I’LL PROVE MORE TRUE

Moira Keeley

Part One

Though they sink through the Sea they shall rise again...

Joe stood at his office window, looking out over the City.

"Put him through," he told his secretary. "Hey Coleridge, it’s about time you called me back."

"I’m not calling you back. This has nothing, well, little to do with the matter we have been discussing."

Joe walked over to his desk and turned off the speaker on his phone, picking up the receiver.

"I don’t... "

"I need you to come to my office immediately. Come through the back entrance, the custodian’s. I suggest you wear dark glasses... a hat. I’ll not be responsible for the consequences if you’re recognized. It’s quite possible I am under surveillance."

"What the hell... "

"Look, I’ve been instructed not to call the police. And technically, you are not the police. However, I don’t think they would look too kindly upon my contacting you."

"Who? Who won’t?"

"I’m speaking to you from a pay phone, and I am not going to stand here all day answering moronic questions. Can I expect you or not?"

"I’ll be there."

Joe didn’t like Mark Coleridge. But the man valued his own time immensely; he was not one to play games or take things lightly. Whatever it was must be serious. Joe looked around his office; pulled his jogging sweats out of his drawer. He had dark glasses, but the only hat he could find was a Totes rain hat. It would have to do. He didn’t call his driver. Instead he hurried down to the street and hailed a cab.

The fact that the name on the door no longer said Chandler and Coleridge annoyed Joe – no respect. He moved toward the receptionist and stated his name. She showed him down a long and now familiar corridor to Mark Coleridge’s office. Mark was sitting at his desk.

"What the hell is this about?" Joe demanded as soon as the woman closed the door behind her. Mark didn’t answer. Instead he shoved an envelope and a video tape across his desk.

"I trust you’ll be able to make more sense of this than I’m able to. I cannot even fathom... I’m just stunned."

He didn’t look stunned. He didn’t look anything. Joe moved toward the desk, picked up the letter and read it. He raised his head and stared at Mark Coleridge.

"I don’t understand."

***

"Diana - thank God, you’re home. Your lieutenant said you were in the field. I was worried that wouldn’t be able to get a hold of you today."

"What is it Joe... "

"I’m coming over. You’ve got a VCR, haven’t you?"

"Yes, what’s going on?"

"I don’t want to tell you over the phone, anyway, you’ll have to see for yourself. I’ll be there in ten."

Diana hung up, stared at the phone. Joe sounded breathless, excited, worried all at once. She slowly walked the length of her apartment and back. She looked down at what she had been working on: a case that was taking her nowhere. She hadn’t been able to pick up a thread, any thread. It happened sometimes. Sometimes you just weren’t the right detective for the job.

He actually was there in a little more than ten. He must have flown downtown. Panting, he entered her apartment. "Diana," he halted, unable to continue. Instead, he took a much needed breath, then marched over to the VCR and shoved a tape into it. He came back and handed her a one page letter. Diana read it over quickly and then looked up at him. She was speechless.

***

Joe was off again, back uptown. Diana’s lieutenant had already set up a command post; Joe intended to be there when they figured out their next move. For Diana there was only one. She followed Joe out, and then ran to the corner.

"I have to see Vincent... tonight," she told the news venders there. Luckily, there were still two of them. They were counting out the day’s receipts.

One of them looked up at her. "What’s happened, Diana?"

"It would take too long to explain. Just let him know I’ll be waiting."

"Okay, I’ll send him a message right away."

Diana didn’t wait for an answer. She hurried back to her loft and hit the rewind button on her VCR.

He was there sooner than she expected. She heard his step on the roof top terrace and she hurried out to meet him, pulling him by his sleeve into her apartment.

"Diana! What is it?"

She didn’t say anything. She took his hand and led him into her living room instead, making an effort to collect herself.

"Sit down, Vincent. Here. You know what a video tape is, don’t you? Yes, of course you do. Mark Coleridge, from Catherine’s old firm, received this in his office today – along with a letter. Vincent, I don’t know how to prepare you for what you’re about to see."

Vincent sat down slowly, narrowing his eyes, looking up and sideways at Diana with a cautious look. She was more perturbed than he had ever seen her. He quietly contemplated this for a moment.

"Play the tape, Diana."

Diana pulled in her breath, moved to the VCR and pressed the play button. There was static for a moment and then the tape began to play. There was a plain white background, a sheet probably, hanging behind a woman sitting manacled to a chair. She was wearing a pair of men’s blue jeans rolled up to her ankles and a pale blue tee shirt with a pocket over her heart. She was thin, worn looking. Her hair was light colored, long and straight. There was a belligerent expression on her face. A man’s voice in the background sounded muffled but the woman’s voice came through loud and clear.

"Say ‘hi’ for the camera, Sweetie."

"Why? What are you going to use this tape for?"

"You don’t need to know that."

She shook her head. "Why am I here? What am I worth to you?" She looked off camera to where there was obviously someone else in the room. A shadow on the sheet was visible. She looked at this person pleadingly.

"Why won’t any of you tell me anything?"

The tape ended. Vincent had stumbled forward off of the sofa; he was kneeling in front of the television, one trembling hand on the screen where the image of the woman had been. "Play it again," he whispered.

Diana shot forward, she rewound the tape, pressed play again. Vincent’s hand remained where it was. It was such a short tape.

He was swaying by the time it finished for the second time. Diana thought he might topple over - he kept his balance, however. He turned to her, breathing as if he had just run a long way.

"There was a letter."

"Yes, these are just copies, of course. The originals have already been entered into evidence. I’ll read it to you.

"Dear Mr. Coleridge, Please view the enclosed video tape before proceeding with this letter. Have you watched it? Good. We believe this merchandise is of some value to you. We are requesting thirty million dollars for the return of the original on this tape." Diana stopped, "There are detailed instructions as to how and when the money is to be wired." She skipped to the bottom. "If you do not comply with our request, we cannot be responsible for the result. It is likely, however, that the dead will remain dead. And please do not contact the police or any other authority. We do not wish to be forced to withdraw our offer."

Diana stopped reading. "That’s it. It is a peculiar letter; deliberately so, I think."

"Merchandise", Vincent interrupted, his voice hoarse.

"I think the writer wants to be very clear that this is merely a business transaction for him."

"Mark Coleridge will give them the money; he does he have it?"

"A little more than that, actually – the abductor must know that. He must have an inside person. The tape is time stamped 2-13-90. That’s a few weeks ago. If that date is correct they must have been waiting until the amount in Catherine’s Estate reached that exact sum. A large amount was just deposited the other day. And I do think the date is accurate. It occurred to both Joe and me that this tape could have been shot when Cathy was first abducted, but we don’t think that’s the case. To begin with, she is considerably thinner than she was then. It would have taken some time to lose the weight and by then she would have been showing with Jacob. And she’s not. And her hair is much longer. Most important, however, is that this particular brand of VHS tape has only been on the market since January. Joe’s got the whole lab working on this, but I think it is safe to assume that this is the real deal."

Vincent moved back; fell onto the couch, putting his head in his hands. "She’s alive; Catherine is alive."

"I believe she is, Vincent." Diana hesitated. "The problem is, once we hand over the money...there is no reason to keep her…. "

Vincent looked up. "They gave until…. "

"They actually gave a fair amount of time, forty eight hours. I suppose they realize it might take that long to move that much money around. But we have to move fast. I’ve tried to locate the funeral director who was in charge of Cathy’s burial. George Ogolive is his name, but he’s already in the wind – has been since last week. So I think it is safe to assume that he was involved somehow."

"Diana, I carried her home. She was so cold. She wasn’t breathing. I know she wasn’t. How is this possible?"

Diana shrugged. "I don’t know, Vincent. There have been other instances. a senior detective I know tells the story of a victim having been pronounced by a doctor at the scene. They covered him with a sheet, began gathering evidence, taking pictures. More than an hour later the man began to move, talk; the detective said they all just about jumped out of their shoes. These things happen."

"So if I had just stayed with her longer. Brought her below... "

"Don’t torture yourself, Vincent. You couldn’t have known. I saw her body, well, what I thought was her body. Someone deliberately made us believe she was dead. Joe is already working on having the remains exhumed. He is going to try and have it done tonight with as little fanfare as possible. We would rather the abductors not know that the police are working the case. But it may become unavoidable. Anyway, Joe is coming back to pick me up as soon as he has finished up where he is. We are going to be interviewing three employees of Gabriel that we still have in custody."

"There was a nurse?"

"Yes, and a body guard and a man whose job it was to get rid of Gabriel’s victim’s bodies. Says quite a bit about Gabriel’s organization, doesn’t it? That he had an employee for that. Anyway, he’s our best shot. He was the most cooperative of the three."

