I suppose some days are meant to be spent with the FBI. I walk into the lobby of Judith’s firm a few minutes after 11:00 a.m. The receptionist is smiling and chatting with a paralegal. They smile at me and gush with congratulations. I don’t realize it immediately, but they think I’m some sort of hero. A lawyer sticks her head out of her office door and says congratulations. The mood is almost jubilant, and why not? Starcher has been rescued and is safely at home, where he belongs. We were all numb, shell-shocked, terrified, and waiting for the nightmare to become a tragedy. Instead, we got lucky.
Judith is in a large, well-appointed conference room with two FBI agents, Beatty and Agnew. Though my right hand is swollen and throbbing, I manage to shake their hands without any evidence of pain. I nod at Judith, say no to coffee, and ask how Starcher is doing. Just fine. Everything is swell.
Beatty, the talker, explains that Judith called the FBI late Saturday afternoon, but they had not officially entered the investigation. Agnew, the note taker, scribbles away and nods his head; whatever Beatty says is exactly true. The FBI does not get involved in kidnappings until the local police invite them in, or there is evidence that the victim has been moved across state lines. He prattles on for a while, smug with his importance. I let him go.
“Now,” Beatty says, looking at me, “you wanted to meet?”
“Yes,” I reply. “I know exactly who kidnapped Starcher, and I know why.”
Agnew’s pen stops in mid-stroke as everyone freezes. With her eyebrows arched, Judith says, “Do tell.”
So I tell the story, all of it.
The elation Judith felt upon our son’s return dissipates halfway through my narrative. When it becomes apparent that the abduction was a direct result of another one of my notorious cases, her body language shifts dramatically and her mind starts racing away. Now, finally, she has clear proof that I am a danger to Starcher. She’ll probably file papers this afternoon.
I avoid eye contact with her, but the vibes are strong enough to spike the tension in the room.
When I finish, Beatty seems stunned. Agnew has burned through an entire legal pad with his chicken scratch.
Beatty says, “Well, I guess there’s a good reason the police didn’t want us involved.”
Agnew grunts his agreement. Judith asks, “How can you prove any of this?”
“I didn’t say I could prove it. Proof will be difficult, if not impossible. There may be surveillance footage of Nancy at the truck stop, taking the kid in, but I bet she’s disguised in some way. I doubt if Starcher could identify the guy who grabbed him at the park. I don’t know. You have any suggestions?”
She says, “It seems pretty far-fetched, the theory that the police would abduct a child.”
“So you don’t believe me?” I fire back.
The truth is that she wants to believe me. She wants my story to be true; because then she can use it as evidence against me when she drags me back to court. She won’t answer my question. “So what’s next?” I ask Beatty.
“Wow. I’m not sure. We’ll have a chat with our supervisor and go from there.”
I say, “I have a meeting this afternoon with an investigator with the police. They’ll seem concerned, ask a lot of questions, but it’s going nowhere. They’ll close the case by the end of the week and be happy with a good outcome.”
Beatty asks, “And you want us to open an investigation?”
I look at Judith and say, “Perhaps we should talk about it first. I’m inclined to pursue Kemp. What about you?”
She says, “Let’s talk.”
Beatty and Agnew take their cue and stand to leave. We thank them and Judith walks them to the front door. When she returns to the conference room, she sits across from me and says, “I don’t know what to do. I’m not thinking clearly right now.”
“We can’t allow the police to do this, Judith.”
“I know, but don’t you already have enough trouble with them? If Kemp is desperate enough to snatch a child, he might do anything. Now do you understand why I get nervous when Starcher is with you?”
I can’t really argue with this.
“Do you think Swanger killed the girl?” she asks.
“Yes, and he’s probably killed others.”
“Great. Another lunatic out there gunning for you. You’re a train wreck, Sebastian, and you’re going to get someone hurt. I just hope it’s not my child. We got lucky today, but maybe not tomorrow.”
There’s a knock on the door and Judith says, “Come in.” The receptionist tells her there is a reporter with a cameraman out front. Two more have called the office. “Get rid of them,” she says, glaring at me. What a mess I’ve created.
We finally agree to do nothing for a few hours. I’ll cancel the meeting with the police detective; the investigation is a sham anyway. As I leave I tell her I’m sorry, but she wants no part of an apology.
I sneak out a rear door.
