Page 117

Matt saw that it had been sent almost a half hour earlier. He scanned through it, made a face as he shook his head in frustration, then opened the image she had attached.

“Huh,” he said. “Well, she appears to be okay. But she really is starting to piss me off with this control issue of hers.”

He forwarded it to Amanda—Maybe it will ease her mind, he thought—then he went to Kerry’s e-mail and opened the image of the greasy handwritten note.

He handed Jason the phone and said, “You were right. Again. They are connected. Looks like Maggie may be the last witness. But witness to what? To what was stolen? At least we have some idea as to motive.” He took a sip of his drink, lost in thought, then said, “But it doesn’t track that the same person who would professionally take out the Gonzalez girl with .22 rounds behind the ear would attempt pulling off a third-world assassination stunt with a motorcycle and a spray and pray of nine-millimeter.”

“And do not forget the note in the pizza box,” Washington said dryly, nodding as he looked at it all.

Then he passed Matt’s phone to Byrth, who then gave it to O’Hara.

“Congratulations, Michael,” Jason said, gesturing at the image that Maggie McCain sent as her proof of life. “You’re now part of the story the breaking details of which you have to sit on.”

O’Hara nodded thoughtfully as he handed the phone back to Payne.

Washington then said: “We need details back on both Mary’s House and the West Philadelphia Sanctuary.”

At the thought of another attack, Matt felt his temper flaring, and forced it back.

“That Sanctuary has at least twice as many residents as Mary’s,” he said, his tone frustrated. “It is going to be a helluva lot harder to secure—if we can find enough blue shirts available for however long it will take.”

He then rapidly replied to Maggie’s e-mail: “I have seen the note about blood on your hands. Who is this guy? He will kill again. You may be safe now, but that can change. And your girls are at grave risk. I need your help, Maggie. Call my cell phone now.”

He hit SEND and then looked at Washington.

“I just told Maggie we have the note and to call me.” He picked up the cocktail napkin. “This number really is our only good lead now. But if we contact it, we could make things worse for her.”

“Agreed, Matthew,” he said, watching him shred the napkin, the pieces floating to the bar. “Stating the obvious, this is a desperate act on the miscreant’s part to get to her. And he has the advantage of using violence to draw her out.”

Payne glanced at his wristwatch.

“While we know he is capable of it,” Matt said, “we don’t know if he will act on his threat after this first hour, or the second, or whenever. We also don’t know if Maggie is even aware of the note, of its threat. And if she is, if she has called the number.”

He then met Washington’s eyes. “What am I missing, Jason?”

Washington raised his eyebrows.

“The rules have changed, Matthew.”

“How do you mean?”

“Maggie, with her need for control, created an impasse for everyone looking for her. What she did not—perhaps being in fear for her life could not—anticipate was that her stall tactic would force the miscreant to act again.”

“Which, as Matt notes, could happen in a minute, a day, a week,” Byrth said.

Matt looked at him, then Mickey, then Jason.

Then he checked his e-mail.

“No reply from Maggie. Fuck it. I’m calling the number.”

X

[ONE]

Kensington, Philadelphia

Monday, November 17, 5:13 P.M.