The phone rang. Diana reached over and picked up the receiver. She mouthed the word "Joe" to Vincent.

"Okay, you’ll be here, in what, twenty minutes? I’ll be ready." She hung up.

"I’ll go down and meet Joe. We’re going to Rikers. You can stay here. Make yourself a cup of tea. You look like you could use... something."

"Diana, how can I thank you... "

"I’m just doing my job."

"You’ll do more than that."

"I hope so. We’ll bring her home safe; I promise."

She didn’t know why she said that. Diana didn’t feel as if she could promise anything. There was too much uncertainty involved. Too many ifs.... But the look on his face – a cross between soaring elation and deep anxiety – she had to say something.

Joe was tightly wound on the ride to Rikers Island, on the car phone every minute. They decided to interview their best bet themselves. The other two would be handled by other detectives. Diana looked over his sheet. He was twenty-nine years old, born in South America but raised in the South Bronx. Despite the late hour he greeted them with a smile that included a number of gold teeth.

"Ey, pretty lady. What a nice way to wake up in the middle of the night. I was just dreamin’ about you."

"I’ll bet you were," Joe interrupted. "Have a seat. We would like to ask you a couple of questions."

The man shrugged. "I might know the answers; I might not. You never know." He leaned forward. "You’re the guy in charge, right? Top of the food chain – you think I could get a little rhythm on my time, huh?"

Joe glared at him. "I’ll make that decision once you’ve given us the information we need; and I decide whether or not I believe you."

Diana leaned forward. "You were there the night Catherine Chandler died, weren’t you?"

"Might have been," he shrugged.

"I think you were," Diana told him. "We haven’t got a lot of time here; and you’re wasting it. If you want consideration you’ll help yourself most by just telling us what you know – quickly. What happened that night?"

"Okay, okay. I’m a cooperative guy. But I gotta tell ya somethin’ first, otherwise, nothin’ else I say is gonna make any sense. Gabriel... was nuts. And I’m talkin’ seriously fuckin’ fruit loops. We all knew it. Everybody, and I mean everybody, was taking money on the side. We figured this wasn’t gonna be a long ride with Gabriel driving the gravy train. Sooner or later he was jus’ gonna shoot the horses or somethin’. That was jus’ the kind of guy he was. I’ll tell ya man, that was one crazy dude."

"Bout a week or two before that night, the night they offed her, two of Gabriel’s top guys come to me with a proposal. They tell me they will give me five big ones if I disappear the pregnant chick after Gabriel has finished with her. They tell me to jus’ take the body and drop it at Ogolive’s place instead of droppin’ her at the dump in Jersey or where ever. That’s all I had to do."

Joe’s jaw was tight. "That’s all, huh?"

Diana interjected, "Ogolive, the funeral director?"

"Yeah, look, I don’t go around killing nobody, that wasn’t my job. My job was disposal."

Joe started to speak but Diana gave him a shake of her head. "What were their names, the men who asked you to do this?" Diana asked.

"Roger Alton, Gabriel’s drug man. He knew all these different languages and had connections all over the world. The other was Gabriel’s money man, Jonathan Frick.

"You mean his accountant?" Joe asked, recalling the name.

"Uh-huh. Now I knew these guys musta been stealin’ left and right from our dearly departed boss. Everybody was."

"Wasn’t that dangerous?"

"Yeah; but so was wearin’ the wrong color socks. Gabriel would have you taken out for that same as for anythin’ else. So what the hell? I told you the guy didn’t even have one oar in the water. And he was obsessed with the pregnant lady."

"Catherine Chandler?"

"Yeah, so I figure maybe these guys have come up with a plan to make a couple of extra bucks. Whatever; these guys, I really don’t want to mess with; couple of spooky dudes. Frick is one greedy bastard. The other one, Alton, he’s just mean... cold, you know what I mean?"

"So you didn’t do what they asked you to?"

"No, I did. You know, money’s money. So I say Okay, I’ll do it. Couple a days later I see Alton comin’ out of the infirmary. Not for nothing’, that door’s always locked, ‘cause of the drugs, you know. So I’m surprised to see this. But I jus’ mind my own business; makes life a lot easier if you do."

"Anyways, couple of nights later Chandler starts having the kid, so they tell me to help bring her to the infirmary. So then I’m jus’ waitin’ around for someone to tell me what else I gotta do," (he turns to Diana) "when I hear her friend come in. Now, he’s making an awful racket. Everybody is runnin’ to see what’s goin’ on. Me, I locked myself in the can."

"Good move."

"Yeah, absolutely; So I wait. Then it gets all quiet. I come out, I’m real quiet too, nobody around, ‘cept a few bodies her friend fricasseed for us. Anyways, I know Gabriel has a chopper on the roof. So I go up and see if it’s still there or if he’s left the building’. Chopper’s gone but I thought I saw somethin’ going over the side of the buildin’. I go to take a look, and what do I see, larger than life and three times as hairy, Catherine’s friend, and he’s carrying her down the fire escape. Not for nothin’, I figure I’ll just leave him to it. I’m not stoppin’ him. But as I’m comin’ down the stairs who do I meet comin’ up but Alton and Frick. So I tole them what I seen."

"Well, you’d think it was all my fault. Alton starts cursing me in three different languages. I tell him, ‘he’s probably hittin’ the pavement right about now, why don’t you go down there and ask him to hand her over.’ Then I jus’ walk away, after I tole them they still owed me the five grand, of course. Ain’t my fault about... whatever that dude is. And that’s about it."

"That’s it?" Joe demanded.

"Yeah; believe me, these guys didn’t tell me nothin’. I got no idea what they wanted her for. And you know what, I didn’t want to know. I tole you, I was mindin’ my own business; always do."

"If you’ve held anything back... " Joe warned.

"Look, I swear. That’s it."

"It better be." Diana jumped in. "We need you to sign an affidavit. One other question... the funeral director, George Ogolive? What do you know about him?"

"We did business with him before. He was on Gabriel’s payroll."

"And do you think he would have done business with Alton and Frick?" Diana asked.

"Sure. Another greedy bastard if ever there was one. He’d a buried his best friend alive if there was enough cash in it for him."

"Nice guys, the whole lot of you," Joe mumbled to him.

As soon as they got back to the car, Joe was on the phone again. "I need multiple warrants... asap. I’ve got probable cause in the form of an affidavit signed by a material witness. Right! Roger Alton and Jonathan Frick. They both worked for Gabriel. Make sure you get all residences listed for these guys covered in the warrants. I want wire taps on their phones, everything, We have reason to believe they are holding Catherine Chandler hostage. You heard me – Catherine Chandler."

Joe continued barking out commands on the phone while Diana made a mental list of what her next moves would be.

Finally Joe put down the receiver. "We’ll try listening in first. See if it leads us anywhere. This is gonna be a hell of a balancing act, Diana. We can’t make any mistakes. Once they get that money... ," Joe didn’t finish the sentence.

***

Vincent was waiting for Diana. He had watched the tape a hundred times over. Now he was just pacing. She told him everything she had learned.

"I need to go Below... let my father know. I’ll be back within the hour."

"Take your time, Vincent. I’ve got more phone calls to make. And Vincent, why don’t you pack some things? You can’t keep running between here and the tunnels."

Vincent nodded, that made sense. He wanted to be as near as possible to his source of information. He quietly left. Diana looked after him. She had still hoped. She knew, of course, that there was only Catherine. Still, she had hoped that maybe one day that would change.

Diana was on the phone again when Vincent returned. She hung up. "That was Joe, Alton’s out of the country. Frick’s at his home on Long Island. We are having both their phones wired as we speak. We might as well try and get some sleep, Vincent. We are in for a long couple of days."

Vincent nodded. As if he could sleep. Father and Mary had been in Father’s chamber when he had returned below. They had been incredulous. But then, they hadn’t seen the tape – hadn’t seen with their own eyes that she was alive. Alive. The words played over and over in Vincent’s head. She’s alive.

He had packed several days’ worth of clothing and said goodbye to his son.

Vincent didn’t know what lay in store for him. Yet he knew that what ever it took to save Catherine’s life he would do it.

Vincent sat on Diana’s couch staring wide eyed at the blank television screen. Finally, he did sleep. He fell asleep in a sitting position, a restless sleep, full of dreams of searching, searching rooms and corridors. He had the dream again, the one which had been haunting him for weeks. He dreamed a dream of the ocean, of a small cove lit only by moonlight, of a small boat bobbing out on the surf, its sidelights shining through the dark.

Vincent awoke to the phone ringing. The sun had already come up and was just making an appearance over the tops of the buildings. Diane came bounding out, wearing only a pair of cotton boxer shorts and a tank top. Vincent rose and walked out to the roof. He was embarrassed by her lack of clothing. He knew her feelings, even though she had never told him. He could see it in her, feel it. It saddened him; he hated to disappoint yet another person who cared about him.

