First Family (3 page)

They?

“Sean,” she screamed. “Sean!”

“In here!”

She sprinted up the steps, kicked open what was left of the shattered
front door, and barreled into the living room, her gun making precise grid arcs.

Sean was kneeling on the floor, hovering over the woman. She was lying on her back. Arms and legs spread-eagled like she was frozen in a jumping jack. Her eyes were open but hard and flat because she was dead. The red hair touched her shoulders. It was easy to see what had killed the woman. Her throat had been shredded.

“Who is she?”

“Pam Dutton. The woman we were going to be meeting with.”

Michelle noticed the writing on the woman’s bare arms. “What’s that?”

“I’m not sure. It’s just a bunch of letters.” He leaned closer. “Looks like they used a black Sharpie.”

“Is anybody else in the house?”

“Let’s find out.”

“Can’t screw up the crime scene for the cops.”

He countered, “And we can’t let someone die who we could otherwise save.”

It only took a few minutes. There were four bedrooms on the top floor, two on each side of the hall set catty-cornered from one another. There was a young girl in the first bedroom they reached. She was unconscious but with no apparent injuries. Her breathing was steady and her pulse weak but steady.

“Colleen Dutton,” said Sean.

“Drugged?” Michelle said as she gazed down at the little girl.

Sean lifted the girl’s eyelid and noted the dilated pupil. “Looks to be.”

In the second bedroom lay a young boy in the same condition as the girl.

“John Dutton,” said Sean as he checked the child’s pulse and pupil. “Drugged too.”

The third bedroom was empty. The last bedroom was the largest. It wasn’t empty.

The man was on the floor. He had on pants, a T-shirt, and was barefoot. One side of his face was swollen and badly bruised.

“It’s Tuck Dutton, Pam’s husband.” Sean checked his pulse.
“Knocked out but his breathing’s okay. Looks like he took quite a blow.”

“We really need to call the cops.” Michelle grabbed the phone off the nightstand. “Dead. They must’ve messed with the outside box.”

“Use your cell phone.”

“I lost it when they tried to run me down.”

“When
who
tried to run you down?”

“A driver and a guy with a submachine gun. Didn’t you see anybody when you came in?”

He shook his head. “I heard gunfire, then I came in the back door. Then another loud sound.”

“That was them crashing through the garage door. Looks like I had all the fun tonight.”

“Pam dead. Tuck knocked out. John and Colleen drugged.”

“You told me they had three kids.”

“They do. Willa’s apparently gone. Her bedroom was the empty one.”

“In the truck? Kidnapping?”

“Can’t be sure. What’d you see?”

“It was a Toyota Tundra, double cab, dark blue. Didn’t see the plates because I was busy trying not to die. Driver and a shooter. Both guys. Oh, and there’s at least one bullet hole in the windshield.”

“Did you see them well enough for an ID?”

“No, but one of them was wearing some serious body armor, like military level. Took a jacketed round from my Sig with no problem. And he was wearing a black ski mask, which made an ID problematic.”

“And no sign of a twelve-year-old girl in the truck?”

“Not that I saw. Probably drugged her too.”

Sean used his cell to call 911 and relay all the information. He slipped it back in his pocket and looked around.

“What’s that?”

Michelle strode across the room to check out the piece of luggage that was sticking out of the closet. “Garment bag, half open.” She bent lower. “It has a tag on it. United Airlines Flight 567 into Dulles
with today’s date on it.” She used a washcloth snatched from the bathroom to cover her hand while she slid the zipper open a few inches and peered inside. “Men’s clothes. Must be Tuck’s.”

Sean looked down at the unconscious man’s bare feet and his T-shirt. “He gets home, probably sees Pam, heads up here to drop his bag, starts to change, and wham.”

“Something is bugging me. That Tundra that came out of the garage. Either it belongs to the Duttons or the bad guys drove their own vehicle in there.”

“They might have done it so no one would see them put Willa in it.”

“In the boondocks? At this hour? You can’t even see another house from here. I’m not even sure there
is
another house.”

“And why take Willa and not one of the other kids?”

“And why would they kill the mom and leave everyone else alive?”

