It never got any easier. It never got less personal.
“Okay, we know Beckett loves his daughter. We don’t believe she’s in any danger. So you’re right, let’s exploit this for all its worth. You have a four-year-old girl to keep happy. What do four-year-olds want?”
“I’m the proud father of two Dobermans, Quincy. What the hell do I know about kids?”
“Hmm, and I can’t even handle goldfish.”
“Hold on a sec.” Lieutenant Houlihan opened the door of the office and shouted, “Rich, get in here!”
The middle-aged homicide detective materialized a few seconds later. He’d also been up half the night, but he didn’t comment on it. Like all the task force members, his face was haggard and his shoulders drooped. In the last twenty-four hours they’d seen Lieutenant Difford and Officer Harrison brutally murdered. Most likely Sergeant Wilcox had met the same fate. They were angry. They wanted justice, they wanted revenge. Beckett’s chances of being brought in alive were diminishing exponentially—much to Quincy’s regret. They still had a lot to learn from a man such as Beckett. Except that the price was becoming too high.
“You got two kids, right?” Houlihan pressed the detective.
“One girl and one boy. Ages three and five.”
“Good. Think like a four-year-old for us.”
“Jesus.”
“You’ve been woken up in the middle of the night,” Quincy supplied. “You’re tired and cranky. Beckett probably had to look for a hotel, right?”
Rich shook his head. “He took Difford’s car, yeah? Kids sleep great in cars. We used to drive Shawn all night long when he was teething. It was the only thing that put him to sleep.”
“Shit. So Beckett, with possibly one hour’s head start, can drive straight through. What about the morning? By the time she does wake up, she’s going to be scared, uncertain, cranky. . . .”
“Happy Meals,” Rich supplied without hesitation.
“What?”
“Greatest form of bribery on the planet. Kids are unhappy or whining, take then to McDonald’s. Is Beckett a cook?”
“No, he’s a chauvinist pig.”
“Well, kids aren’t really into restaurants, especially four-year-olds. Check all the fast-food places. She’ll need to eat, and any kid worth her salt will want to eat at McDonald’s or Burger King or a place like that Those commercials really brainwash the little guys.”
Quincy nodded. “There you go. Let’s get a map, plot out just how far he could get in one night of driving, and canvas fast-food joints with her picture. I can get the field office to help.”
“Works for me,” Houlihan said curtly. Rich was excused. “I want the airports on alert too. LaGuardia, Logan, JFK, etcetera. Can you arrange it?”
“He won’t try to leave the country yet.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Tess is still alive. He won’t leave until he’s gotten her.”
“Come on. How’s he going to track down Tess with a four-year-old?”
“I imagine he has a plan.” Quincy leaned forward. “Airports are alerted, Lieutenant. The international departure gates have had Beckett’s picture ever since he escaped. We can get them Sam’s picture too, but I don’t think he’ll fly the coop yet. Sam was step one. Killing Tess Williams will be step two.”
“Then he’ll leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You’re the expert and you don’t know?”
Quincy remained silent for a moment, giving Houlihan a chance to take a deep breath and pull it together. When the lieutenant had succeeded in fisting his hands down by his sides, Quincy tapped his computer. “Remember the pattern—”
“For chrissake, screw the pattern! He’s doing it personal now, not by the numbers.”
“He’s doing both. Think, Houlihan. He uses the first letter from the place he leaves the bodies to play his little games. Two guards