"You can’t be serious, Joe? How bizarre... and they are sure it was an accident? I’ll be damned...Well, one less buzzard to worry about." Diana listened for a while longer. "See you in a bit; I’m just getting out of bed."

Diana hung up the telephone. "Roger Alton is dead."

Vincent swung around, forgetting her lack of clothing. "What happened?"

"It was on the Autobahn."

"In Europe?"

"Yes. A couple of hours ago; car accident. Some Danish teenagers on holiday were driving intoxicated and out of control, smashed into his vehicle; he died en route to the hospital."

"That’s incredible."

"Yes. And maybe a good piece of luck. They had just finished installing the tap on both their phones. The German police notified Mrs. Alton. That’s how we first heard about it. Our guys listening in said she didn’t seem too broken up. Anyway, she called Frick. We don’t think she knew anything about what they were doing, other than that they were business partners. Frick took it like a man. Now the whole bundle’s just for him. The officers listening in said it sounded hard for him to muster up the usual words of condolence, but he did. Then he started making calls of his own; he held it close to the vest though, was very cryptic."

"Still, we picked up some information. He mentioned something about a bay house, which is interesting, because there is a man working for one of Alton’s supposedly legitimate businesses, a man by the name of Darren Holbrook. His father owned a string of gambling boats that ran out of Freeport and Montauk out on the Island. Holbrook ran the business into the ground after his father died. In recent years it has been suspected by the Suffolk Police Department that he was drug running, but nothing has ever been found on his boat. Here’s the thing though. His parents owned a bay house off of Long Island’s south shore. There aren’t many of them left. Most of them are little more than shacks really, built on small islands off the coast. No one is allowed to even build them anymore, but the standing ones were grandfathered in. Guess who inherited it?"

"Darren Holbrook."

"Yup. Suffolk County Marine Bureau and Aviation are organizing a party to go out there as we speak. We’ve got the South Shore Coast Guard on stand by. They’re gonna land on them hard and fast. If she’s there..."

Vincent was finding it difficult to breath. Could it be that simple? Could she actually be brought home today?

"Anyway, Westchester is going for Alton’s home and Nassau Police already have Frick’s house under surveillance. It’s all happening in the next couple of hours. Joe is picking me up any minute; we’re going to be there to question Frick."

Diana looked down at herself. With a curse, she turned and headed for the bathroom.

Vincent stared after her dazed. He couldn’t help feeling helpless. There was nothing he could do. It was broad daylight. Without their bond, he had no way of knowing where she was. New York has one of the finest police Departments in the world. They had all the surrounding departments working on bringing her home as well. There was nothing he could do but wait.

Diana had literally taken one minute to shower. She came out buttoning up her shirt, her hair still pinned up on her head. The buzzer sounded. "That’s Joe." She retrieved her holster and gun from a cabinet. "Please, Vincent, don’t worry. It’s all going to work out; I’m sure of it."

***

They pulled up outside of Frick’s estate on Long Island’s north shore. It wasn’t very large, not by gold coast standards anyway. But it was certainly a nice place to live. Joe waited on the car phone while all the jurisdictions co-coordinated. They couldn’t risk anyone being tipped off. He finally got the go ahead and they went in. Frick was sitting down to breakfast. He tried to look unimpressed, yet his face drained as a swarm of officers descended on his home and began searching every room. One by one the calls came in over Diana’s radio from the other jurisdictions, nothing. They were still tossing Alton’s mansion when the Nassau officers finished searching; Catherine was not on the premises.

Joe sat staring across Frick’s dining room table.

Diana’s radio buzzed. They were patching Suffolk Marine through. Joe continued to stare at Frick while the sergeant in charge of the scene reported that the bay house had been in use in recent weeks. There was food in the cupboards and refrigerator. The milk, however, had gone sour. There was clothing left in a chest of drawers, some toiletries. Whoever had left, left in a hurry.

Joe took the radio from Diana. "Could you designate it a crime scene?"

"Already done; are you coming out?" The sergeant asked.

"As soon as we can," Joe responded before turning around to Frick.

"If you are going to ask me any questions, I want my attorney present," Frick sulked.

"Yeah, well, I’d like a house like this one. But I’m just an honest, hard working guy. We can’t always get what we want, can we?" Joe asked.

"I don’t find you amusing."

"Gee, that’s a shame. You’re right; this is no joke. You think I got this search warrant with my good looks?"

"With hers, maybe, not with yours," Frick looked Diana over.

"No, even that didn’t do it. We have hard evidence. You asked one of Gabriel’s employees to hold Catherine Chandler’s body for you. The funeral director was on Gabriel’s payroll. I should have checked when he told me that Catherine’s nearest relation had hired him. Her nearest relation was a second cousin who lived in Europe; but then you knew that already, didn’t you? You were the one who paid Ogolive to tell me it was all taken care of."

Frick’s cheek twitched. If Diane hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed it. She shared a quick sideways glance with Joe; he had seen it too.

Joe changed his tone. "Look, Johnny, I know Gabriel ordered Catherine Chandler’s murder. I don’t know how, but you saved her life. If it hadn’t been for you, she really would be dead now," Joe softened his voice. "You think we won’t take that into consideration. All I want is Miss Chandler back. If Cathy is safe and well, I am prepared to offer you the deal of the century. I mean that; you have my personal guarantee," softer still. "I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am to you."

Frick vacillated. They could both see it. But then he seemed to recall something and he held firm again, denying any knowledge or involvement. They tried for another hour but he wouldn’t budge.

Diana could see that Joe was at the end of his rope, and really, so was she. She became aggressive, threatening.

Frick responded with equanimity. "You think you can frighten me because of what you did to Gabriel? Yes, I know. Everyone knows. You won’t get away with it a second time, Ms. Bennett. Once, your friends were able to cover for you, but twice, in a house full of police officers and the District Attorney to boot. No. There isn’t a thing you can do."

Enough was enough. She leaned over very close to Frick, her face inches from his, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You were there the night Catherine Chandler was supposed to have been murdered. Did you see him? You must at least have heard him. I know you saw the bodies after. You’re going to tell me, and tell me now, where Catherine Chandler is...because if you don’t.....I hope you are a religious man, because, and this I can promise you, you are going to be praying tonight like you’ve never prayed before in your life." Diana moved even closer, hissed into his ear. "Where is she?"

He looked at her stoically. "I don’t know."

Diana sat back. It was useless. "Officer," she called to a uniform. "We’re going now. Don’t let him use the phone; don’t let him even go to the bathroom alone."

"This isn’t legal," Frick said quietly.

"Sue me."

"I intend to."

"Oh, I don’t think you will. You’ll have changed your mind about that by tomorrow, that is, if you’re still alive tomorrow. But of course, that would depend entirely on you. If I were you, I would think long and hard about any move I made right now. Your life is in your own hands."

Diana rose to go; Joe followed her out. As they exited the front door, Joe stopped her, turned her around.

"What are you planning on doing, Diana?"

"I’m not going to do anything."

"But Vincent is."

This caught her off guard, but she answered, "Yes, Vincent is. Do you have a problem with that, Joe?"

Joe looked at her, thought of Catherine, thought about her baby. "No...no, I don’t think I do. But should you have warned Frick? He’ll be ready for him now."

Diana couldn’t help laughing a very grim laugh. "No, he won’t."

***

Diana and Joe were transported by Police helicopter out to the bay house in Suffolk. It was a small, wind damaged bungalow sitting barely above sea level in the middle of an island of reeds that stood far removed from any others on the Atlantic coast – a truly deserted place. Joe shivered as they landed on a narrow strip of solid ground. They were met by the sergeant from Suffolk Marine Bureau. He reiterated what had been found. They walked the long and unstable dock that wound through the high grass and cattails to the abandoned hut.

As soon as they entered, Joe and Diana exchanged glances – there was the chair that Catherine had been chained to; they recognized it from the video tape. There were several small bedrooms off the main room; the sergeant led them into one. There was a narrow bed with white sheets and a small chest of drawers. Diana opened it and turned to Joe, pointing to a light blue pocket tee shirt.

"It’s the one she was wearing in the video tape," Joe murmured. They looked in the bathroom and found a hairbrush, a toothbrush and other essentials. "She left in a hurry – didn’t take anything with her."

They continued with a quick look around and then moved back outside.

"There’s one other thing you should see," The sergeant told them. He stopped on the path about halfway to the water and pointed to something glistening in the sun. It was handcuffs with a chain attached to them. The manacles from the video, and they had been unlocked, not broken.

"Anything else", Joe asked quietly, looking out over the high, windswept reeds choking the island. The sergeant shook his head. "Do you think we could get a couple of canine units out here?" Joe was trying to keep his voice under control.

