Chapter 14
WYATT DIDN’T CALL THE FEDS. If they wanted to join the party, they knew where to find him. In the meantime, he and his deputies went to work.
Maps. He liked maps. Sure, you could look this stuff up on a computer in this day and age, but there was something satisfying about unfolding a massive, color-coded scale map of mountainous New Hampshire. The dozens of blue blobs of lakes. The endless squiggly lines of hundreds of winding rural roads.
New Hampshire was a funny state. Long, skinny at the top, with a wider base. Nestled like a puzzle piece into the opposing shape of Vermont, as if the two were long-lost friends. New Hampshire wasn’t a very big state as the crow flies. A dedicated driver could make it from the southernmost border with Massachusetts to the northernmost border with Canada in three and a half, four hours tops. Horizontal routes, however, were another matter entirely, thanks to the White Mountains. They jutted up like jagged teeth and bit their way through the middle of the state, forcing east-west roads to zigzag, stair step and generally give way before their greater might. As the locals liked to say when contemplating drives across the state, “Why, you just can’t get there from here…”
Given those dynamics, Wyatt was betting their suspects had continued due north. Mostly, because that’s what drivers did in New Hampshire. You went up, or you went down, but it was too painful to move side to side.
For kicks, he’d sent one deputy, Gina, to drive due north from the diner. Told her to perform basic recon. Note rural turnouts or deserted campgrounds where a driver might pull over to refresh. Stop in at any isolated gas stations or unpopulated grocery stores where a bunch of kidnappers might feel it was safe enough to grab food, water, refuel. Start asking questions, passing along the description of the missing family and getting the locals watching.
She could also mark major turnoff points, or larger towns where they could involve local PDs, but Wyatt was guessing their suspects would do their best to drive through such areas. An entire family was hard to conceal. Why even risk heavily populated areas for stopping, when the North Country had so many safer havens to offer?
Frankly, he respected the kidnappers. When heading for the wilds of New Hampshire, they had picked wisely.
He bent back over the map, tracing Route 16 up the eastern edge of the state, as the feds swept through the door.
He knew it was them without looking up. For one thing, he spotted one pair of low-slung black heels and one pair of glossy brown men’s dress shoes. Only lawyers wore those kinds of shoes in this neck of the woods, and lawyers rarely visited the sheriff’s office on a Saturday afternoon.
The female spoke first. “Wyatt,” she said, and inside, he immediately groaned.
He knew that voice. Crap.
Wyatt straightened. Took his finger off the map. Prepared to give the devil her due.
Nicole Adams, aka Nicky. Except last time he’d used that nickname, she’d been waking up in his bed. He had a feeling he didn’t get to use that nickname anymore. Or, for that matter, remain an intact male in her withering presence.
“Special Agent Adams,” he replied. Seemed the safest answer.
She smiled. It didn’t meet her cool blue eyes.
She wore a dark pencil skirt, matching jacket, high-collared silvery silk blouse. Being one of those tall blondes with upswept hair, the ice-princess look really worked for her. She also carried a thick black leather computer case, which she now dropped to the floor with a heavy thud.
“Sergeant Wyatt Foster, Special Agent Edward Hawkes.” She introduced him to her partner.
Wyatt nodded, shook hands. Special Agent Hawkes also carried a heavy bag. Apparently, they were planning to stay for a bit.
“We understand you found the missing man’s jacket,” Nicole continued.
“Got it wrapped up special in an evidence bag, just for you.”
“So you knew we were coming?”
“Made sense.”
“But you didn’t call with an update.”
“Update implies progress. Not so sure we got progress. Mostly”—he tapped the map—“we got a helluva lot of real estate and no real leads.”
The feds seemed to accept that. They crossed to the table where Wyatt had spread out the map, leaned closer.
“Catch us up,” Nicole ordered briskly. “What are you looking at?”
Wyatt swallowed another sigh and got down to business. This was why he should’ve listened to his gut before getting involved with a fellow member of law enforcement. Except at the time, in the Concord courthouse, about to testify at a trial, he’d spotted this beautiful blonde across the hall and lost common sense. Couldn’t say it was her laugh that got him, because it still wasn’t clear to him that Nicole Adams ever giggled. But he’d gotten it into his head that he needed to meet her, which had led to drinks, which had led to a hotel room. Then, probably to the surprise of them both, they had an on-again-off-again thing that went on a couple months.
Except one day he started to realize he liked the off more than the on. Nothing against her. But she was clearly federal agent to the core: upwardly mobile, urban powered, tightly disciplined. And, as he tried to point out to her when breaking up, he was none of those highly admirable things.
In hindsight, he should’ve waited another week. At which point, she probably would’ve dumped him. Then, this moment would’ve made him laugh, instead of shiver from deep freeze.
He pointed to a spot on the map, midway up the state, closer to Maine, which would be relevant in a moment. “Jacket was recovered here. Abandoned roadside diner, no other businesses or residents around for miles.”
“Witnesses?” Hawkes spoke up.
“No one around to witness. Welcome to the North Country. Now, tire marks show the vehicle resuming a northward course. Which brings us to”—he drew a large circle around the northern tip of the state—“hundreds of square miles of absolute nowhere. In other words, the perfect place for a bunch of kidnappers to hide.”
