24 Hours

She nodded. “When he was working the blackmail gigs, he saw that what these guys were most scared of-way more than hurting their wives-was their kids. They couldn’t take the idea that their kids would lose all respect for them. Their kids were what they lived for. So, the way to get the most money was to make the guys pay for their kids.”

“That’s a hell of a lot riskier than blackmail.”

“It is if you do it the way everybody else does it. That’s like asking the FBI to stomp on you with a SWAT team. Joey’s smarter than that. But I don’t have to tell you, do I?”

Will stepped to his left and collapsed into the chair by the window. After all that had happened, it was Cheryl’s last story that brought the full weight of reality crashing down upon him. He wasn’t special. He was merely the latest in a long line of fools victimized by a man who specialized in exploiting human weakness. Hickey had made a profession of it, an art, and Will couldn’t see any way to extricate himself or his family from the man’s web.

“Tell me one thing.”

“What?”

“Did any of the other fathers take you up on your offer?”

Cheryl intertwined her fingers and put her hands behind her head, which showed her implants to best advantage. A strange smile touched her lips. “Two out of five. The others tortured themselves all night. Those two slept like babies.”

Despite his speech about human frailty, Will couldn’t believe that fathers whose children were in mortal danger would have sex with one of their kidnappers. It seemed incomprehensible. And yet, he knew it was possible. “You’re lying,” he said, trying to reassure himself.

“Whatever you say. But I know what I know.”

Special Agent Bill Chalmers thanked a black homicide detective named Washington and closed the door of the police interrogation room. Dr. McDill and his wife had followed the FBI agent’s car the few blocks from the Federal Building to police headquarters, and what they had come for now lay on the metal table in front of them. A stack of mug books two and a half feet high.

“I know it’s not great,” Chalmers said. “But it’s more private than the squad room.”

“There must be thousands of photos here,” McDill said.

“Easily. I’ll be outside, accessing the National Crime Information Center computer. I’ll check all past records of kidnappings-for-ransom in the Southeast, then hit the names ‘Joe,’ ‘Cheryl,’ and ‘Huey’ for criminal records under actual names and aliases. ‘Joe’ is common as dirt, but the others might ring a bell. Also, I talked to my boss by cell phone on the way over. We may see him down here before long. Right now he’s waking up some bank officers to set up flags on large wire transfers going to the Gulf Coast tomorrow morning.” Chalmers looked at his watch. “I guess I mean this morning.”

McDill sighed. “Could we have some coffee or something?”

“You bet. How do you take it?”

“Black for me. Margaret?”

“Is it possible they might have tea?” she asked in a soft voice.

Chalmers gave her a smile. “You never know. I’ll check.”

After he went out, Margaret sat down at the table and opened one of the mug books. The faces staring up from the page belonged to people the McDills used all their money and privilege to avoid. The faces shared many features. Flash-blinded, dope-fried eyes. Hollow cheeks. Bad teeth. Nose rings. Tattoos. And stamped into every one, as though dyed into the skin, a bitter hopelessness that never looked further than the next twenty-four hours.

“Are we doing the right thing?” Margaret asked, looking up at her husband.

McDill gently squeezed her shoulder. “Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“The right thing is always the hardest thing.”

Abby sat scrunched in the corner of the ratty sofa, crying inconsolably, her Barbie held tight against her. Huey sat on the floor six feet away, looking stricken.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said. “I just did what Joey told me to. I have to do what Joey says.”

“He stole me from my mom and dad!” Abby wailed. “You did, too!”

“I didn’t want to! I wish your mama was here right now.” Huey squeezed his hands into fists. “I wish my mama was here.”

“Where is she?” Abby asked, pausing in mid-wail.

“Heaven.” Huey said it as though he didn’t quite believe it. “How come you ran away? It’s because I’m ugly, isn’t it?”

Abby resumed crying, but she shook her head.

“You don’t have to say it. I know. The kids in my school ran too. Nobody liked me. But I thought we was friends. All I wanted to do was be nice. But you ran. How come?”

“I told you. You stole me away from my mom.”

“That’s not it. You don’t like me because I look like a monster.”

Abby fixed her swollen eyes on him. “What you look like doesn’t matter. Don’t you know that?”

Huey blinked. “What?”

“Belle taught me that.”

“Who?”