"Yeah," the sergeant answered just as quietly, "Cadaver dogs?"

"As many as you’ve got," Joe whispered. The sergeant turned and headed for his boat to radio for additional units.

"No, Joe," Diana glared at him, shaking her head. "No. I didn’t tell Vincent she was alive for this. I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it. I’m going back to the City. I need authorization for a small ESU truck."

Joe stared at her, "For what?"

She lowered her voice. "To go back and question Frick again, as soon as it gets dark."

Joe nodded slowly. "Okay." He stepped closer to her. "And Diana, if she’s here... you can tell Vincent for me... you can tell him to make it as slow and as painful as possible."

"Oh, Joe," Diana put her arms around him. "I know she’s alive. I know it."

***

Frick was nervous that night. The officers all left suddenly, just after sundown. He was finally able to call his lawyer; not that the phone call did him much good. His lawyer talked about filing a law suit. But at two hundred plus dollars an hour, Frick wondered if it would really be worth it. He felt better after he called his security company to test his alarm system. He double checked it himself – twice. He let the dogs out of their kennel to wander the property. He even hired a call girl so he wouldn’t be alone for the evening.

Not that any of that helped. He realized that as he was being dragged out of his bed that night, a large hand over his mouth, sharp claws digging into his cheek. He thought about what Diana had said about praying. He thought of it as he was being hauled like a rag doll out of his bedroom, down his broad staircase and into his study. And he had no God to pray to. He was all alone, alone with it. The prostitute lying beside him had not even stirred. Of course, she was intoxicated, passed out on his expensive liquor.

The dark figure pushed him into his chair, reached over and turned his desk lamp on. The creature stood over him for a moment, and then sat down on the chair placed at the side of his desk. Frick had known about Vincent from the beginning. He had been there the day Gabriel had discovered his existence, and he had seen Gabriel’s tapes of him. But it was nothing compared to the reality. The size of his canines: the animal face, the blue eyes glowering at him. He felt a chill go down his spine. He had one chance; there was a revolver in his desk drawer.

Vincent leaned forward, "I want you to tell me... tell me everything you know about what has become of Catherine Chandler. Leave nothing out... and I will not harm you. Do you understand?"

Frick nodded, searching for his voice. "Yes." He finally croaked. He stared at the drawer where the gun lay. The creature looked away. Suddenly, he shot his hand out toward it. But before his fingers could reach the smooth brass handle, a set of talons was sinking into his flesh. He screamed out. Vincent threw his hand back at him and opened the drawer he had reached for. He removed the gun and set it on the far side of the desk.

Low, ominous, it sounded like a growl, "Tell me."

Frick held his injured wrist. "I can’t. I’ll bleed to death."

Vincent bent down and ripped a large piece of silk from the bottom of Frick’s own pajama pant. He reached over and removed Frick’s hand, which was holding his bloody wrist. He bound the wound, none to gently, and then told him, "It is not bleeding badly. You are in no danger. You can proceed."

Frick gulped; took a breath. "She’s gone."

Vincent didn’t move. But as Frick stared into the creature’s eyes, he realized that what he saw there was a look he’d only seen once before – when one of Gabriel’s men had plunged a knife into another man’s throat. The look of shock, pain, and despair was the same.

"No, no, I didn’t mean gone – deceased. I meant gone as in I don’t know where she is."

Vincent’s heart started to beat again, to pound actually. He breathed out and leaned toward Frick again.

"Tell me," Vincent repeated.

"I have a private detective, a very good one, working on finding her. He was supposed to call me tonight, but I never heard from him. Just as well, I believe my phones are tapped." He looked at Vincent, sighed. "Why don’t I start from the beginning?"

"Please." Vincent almost sounded gracious.

"Gabriel told Alton he intended to kill Ms. Chandler as soon as the baby was born. He said she was an extremely wealthy woman, that it was ridiculous to just throw her away like that. He asked me to look into it. I did. I discovered that Catherine Chandler might be worth upwards of fifty million dollars. Alton was right – a ridiculous waste.

We began to devise a plan. I don’t know if you know this, but Alton ran Gabriel’s narcotics operation. He had connections all over the world, including and especially in South America.

Alton said that there is a plant grown there; I don’t remember the name offhand, but it mimics death. Respiration, circulation, reflexes, all slow down to be almost imperceptible."

Vincent spoke softly, "Yes, I remember reading something about that myself. My father would know more about it. Go on."

Frick stared at Vincent. ‘It’s got a father, there are more of them?’ he thought, but then he dismissed it and continued, "Alton said he could obtain this plant from his sources there. Gabriel already had the director of a prominent funeral home on his payroll, Ogolive, a very grasping man. We knew we could buy his cooperation. Then there was the man whose job it was to dispose of anything Gabriel did not like to have lying around. A hustler if ever there was one. We knew we could count on him to take money and keep his mouth shut. No one ever tattled to Gabriel about a disloyal staff member. He was very likely to kill the messenger, so we were safe in that direction.

Alton had a discussion with the doctor about which drug he intended to use to euthanize Ms. Chandler. Then he managed to slip into the infirmary, and replaced all the vials of that plus any other drug he thought the doctor might take into his head to use to kill her. As you already know, it worked exactly as it was supposed to."

Vincent sat back, stunned. If only – if only he had stayed by her side a little longer...if only – but he couldn’t think about that now. "Go on."

"Alton was furious when we discovered that you had taken her. But then Gabriel got a call the next morning from someone working within the Police Department. Alton happened to be there when the call came in. He said that Chandler had been brought home and was on her way to the morgue. We, Alton and I, were ecstatic. We hadn’t actually known how long lasting the effects of the plant would be. But we made the most of our renewed opportunity. We started spreading money around. We had Ogolive, the funeral director, already. I knew Ms. Chandler’s nearest relation lived abroad. When Joseph Maxwell came to make the arrangements, he was told they had already been taken care of. We also knew of a worker at the City morgue who had a cocaine problem. Between the two of them they managed to switch bodies before the autopsy. I don’t know who they buried instead of Catherine Chandler. I didn’t want to know. That wasn’t my end of the deal."

"What was your end of the deal?"

Frick hesitated, "I live alone. Chandler was brought here. We secured her in the basement, hired guards round the clock. But I have a wait staff during the day; they didn’t know anything about it. It made me nervous. We kept her drugged; that was Alton’s idea. I agreed at first. But days and weeks turned into months. Of course, we knew it would take a considerable amount of time to settle Chandler’s estate. There was no sense in demanding money if her assets weren’t fluid. And we couldn’t quite figure out what Gabriel would think when Chandler turned up alive. We were afraid he would suspect us, but we knew he was in self-destruct mode. It was just a matter of time, so we waited.

But one night I decided to go downstairs just to see how she was holding up – she wasn’t. I could see the effects the drugs were taking on her. She was beginning to barely look human. There was no sense in keeping her alive if she was too brain damaged to make a video tape for us. And otherwise, who would believe she was alive? I told Alton to make other arrangements. He was angry at first, but things were coming to a head with you by that time. We were almost home. Why risk it all now?

Alton hired a ne’er-do-well he knew who would occasionally run drugs or other contraband for him; man by the name of Holbrook. He had just about grown up on a boat. His parents had been well off, but it was my understanding that he had squandered his inheritance. Yet Alton said he was a good man in some respects. He had sea water in his veins; knew the ocean like most people know their own back yards. And he owned one of those old bay houses out in the middle of nowhere. There are hardly any of those left anymore.

Anyway, we had Holbrook take Chandler out to the bay house. She was off my hands, and she wouldn’t need to be sedated any longer.

While all this was going on I was paying a file clerk in Chandler’s old law firm to keep tabs. Coleridge was doing a fine job of liquidating assets. But we had to work a fine line. Suppose he started dispersing the monies? Try as we might, we could not get a copy of Catherine Chandler’s will. And then you and Ms. Bennett took it into your heads to send Gabriel to Hell, where, I have to say, he richly belongs. Not long after that Joseph Maxwell took it into his head to lay claim to the estate for Chandler’s son. It was getting riskier all the time. We decided once the amount reached thirty million we would take the money and call it even. And we would have; except Coleridge apparently went to the police, and Catherine Chandler, well, she just disappeared into the sunset."

"What are you saying?"

"Apparently this Holbrook fellow got it into his head that he was a knight in shining armor, and Chandler was a damsel in distress. I suspected something. The other guards told me things. I didn’t like this guy. I told Alton but he didn’t listen."

The phone rang. Both Vincent and Frick started; they were so immersed in Frick’s tale that the interruption startled them. Frick just looked at the phone.

"Answer it," Vincent commanded.

Frick nodded. "Finney, you’re late." He glanced at Vincent. "I’ve got company; let me put you on hold for one minute."

