“Emma, when we spoke on Saturday, you said that the last time you had any contact with Zoe was the afternoon before the kidnapping. Is that right?” I asked.
“Yeah. We have eighth period social studies.”
She craned her neck, trying to see what I was doing. I’d powered up the phone and navigated over to her Sent messages.
Sure enough, there it was, September 9, 8:05 a.m.
“Z — Quik ciggie b4 assembly? Ditch if you can — pleeeez?? I’ve got major dirt to share … … xoE”
“And there were no calls between you two on the morning she and Ethan disappeared? No texts?” I asked.
“That’s right,” Emma told me. “I got to school, put my phone in my locker, and went to homeroom, like always. Why?”
“You’re positive about that? This is important, Emma. This is extremely important.”
“I swear!” She fiddled nervously with the purple ribbon around her wrist. Most of the students and staff had started wearing them since the kidnapping.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “But I am going to have to hold onto this phone for a little while.”
A minute later,
I was double-timing it back down to the visitors’ lot and my car. Finally, we had some kind of pattern to work with — or at least, the suggestion of one. Could that earlier text from Ryan Townsend’s phone have been a test run of some kind? Were there others?
And most of all, if Emma Allison’s phone was in her locker that morning, and she didn’t send this latest message — who did?
The caller had to be the kidnapper. Who else could it be?
SUDDENLY A LOT was happening, even more than I realized. I was shuttling back over to headquarters, when I got a call from Ned Mahoney.
“It’s your better half,” he said, and snorted out a laugh.
“Well, you’ve got Bree, Nana Mama, and John Sampson ahead of you on that one,” I said. “But what’s up?”
“Those two arrests from last night. The dude in the wheelchair and the sixty-something accomplice? I don’t know what kind of black op hole they fell into, but one of them must have coughed up some serious intel. Joint Terrorism Task Force is standing up another whole operation for tomorrow night. They’ve already got full surveillance going on some parking garage in Chinatown. That’s all I have so far, but it’s going to be big, Alex, and I’m not talking about just standing around watching this time.”
I could barely process what Ned was telling me. My mind was overflowing with the details of everything I’d just learned at the Branaff School.
“Thanks, Ned, but my plate’s a little full here,” I said. “Isn’t that what I have you for?”
“Actually, buddy — old friend, old pal — I was calling to get in on your team. This takedown’s going to be all SWAT, but they’re pulling people from the kidnapping side for the investigative unit. I’m thinking this time you bring me in.”
“Ned, I don’t even know what we’re talking about,” I said.
“You will. I wouldn’t be surprised if your captain’s leaving you a voice mail about it right now. There’s a briefing, two o’clock today. It’s at the police academy in Southwest.”
“Why all the way down there?” I asked.
“They need the room. They’re going to be staging this thing all into the night. Like I said — mucho grande. Tell me you’ll let me tag along.”
“You don’t need my permission for that,” I told him.
“Actually, I do this time.”
This was unbelievable. I thought about everything I still had to get done — the things I wanted to do myself and the few things I could hand off. There were dozens of calls and texts on Zoe’s phone to track back. I also had to try and reach the First Lady, if I could.
“Let me make this easy for you,” Ned said, cutting into my thoughts. “You’re coming to the briefing. You know it, and I know it. Can we move on now?”