Nicole was frowning at his map. “You’re assuming they maintained a northern route.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Wyatt explained his logic, the mountains muddling up east-west routes and all. Based on the jacket’s disposal site, the kidnappers had taken 95 into New Hampshire, veering left onto Route 16, which followed the eastern border of the state. Call him crazy, but it seemed to him if you were a bunch of kidnappers with a family of three stashed in the back of your van, you’d go with the most direct route possible. Which would place them squarely in northern New Hampshire, an area remote enough to easily hide hostages that was also conveniently located just three to four hours from Boston, making for easy access come time for ransom drop or hostage exchange.
Special Agent Nicole Adams seemed to accept his logic.
“Large search area,” she commented, her own finger starting to trace the various shaded regions on the map.
“Yeah, and being a rural sheriff’s department, we’re not exactly rolling in manpower, so I called in some backup.”
“Backup?” Hawkes spoke up. He had an accent. Maine maybe? Wyatt was still trying to peg him.
“US Forest Service, as well as Fish and Game. You know Marty Finch, the forest service investigator?”
Both agents nodded. While Finch worked out of Vermont, the federal agent’s territory also included New Hampshire and Maine. Given that US Forest Service lands were becoming a haven for drug operations, Wyatt had worked with Finch on a number of cases. He figured the same should be true for FBI agents out of Concord.
“I gave him a ring,” Wyatt continued now. “Gotta figure the largest chunk of real estate we’re facing is the seven hundred and fifty thousand acres of the White Mountain National Forest—Finch’s jurisdiction. At my request, he’s mobilizing the forest rangers, sending them to search parking lots at the various trailheads and campgrounds for a possible transport vehicle—I’m thinking a van based on the tire marks and need to hold at least seven. The rangers will also check out hiking huts, various rest stops. If you want to keep a low profile, hiding out in the various state parks or national wilderness areas would do it.”
“Do the rangers have enough experience to know what they’re looking for?” Nicole asked crisply.
Wyatt rolled his eyes. “Please. In New Hampshire, we all attend the same training academy. Sheriff, state, local, Fish and Game, we all go in, we all come out. Meaning that clearly, we’re all brilliant.”
Nicole raised a brow but didn’t say anything. It went without saying that her precious FBI Academy remained a step above. Wyatt didn’t feel like pressing the point.
“What about the tolls?” Nicole spoke up. “Have you requested video footage? If your assumption about the kidnappers taking Interstate ninety-five to sixteen is correct, then they’ve passed through four major tollbooths.”
Wyatt shrugged. “Have a detective making the request. Can tell you now, given all the privacy concerns, actually obtaining that footage will be a royal pain in the ass.”
“Not like you to back down from a fight.”
“Consider it more like a strategic use of resources. I have two detectives and four deputies. There’s only so many investigative avenues we can effectively pursue. And given the urgency of the situation, I want to deploy my people smart. In my book, that means searching all local, state and federal recreation areas and campgrounds. Now, your turn to share.”
Nicole didn’t volunteer right away, so Hawkes did the honors.
“Boston PD ran a preliminary trace of the Taser confetti, identified a dealer out of Chicago. The serial number ties back to a batch of fifty he sold to another dealer for a gun show in New Jersey. That dealer says all fifty were sold at the show. If the individual buyers didn’t register their Tasers, that’s not his problem.”
“What kind of gun show?”
“Open to the public, with attendance from the survivalist and ex-military crowd.”
“We think the kidnappers are professionals,” Nicole stated curtly.
That got Wyatt’s attention. “How so?”
“They accessed a house armed with a top-of-the-line security system, and managed to overcome two grown adults and one teenager without ever alerting the neighbors. Furthermore, Justin Denbe is experienced in firearms and by all accounts, a man capable of defending himself and his family. As it is, there’s evidence the teenager put up a decent fight. The suspects, however, were still able to overpower her and ambush her parents without ever spilling a drop of blood. It takes discipline to pull off that kind of controlled operation. Not to mention training and resources.”
“Ransom?” Wyatt asked with a frown.
“Not yet.”
“But you assume demands are coming?”
“As of this time, we have no other theories on motive.”
Wyatt got that. Especially if the situation involved professionals, who by definition were interested in payment. “Family has the ability to pay?”
“The family firm, Denbe Construction, is running the show. And, yes, the officers of the company have been in touch with local law enforcement and are willing to release whatever funds are necessary.”
“Except significant funds can’t be released before Monday.”
“True.”
“Meaning if these guys planned ahead, by definition they knew they’d have to hide a family of three for at least several days.”
“In our minds, further evidence that the suspects are professionals. This isn’t a rush operation. They obviously put thought and planning into the abduction scenario. Odds are, they put equal thought into the best place to secure their hostages for the long haul. When they feel ready, we’ll hear from them. But not before, I think. Even now, they are establishing a hierarchy of control, one where they give the orders, and we do exactly as they command.”
Wyatt didn’t like the sound of that. He returned to his map, considering the logistics behind such an operation. “They’re here,” he said, tapping the White Mountain National Forest. “It’s logistically perfect. Far enough away from Boston to keep out of sight, but not so far away they can’t return to accept payment. Rural, but not too rural. Wild, but not too wild. This is our haystack. Now, we just gotta find the needle.”
“All right. You work the haystack. We’re heading to Boston to conduct initial interviews. Justin Denbe owns a second-generation mega-construction firm. By all accounts, he made big money but also big enemies. We’ll prepare the list.”
Wyatt got the message clearly enough—the feds were running the investigation, though he was welcome to play in the woods. He simply decided to ignore it.
“Great,” he declared. “One of my detectives and I will meet you in Boston to assist with the interviews. Give us thirty minutes or so, and we’ll be on our way.”
Nicole rewarded him with an icy look.
He smiled back, already reaching for his hat. “And here I thought you’d never ask.”