"This is the private detective I was telling you about. He has been tracking Holbrook and Chandler. Holbrook took her on the lam – week before last. I suppose Chandler used him to get out; if I were her I’d have done the same thing. By any means necessary, right? And Holbrook may be a little pisher, but I can’t say that I blame him either. She is a good looking woman and, and this is nothing to sneeze at, she is a woman with thirty million in cash lying around." Frick paused. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to tell this to the creature; he was starting to look rather strange. The thought of Finney talking on a tapped phone wasn’t exactly appealing to Frick, but then neither was the idea of being ripped to pieces. Vincent could still kill him before he left. Better to prove to Vincent what a forthright individual he was than risk those claws and teeth.

"Look, I’ll put him on speaker phone." Frick pushed the button on his phone. "Finney, I have a colleague of mine here. I was just explaining to him what happened. Could you start from the beginning and tell him everything?"

"Sure. Um, let’s see. Well, they took off sometime during the night on the eleventh. They initially left in Alton’s motor boat, a twelve footer. Holbrook cleared out his bank account before he bailed, but there wasn’t much there. He’s got a gambling problem, not to mention a drinking one. Anyway, he withdrew $380.00 from an ATM the day before he disappeared with her.

They sunk the twelve footer off the Jersey shore. We wouldn’t have found that out but for a lucky set of circumstances; she was salvaged. We found out that a small yacht had been stolen in the same vicinity. We managed to trail its progress down the coast. He traded that one in for a fishing boat docked in Maryland. He scraped off the name and the registration number. But we still got a lead. They continued on south, stopping here and there, taking their time. I suppose they thought that you would assume they would move fast and launch your search accordingly. Holbrook worked a bar in at least two places that we know of to pick up some extra cash. And here is the real news and why I am so late in calling you.

They stopped in at a bar tonight in North Carolina, an old haunt of Holbrook’s. He introduced her as Christina. They had dinner, and then he took Chandler back to the boat. He returned to the bar by himself but he didn’t drink. Told his buddies he’s on the wagon. He claimed that he and the girl were headed to Mexico to get married."

Frick turned to stare at Vincent; he didn’t move a muscle.

"Holbrook told them he hadn’t seen any card action in a while but that he was up for a game. They played, he flirted with the waitresses, drank club soda. He didn’t seem to have brought much cash with him but luck was on his side. He won a few hundred. Then he left, presumably back to the boat.

I got there not long afterward. I went out to where they had been moored but they were already gone; so I went back to the bar and bought his buddies a few beers. They said he was in a rare good mood; told his pals that his ship had finally come in." Finney paused, "That’s about it for now. I got a couple of men already heading south. But I’m stopping for the night. I need a few hours sleep. We’re right behind them, Sir, it won’t be much longer."

"Actually Finney, you can call off your men. This is the end of the road for me. I’m done with your services."

"You’re kidding? Why, when we’re this close?"

"Because I believe the police department will be picking up the trail from here."

There was silence for a moment. "I see. Well, nice doing business with you, Frick. I’ll send you my final bill."

"You do that."

Vincent stood up, towering over Frick, who followed him with his eyes, suddenly afraid. "I’ve told you everything. You can see that I have," he pleaded.

"Yes, you have. And however self motivated your reasons, you saved Catherine’s life. For that I will spare yours as well." Vincent picked up the revolver from off the edge of the desk and threw it, smashing the large plate glass window behind Frick. The alarm sounded. He turned and headed for the door.

"Vincent," Frick called. Vincent spun around. "I know you won’t believe this. But I hope you find her."

Vincent stood there quietly for a moment longer; Frick blinked, and he was gone.

Frick meant it too. He could not for the life of him comprehend loving anyone as much as this creature obviously loved this woman. For once in his life he almost thought about what that might be like. Then he remembered the girl upstairs in his bed. He could still go up and get his money’s worth. He had been too nervous before to get what he paid for. But his arm was starting to really throb, and anyway, the police would come in response to the alarm Vincent had set off.

***

Vincent slipped quietly in beside Diana. She quickly turned on the ignition and pulled out and onto the road. She had heard the alarm sounding. They drove for a few minutes until she could pull into a dark and empty parking lot.

Vincent told her everything as quickly as he could. "We have to find her, Diana."

She stared at him. "We? Vincent, do you realize the risk you would be putting yourself in, the enormous risk? I mean, we can use this truck, that would minimize it. But still ..."

"I’m coming with you."

Diana still hesitated. "Vincent, what that private detective said about them getting married..."

"It doesn’t matter, Diana. Catherine would never voluntarily leave her son. There must be some threat involved, or some other explanation. You will take me with you?"

Diana nodded, she started the engine and drove back into the street, turning the vehicle westward toward New York City.

***

Diana dropped Vincent off at the first tunnel entrance they saw after entering the City. She drove to the Emergency Services Unit yard.

"Hey, Kenny, I’m gonna need this truck for a few more days. Joe Maxwell will call Lieutenant Murphy for the authorization."

"No problem, Diana. I’ll put you down for the week."

"Great. Kenny, you mind if I check the back room for some gear? I’m going out with an undercover. I don’t think he’ll have time to pack anything."

"Help yourself." Kenny followed Diana to the back of the building where they stored spare parts and discarded clothing. She would have preferred to have gone alone, but she couldn’t think of an excuse not to have him accompany her.

"What size is this guy?" Kenny wanted to know.

"Remember Line Backer?"

"Sure, funny guy. Had hands the size of hams. Never had to use ‘em though, just the threat was enough."

"That’s about the right size."

"Whoa, that’s big. I think I actually got some of Line Backer’s old stuff layin’ around. Lemme see...here we go...how’s this?"

"Perfect. Thanks a lot, Kenny." Diana helped him pull out several pieces of clothing from the bottom of a pile of various items. There was a windbreaker, a button down shirt, a pair of pants and some rain gear all in a very large size.

Diana threw the clothing into the back of the small truck, which was perfect for their needs really. The only windows were in the rear, and they were so darkly tinted it was impossible to see in. Also, a police vehicle would have access where other cars wouldn’t. Vincent could sit up front with her by night; he could use the windbreaker instead of his cloak, it had a draw string hood. By day, he would have to stay in the back.

She drove back to her apartment and began packing her own things. She spoke with Joe while she threw her clothing into a duffle bag and other items into paper shopping bags. She was nearly finished when she saw Vincent’s shadow cross the wall of her living room. She told Joe she had to go.

"Diana, about what I said before, back at that bay house, I am so ashamed of what... "

"Don’t worry about it, Joe, I understood."

"I don’t. I don’t believe in that kind of vigilante justice. I can’t believe I was actually condoning it. But it was just the idea of it; of keeping her alive all that time, and then, all alone in that desolated place... I just couldn’t... "

"Joe, you and I have both been on this job long enough to know that people do and say things when they are put under extraordinary pressure that they would never do or say ordinarily. Forget it, I already have. Gotta go. I’ll call in every chance I get. They’ll probably be off the South Carolina coast by the time we get down there."

"We?"

Diana hesitated. "Yes, we; Vincent is coming with me."

Joe was silent for a moment; she thought he was going to protest.

"Tell him he did a great job questioning Frick. Just so you know the officers who responded to the alarm brought him to the hospital to get his arm stitched. He refused to tell them how he got cut up. He’s lawyered up now, but we have him on tape talking to his P.I.. Open and shut case. But I’ll be willing to shave a few years off being that he did save Catherine’s life."

"Yes he did, albeit for monetary gain."

"I’m sending some detectives down by air. They’re going to question the guys Frick hired. We’re hoping they can just keep following the trail. You know, I’m actually glad Vincent is going with you. Didn’t you say he knows when she’s in trouble?"

"I’m afraid they lost that connection, Joe. It’s a very long story."

"But still... he seems to be a good man in a pinch."

"That he is. I’ll be in touch."

"Be careful, Diana." She hung up and turned to Vincent.

He told her, "I’m sorry, I took some time... I needed to say goodbye... to my son."

Diana gazed into his face. "You’ll come back to him, Vincent."

"Yes, I know. I just had to tell Father... I wanted to tell him that when Catherine returns and, if I did not...

"That isn’t going to happen, Vincent. You are both coming back, together."

Vincent nodded, it was almost dawn. They loaded the back of the Emergency Services truck with blankets, pillows, and some provisions.

"I’ll drive ‘til I can’t go any further. Then we’ll stop at a rest stop along the way and I’ll catch a few hours. Make yourself comfortable, Vincent. We have miles to go..."

"And promises to keep."

She smiled at him. "That we do."

***

Diana was running pretty high on adrenalin as they sped down I-95. She pulled off before they hit the morning traffic in Washington D.C. and called Joe from a rest stop.

"Our guys are already in North Carolina. The P.I.s turned over their notes. We got a good description of the boat they’re on. We notified the Coast Guard to keep an eye out. These guys Frick hired were top notch."

"So are we, Joe, we’re going to find her."

"I know you will. We put a bulletin out in all the jurisdictions along the coast. We don’t know that much about this Holbrook guy, take every precaution, Diana."

"Always do."

***

Catherine was frying up fish for breakfast. She had been doing a lot of that since they had left the bay house. They were living on a shoe string. Darren said he couldn’t access any of his money since the bad guys were sure to be monitoring his bank accounts. That is what he had told her. Catherine believed him. She had to. She wasn’t quite sure at times if she should, but he had risked everything to save her; and he was all she had.

He had been kind to her from the beginning. She could only vaguely recall Frick’s basement. She had been so drugged up she couldn’t be sure of any of it. She had come to for the first time really in the boat on the way to the bay house. She remembered the spray of salt water on her face. It felt good. She fell asleep again though, and when she awoke, she was in a narrow yet fairly comfortable bed. Her legs were chained to the foot of it.

That is when she met Darren. He brought her some soup, crackers and a can of ginger ale on a tray. He apologized for the chains. He said it wasn’t up to him. He was pleasant looking, with fair colored, curly, hair and bright, green eyes. He sat by her bed and made small talk while she ate. She would have liked to have refused but she was very hungry. And thin, surely she hadn’t been this thin before. But then, she didn’t know, couldn’t remember. She questioned Darren, but he told her he wasn’t allowed to tell her anything.

Somewhere there was a radio playing. She realized there was another man there. She heard Darren talking to him when he left her room with the empty tray. The man asked him what he had been saying to her. Darren told him nothing of importance. That was true enough. He had just talked about the weather, the tides, told her she could tell him if she needed anything – anything within reason.

And so it went, day after day, week after week. She had gone through withdrawal from the drugs. Darren had been there for her every step of the way. After that, Catherine still wasn’t allowed out of the bay house, but she could sit by the window and listen to the sound of the ocean.

There were three of them, the men, they worked in shifts, two men always on duty at a time, with the third man leaving the island on a motor boat she could hear but not see. She suspected there was only one boat. This would mean that she and two of the men would be stranded on the island without transportation almost at all times.

The other two men barely spoke to her. One was an older man, tired and wind blown looking; he had an Australian accent. Catherine thought he was probably in his late sixties. The other was much younger and surly; a square, squat man with greasy, brown hair that was always hanging in his face. He never said much to anyone. He just sat hunched over a space heater and listened to the radio.

But Darren usually had a kind word. He did most of the cooking and cleaning. He made sure she always had soap and toothpaste and other sundries. He brought her salve for the sores on her ankles. He told her stories about the ocean – sea faring tales; he knew a lot of them. He made the time bearable. But he wouldn’t answer any questions, other than to say that one day she would be released, he didn’t know when.

Then they made that tape. Catherine began to suspect she was being held for ransom. But for such a long time? It didn’t seem to make any sense. Still nothing happened. The weather was starting to get a little warmer. On one really sunny day they opened the windows and let the salt air drift through the little house. Catherine couldn’t see beyond the reeds to the ocean, the island was too overgrown.

Then one day Darren came back in a nervous state, he was worried – she could see that. He paced for hours. Finally, the old man had trudged out over the rickety dock to go check on the crab traps that he kept at the water’s edge.

Darren whispered to her that she was in danger. He told he had been forced into the whole thing from the beginning. He didn’t know what the men in charge were going to do next; but he promised her he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He told her he had fallen in love with her. He told her that no matter what the risk, he would save her from the men who had ordered her abduction. It was a tricky situation. He would come during the night when the other two were on duty. She had to be ready. He wanted to know if she was willing to throw caution to the wind and come with him.

Catherine believed him, trusted him. What choice did she have? She was always chained, her two feet fettered to each other and then secured by a long chain which was fastened to a piece of furniture.

Darren planned their escape for the following night. He unlatched the window in her bedroom. He brought a couple of bottles of good rum and left them in the cupboard. He hoped the other men would help themselves.

She was lying awake waiting for him. He had made wax impressions of the locks on her chains and then had duplicate keys made. Darren silently slipped in through the window and they left the same way. He threw her unlocked chains into the weeds. They made their way to the boat.

They motored southward and inland. A couple of hours before dawn he had left her on a small empty island, instructing her to hide in the weeds. He came back when the sun was near rising with a small yacht. He said he had borrowed it from a friend. They continued heading south.

Darren told her that he couldn’t tell her everything about why she was being held hostage. He said to begin with, he didn’t know all the details. He was hired, forced really, into working for a large crime organization. He said he had unknowingly had some business dealings with them and then had gotten in over his head. He told her that she had been the girlfriend of a rich and powerful man that another man, his employer, had set out to destroy. He told her they had to keep running, keep moving.

It took Catherine a couple of days to get her sea legs, but she was managing nicely now. She loved the boat, loved working on it, and she loved the ocean. She was learning so many things too: how to read the charts, how to fish, how to keep the boat in ship shape, how to navigate. She marveled at Darren’s abilities.

And he was a good man – very considerate. He had tried to kiss her the first night on the boat. But Catherine had pulled away. She said she was too unsure of anything yet, confused. He accepted that readily. He told her that in time he hoped she would come to feel perhaps some small amount of what he felt for her.

Catherine was actually a little surprised that she didn’t have any feelings for him. He had saved her life. He was very kind and very handsome. But the only feelings she could muster toward him was gratitude.

She asked him questions about the man he said had been her boyfriend. He told her he didn’t know much, other than that he was dead, killed by her abductor.

There was another question she wanted to ask him. She wanted to ask him if he knew if she had any children. She could see the stretch marks on her lower abdomen. And she often had this feeling, this feeling as if her arms were empty. At night she would dream of a child, of cradling a baby. She finally worked up the nerve to ask him. He told her he had wanted to spare her, but that she was right. She had had a child during her captivity, a boy, he had died at birth.

Catherine was surprised that she could mourn the loss of a child she did not remember, but she did.

Still, she had her quiet moments. She would sit out on the deck at night, leaning back, looking up at the stars. They were beautiful, reflected as they were, by the dark water. And she found if she gazed at any one constellation long enough she could begin to hear a voice. It would name the stars for her, and then tell a story; there was always a story. Some times Darren would have to come and wake her, as she would be lulled to sleep by the combination of the gentle voice and the sound of the water lapping against the hull of the boat.

She never slept as well below. She had been having trouble sleeping, as a matter of fact, since the day she had arrived at the bay house. There was this uneasiness in her that seemed to manifest itself only at night. She never slept for more than an hour or two together. She would wake, fall back to sleep, wake again. It was very draining.

Catherine was especially troubled this morning. Darren had attempted to put his arms around her again last night, had attempted to draw her to him. She had had to refuse him again, and this time he seemed a little put out, a little sullen. Catherine was starting to think that perhaps she should put ashore, find her own way. But Darren said the men who kidnapped her were sure to be looking for her. They would never let her go so easily. He said their best chance was to make their way down to Mexico.

Catherine had been ruminating on this all morning. Darren had been his old self in the morning, as cheerful and easy going as usual. But she couldn’t feel what she couldn’t feel, even for a man who had put everything he had on the line for her.

By the time they had pulled into a harbor that evening Catherine had made up her mind. She told him that she was going ashore. She told him that she was grateful for all he had done for her, but that the time had come for her to strike out on her own.

He kept asking her why. She gave him several reasons. First and foremost, she told him, he would probably not be in nearly as much danger if they separated. It was her they wanted. Finally she told him that her feelings for him were never going to be more than they were at that moment. She told him she imagined she was still in love with the other man, the one that had been murdered.

He tried to plead his case, but she was adamant. Finally he told her that he accepted her rejection of his romantic proposals; they wouldn’t be repeated. But he said that he could not in good conscience just leave her there with no resources. He told her he would take her back up to New York. At last Catherine gave in, reluctantly agreeing.

So in the morning they turned and headed back up the coast.

***

Vincent was restless after the entire day confined in the truck. They were no longer on I-95. They had taken to traveling along local roads bordering the Atlantic. They pulled off along a deserted stretch of beach. Vincent strode down to the ocean while Diana slept. He pulled off his outer clothing and plunged into the cold water. He had never swum in waves before, never tasted salt water. But he soon discovered the ocean’s rhythm and he moved easily with the waves in the dark water.

He swam until he felt worn out, then he dressed and returned to the truck. He was sitting staring out over the ocean when Diana woke up. She was surprised to see his damp locks of hair. She didn’t say anything. Vincent would know if there had been anyone near by. He knew to be cautious.

They continued driving south along the shoreline. The following day she stopped for breakfast along the road and brought Vincent’s out to the truck. Then she put a call in to Joe.

"Diana, you’re not going to believe this," Joe told her. "Call came in about an hour ago. A man and a woman fitting their description stopped for gas and some supplies in Virginia. Local off duty Sheriff saw them; thought there was something familiar about them. He called in to base and sure enough, they told him about the bulletin. But by the time he got back to the dock, they were gone. He said it was definitely them though. He would stake his life on it. So we started calling all the fueling stations along the route. A cashier saw them too."

"But Joe, how could they be in Virginia? They were in the Carolinas the night we set out. I thought you said..."

"I did. They’ve turned around, Diana. They’re headed back toward New York."

Diana went back to the truck, joined Vincent, sitting opposite him in the dim light and wavering dust which was filtering in through the cab window. She was surprised by his reaction. He wasn’t happy.

"But, Vincent, isn’t this good news?"

"But why, Diana, why did they suddenly change direction? What happened to change their minds?"

"I don’t know. Could be anything. Vincent, your bond, can you feel something?"

"No. No. I have no sense of her. Yet I feel...I feel as if something is amiss. I couldn’t exactly say...what. Diana, how far from us do you think they are?"

"Hard to say really; especially since we are now traveling in opposite directions. We’re moving a lot faster than they can. Just think, Vincent, you almost made it to Florida."

Vincent tried to respond to her bantering tone. He knew she was trying to lighten his mood. When they pulled out of the parking lot, they headed north instead of south. Despite Vincent’s misgivings, Diana was relieved. They drove through the day and by nightfall they were passing through Virginia. Vincent joined Diana in the cab, the hood of the windbreaker pulled far forward over his head. But he seemed different than Diana had ever seen him before; he was fidgeting, anxious. Diana kept taking sideways glances at him. He was almost getting on her nerves.

***

They weighed anchor off Ocean City, just around sunset. Catherine could see the summer rentals clustered around the beach. The shoreline soon started to fade into dark; the condos and cottages were deserted at this time of year, too early for the summer dwellers.

Darren was drinking. She hadn’t seen him imbibe before, not throughout the entire trip. They had stopped in Virginia, and he had bought two bottles. A warning light had gone off in Catherine’s head, yet she had ignored it. They were headed straight up the coast, not ambling like they had before. Darren had always said that they needn’t hurry. If the men who might be following them suspected they were going by boat, they would think they would have moved quickly down the coast. It would be safer to do the unexpected. But now Catherine was anxious to get back. She really couldn’t have said why. It was just a feeling she had.

Darren wasn’t saying much. He was just sitting there silently, looking at the darkening shore, pouring himself drink after drink. The water was getting choppy. A storm in Florida was sending reverberations northward, stirring up the surf, buffeting the beaches. Catherine thought it best to go below, retire for the night. He was starting to make her nervous.

Darren Holbrook stared at the now invisible coast. He had really thought that he had fallen in love with her. She was not at all what he expected when he agreed to the job. She was so nice; he had never really liked her kind before. He had met some of them. His mother had forced him into it.

They had been a working class family originally. Both his grandfathers had been fisherman. His father had worked hard to put together a thriving business: pleasure trips, first fishing, than gambling boats. He started with nothing and had built an entire fleet. And his mother: his mother had set out to spend as much of her husband’s earnings as she could. She wanted to belong to society, New York society. She read all the gossip columns, the society pages, all the reports about the goings on in the glittering City just beyond her reach. But then she started buying plates to charity functions given by New York’s elite. As Darren got older she had even dragged him (his father refused to attend). She pushed him at all the young debutantes. He was good looking – a lot of women told him he had movie star looks. But these girls, they still looked down on him as if he were just the waiter or any other servant – below them. It made him furious.

He finally refused to accompany her. That made his mother furious. His father was right. His mother was just a want-to-be, a hanger-on, a peasant looking to steal thunder from the gods, or more accurately, from the goddesses. Not that he could find any sympathy for his father. The man wanted him to work harder, harder. He always wanted more. Darren gave up trying to please him, practically gave up working altogether. So his father worked harder himself; probably what killed him.

He died of a massive heart attack. Darren was relieved, especially when his mother received a cancer diagnosis soon after. Within a year he was rid of them both. It should have been great. And it was actually, for a while. He hit the casinos, Vegas, Atlantic City, he partied, had a good time. Then the business started going under. He didn’t know how to stop it. His father had been right. He was a good-for-nothing knuckle head.

But then, then he had been given the opportunity to live both his parent’s dreams. And Catherine was different from the way he remembered those other girls. She was warm, and didn’t mind pitching in. She seemed to like being a deck hand. Plus she had all that money. It was all just within reach. But she turned out to be just another snotty rich girl. Darren finished the bottle he was working on, tossed it into the ocean. He lurched up to search for the other. He found it and unsteadily poured himself another drink, but then set it down without swallowing it.

He had done so much for her. They really would have killed him if they had found them. Alton would have, anyway. He doubted Frick would have it in him; nothing but a lousy bean counter. Darren had been surreptitiously reading the New York papers whenever they stopped for gas or supplies. Alton was dead. So he had been closer than ever.

And now she wanted out. He couldn’t even count on a reward. What would she do when she found out her baby hadn’t died? Found out that he had lied about it, about that and some other things. Shit! He wasn’t going to get anything out of her. Well, maybe there was something he could still get from her. He should get something, shouldn’t he? He’d earned it.

Darren staggered down into the cabin. He lost his footing, cursed, and found his way back to his feet. Catherine heard him. She had been lying there, awake, tense. She should have listened to that voice when it warned her, but it was too late now.

She was ready for him. She smashed into him as he made his way toward her bunk. She managed to slip out of his grasp as he tried to grab her, scrambling up the steps and out onto the deck. Catherine was hoping he would stay below, pass out, and sleep it off. But he climbed up after her. He kept lunging at her, but she kept managing to move out of range.

"Darren, Darren, what are you doing? Why are you doing this?" she cried to him. He really had been good to her. This was unbelievable. "How can you?"

He dropped onto the seat running along the boat’s starboard side. "How can I? How can you? You led me on. You let me risk my neck for you! Then I get thrown out like an old pair of shoes? Who do you think you are?"

"I never led you on. I was never anything but honest with you. I can’t believe you could act this way."

"Believe it," he slurred at her. "Believe it. You know, I should have believed it. They told me about you. The other guys guarding you, they’d worked for Gabriel too, they told me all about your boyfriend."

Catherine stood there silently, weighing her options.

"But I said, that nice girl? No. Besides, it just sounded too crazy. What is it?" He made another sudden lurch toward her. Catherine just managed to keep out of his hands.

"How come I’m not good enough for you?" He screamed at her, "Because I’m a man, not an animal. I could act like one, would that turn you on?"

Catherine said nothing. What kind of response could she have to this kind of talk?

"You know, that baby of yours, I wonder what it looked like. With a father like that – I hope they drowned it. Something like that shouldn’t be allowed to live."

"What are you saying? Are you telling me my son didn’t die?"

"I don’t know what they did with it. It’s just too disgusting really," he sneered. "You’re disgusting." He suddenly made another dive for her, knocking her backwards onto the deck. Catherine struck at him repeatedly and he hit her back. She kicked him then, full in the chest, sending him sprawling. She looked around wildly. She tore open the hatch and grabbed a life preserver from the hold. They weren’t that far off shore. Better to risk the ocean than this lunatic. She headed aft, quickly climbing up and over the gunwale. But he was on her again. He came out of nowhere. She leaped out into the ocean. It was colder than she had expected. The life preserver! She turned every which way. He had torn it out of her grasp. But she couldn’t think of that now. As she started for shore, she heard splashing around her; he was flinging things at her from the boat.

Catherine might not remember that she was a good swimmer, but she was. She had won medals for it in High School. But still, she hadn’t counted on the water being so cold and rough. And the shore seemed much further off now that she was in the ocean. It still looked a long way off when she began to tire. Turning over on her back, she attempted to float and rest. But she knew her body temperature was dropping. She had to keep moving. The shore line was dark, yet she could see the street lights out on the highway beyond the beach. They looked so far away. She was swallowing water, too much water. Her limbs felt frozen, it was painful just to move them, yet she kept reaching through the waves.

The waves were washing over her, pushing her down, down where it was deep, and dark, and silent. It would have been peaceful there, peaceful beneath the water, except for the pain in her throat and lungs. She made one last effort, but the surface was far above her now.

***

They stopped for something to eat. Vincent put it down untouched when Diana gave it to him. They moved on. He kept looking eastward toward the ocean as they drove. Suddenly, urgently, he called to Diana to stop, to stop the vehicle. She did. They were on a dark and quiet highway bordering a series of beaches. During the summer months, there would be plenty of traffic along this road, but not now. Vincent sprang from the truck and ran toward the beach. Diana followed him, trying to keep up. He didn’t stop until he had reached the water’s edge.

"What is it, Vincent? Can you feel her?"

"No. No, Diana. I just... I dreamed... I’ve been dreaming about this inlet." Vincent squatted down, removed his shoes and socks. He stood up and began pacing the beach, pulling off his windbreaker as he moved.

"Are you sure, this exact place?"

"Yes. It’s all the same. The curve of the shoreline, the gazebo, that buoy – even the moon. I’ve been seeing it over and over whenever I close my eyes." Vincent squinted out at the ocean, as if he was looking for something; then he pointed.

"Diana, can you see those lights?"

She followed the direction of his finger. No, she didn’t...well, maybe, appearing and disappearing again. The water was churning, but perhaps a boat....

Without warning, Vincent sprinted forward, throwing himself into the ocean. Diana called after him but he didn’t look back.

***

Catherine felt a strong pressure around her wrist. She was gliding, up, upwards towards the turbulent surface of the ocean. The air struck her in the face, but still, she couldn’t breathe. She felt two hands pushing up under her ribs, expelling the water from her lungs; a low whisper in her ear.

"Breathe, Catherine, breathe." Had she heard those words before? Maybe...in a dream once.

She coughed, she gasped, and then she took in air. She gulped in huge bursts of oxygen. A strong arm wrapped around her chest, a large hand grasped her arm pit. She felt a hip jut into her upper legs as her body settled against the body of another. They were moving; she was being pulled through the water. She was saved. She felt long strands of hair plastered against her face. She closed her eyes and slowly blacked out.

Diana was pacing along the shore. She heard him splashing through the water. She ran to the ocean’s edge and he was almost upon her before she could finally make out his shape emerging from the water. And she couldn’t believe what she saw. He was striding out of the surf, carrying Catherine in his arms. "Vincent! Vincent, you’ve found her." He laid her unconscious body on the sand. Diana put her hand on Catherine’s heart, bent over and listened.

"Her breathing is shallow," Diana told him.

Vincent leaned over Catherine and breathed into her mouth. She began choking; he turned her onto her side; she was still coughing up sea water. Her body was shaking uncontrollably.

"I’ll get the truck." Diana yelled back at him as she ran to the parking lot. She drove the truck right up onto the beach where Catherine was lying. "I’ve turned the heat up full blast. Let’s get her inside. She’s frozen."

Vincent carried her to the back of the truck and Diana fished inside it for warm clothing. As soon as Vincent laid her down, Diana began pulling off her wet things. Vincent looked away. She turned and pulled some of Vincent’s clothing out of his bag and threw it to him.

"Here, you change too; you’ll both catch your death."

Vincent ran back to the shoreline, snatching up his boots and the windbreaker and then returned to the shadow of the truck to change. He froze, overwhelmed, when he heard her voice.

"Who are you?" Catherine’s voice was low and unsteady.

"My name is Diana Bennett. I’m a detective with the New York City Police Department. Here, put your arms up. You’re freezing; we need to get you into warm things, Catherine."

"Catherine? Is that my name? Do you know who I am?"

"Of course we do. We’ve been tracking you. You don’t know your own name?"

"No. The man I was with – he was calling me Christina."

"Darren Holbrook?"

"Yes. I was kidnapped. He helped me to escape... but then... "

"Then what?"

"He said he wanted to marry me. I told him I couldn’t. So then tonight, he got drunk... he tried to rape me."

"Oh, Cathy, I’m sorry."

"It was horrible. I thought... I trusted him. He seemed so kind. But he hit me, and when I jumped into the ocean to get away from him he grabbed my life preserver. He said... " Catherine squinted at Diana, trying to see her in the almost dark; "Do you know what happened to my baby?"

"Yes. He’s fine, Cathy, just fine."

Catherine began to cry. "Is he? Is he really? He didn’t die? Where is he?" Catherine was taken with a fit of coughing. Diana waited for it to subside.

"Of course he didn’t die; he’s some place safe. He’s been very well cared for. Here, put this on too; you’re still shivering."

"All along Darren told me he was born dead. That was before... tonight, he said awful things... he said my baby was...that someone probably drowned him, because of what his father was. He said it was disgusting...I was disgusting. What did he mean?"

Diana looked up. She wondered where Vincent was. "Nothing. He didn’t mean anything. It was just the rambling of a drunken man. We know Holbrook has a drinking problem."

"Does he? I never saw him drink before tonight." Catherine started coughing again, she fell back exhausted, but made an effort to continue. "Tell me, tell me about who I am. Tell me about my baby."

"Not right now – you can’t even keep your eyes open."

"I am tired – and my arms and legs hurt."

"I’m sure it has been a while since you’ve been swimming, Cathy, and the water was very cold. You are probably cramping up. Try and relax. Get some rest. Then we’ll talk," Diana paused. "You needn’t worry about anything; everything is going to be all right from now on."

"The other detective; I didn’t thank him. He saved my life."

"Yes, he did," Diana murmured, helping Catherine to lie down among the blankets, pulling them over her. She stayed a moment as Catherine sighed, closed her eyes. Then Diana sprang out of the truck, looking around for Vincent. He was standing in the truck’s shadow; still dressed in his dripping clothing.

"Vincent!"

He turned from Diana. "What she has been through... it is unimaginable."

"It’s over now, Vincent. It’s over. And she doesn’t even recollect most of it."

"Yes, she doesn’t know me, Diana, doesn’t remember."

"She will. Give her some time. She has been through a nightmare." Diana moved to face him.

"Yes." Vincent grimaced.

"Vincent," Vincent turned away from her again. "Holbrook is a thug, one of Gabriel’s men. You can’t take what he said... "

"Why? Because the rest of the world Above’s opinion would be any different if they knew who...what...had fathered her child?"

"Only because they don’t know you; no one who knows you could think that way." Diana stood looking at his silent figure. "I’ll let you get dressed. We should get on the road."

They pulled out onto the highway. Diana stopped at the first payphone she could find.

"I’ve got to call Joe." She told Vincent.

The officer answering the phone at the command center told her Joe had gone home for the first time since it had all started.

"If it’s anything important he said to call him – not to worry about waking him."

"No, no Steve. Let him sleep. I’m about four hours out of New York. I’ll wake him when I get there."

"You’re coming back?"

"Yeah, I’m coming back." She didn’t tell them the news. She figured she would wait until she told Joe first. She looked back in to the rear of the truck as she climbed into the cab. Vincent was turned in his seat and was staring anxiously at Catherine who was still shivering. She checked the heat; it was all the way up. "She’s still cold." Diana said.

Vincent nodded. He climbed into the back, searched for and found his cloak. She was asleep still, but her body was shaking and her teeth were chattering. He sat beside her and leaned over her. He noticed that her wet hair was clinging to her body. He gathered her hair together and held it as he wrapped his cloak around her. He couldn’t have said how it happened. But suddenly, she turned, moved up against him, grasping his shirt with both her hands, huddling into his body for warmth. He couldn’t help himself; he wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him. She burrowed closer and rested her cheek against his chest.

Diana looked back and then quickly looked away again. Well, this is what she had wanted. This is what she had been determined to bring about. Why didn’t it feel better?

She wasn’t surprised. So Catherine couldn’t remember him. So what? If her mind couldn’t remember, her heart did. Her heart still knew the truth.

Catherine slept. She slept all the way up the eastern seaboard. But Vincent felt that only minutes had passed when Diana turned around and told him she could see the New York City skyline. They would be at the Holland Tunnel in ten minutes. He held her closer still, his cheek against her hair.

Diana drove straight into Central Park. She parked as close as she could get to the drainage tunnel. She got out and walked to the back, throwing open the truck doors. Catherine was still asleep. Vincent looked at Diana, gazed back down at Catherine.

"It’s almost dawn, Vincent."

The sky was beginning to lighten. He kissed the top of her head and slowly disengaged himself from her, laying her gently on the blankets and tucking them in around her. He climbed out of the back of the truck, looking back at her longingly. Then he turned to Diana. "Don’t tell her anything: about me, I mean. I need to think... she doesn’t know."

"It will come back to her, Vincent. And if it doesn’t... it won’t matter. She’ll just have to fall in love with you all over again."

Vincent looked down, then back up at Diana. "You have much faith, Diana."

"I do. Now I’m taking her to Joe. He is going to be one very happy man."

Vincent embraced her. "I don’t know how I can ever.... "

"So then don’t; you don’t have to. Get some sleep, Vincent, we’ll talk later."

Vincent gazed back at Catherine, took a deep breath, and then turned and headed for the junction door.