Sean tried to rouse Tuck, but got no response.

“Better leave him alone. He might have some internal injuries.”

They walked back downstairs and then Sean veered toward the kitchen and through it into the garage. There were three garage doors. In one bay was a late-model Mercedes four-door sedan. In another bay was a Chrysler minivan. The third bay was empty.

Michelle pointed to the destroyed garage door. “Truck was parked in this space, obviously. Do you know if the Duttons owned a blue Tundra?”

“No. But the odds are it was theirs.”

“Because the bay is clear?”

“Right. Just about every garage is packed with all sorts of crap, sometimes even including a car. The fact that all the bays were clean meant they had three vehicles, otherwise the third bay would be used for storage.”

“Wow, you really are a detective.”

Sean put his hand on the hood of the Mercedes. “Warm.”

Michelle ran her finger over one of the car’s tires. “Tread’s wet. We had some rain this evening. Must be Tuck coming from the airport.”

They walked back to the living room and stared down at Pam
Dutton. Sean used his elbow to flick on the light switch, pulled out his notepad, and copied down the letters on the woman’s arm.

Michelle bent lower and examined Pam’s hands. “Looks like she’s got some blood and skin under her nails. Most likely defensive trace.”

“Noticed that too. Hope they can trip something on a DNA database.”

Michelle said, “But shouldn’t there be more blood?”

Sean examined the body more closely. “You’re right. The rug should be covered. Looks like they severed her carotid. She would’ve bled out pretty fast.”

Michelle saw it first, the plastic piece protruding out from under the dead woman’s elbow. “Is that what I think it is?”

Sean nodded. “It’s an empty vial.” He glanced over at his partner. “Did they take her blood with them?”

T
ALBOT’S WAS HAVING A SALE
. Diane Wohl had left work at four to take advantage. A new dress, a few blouses, maybe some slacks, a scarf. She’d just gotten a raise at work and wanted to put it to good use. There was nothing wrong with pampering yourself every once in a while. She parked her car in the shopping mall garage and walked about four hundred feet to the store. She left two hours later after trying on several outfits and buying two bags full of clothing, doing her patriotic duty to stimulate an otherwise lousy economy.

She hopped in the car after tossing her bags in the passenger seat. She was hungry and was thinking about picking up some Chinese take-out on the way home. She had just put the key in the ignition when she felt the small circle of metal against her head. A strong odor made her forget about kung pao chicken with all white meat and egg drop soup. It was a mixture of gun oil and cigarettes.

“Drive,” the voice said quietly but firmly. “Or you’re dead.”

She drove.

An hour later the suburbs had disappeared. The only thing visible was lined asphalt, a harvest moon, and walls of trees. Not another car, not another person. Diane Wohl was completely alone with whatever monster was sitting in the back of her Honda.

He spoke again. “Turn off here.”

Her gut tightened and stomach acid driven by fear heaved up her throat.

The car bumped along the dirt road for a few minutes. The mass of trees seemed to swallow up the car.

“Stop.”

Diane slid the gearshift lever to park. As she pulled her hand back the woman eyed her purse with a sideways glance. Her cell phone was in there. If she could somehow turn it on. Or her keys. She had a big wad of them. She could pull them; gouge him in the eyes like she’d seen on TV shows. Only she was so terrified she couldn’t. Her entire body was trembling like she had Parkinson’s.

The monster of few words said, “Out.”

She didn’t move. Her throat was crusted dry but she managed to say, “If you want my car and my money you can have them. Just please don’t hurt me. Please.”

The monster was not persuaded. “Out.” He wedged the gun muzzle against the back of her head. A piece of her hair caught against the bump of the gunsight and was pulled out root and all. Tears trickled down the woman’s cheeks as she confronted the last few minutes of her life. It was like all the warnings had said:

Know your surroundings. Be alert. It only takes a second.

From Talbot’s to death on a lonely strip of dirt.

She opened the car door and started to slide out, her hand clutching her purse. She gasped and let go when the gloved fingers closed around her wrist.

“You won’t need that.”

She closed the door behind her.

Her hopes sank when he joined her outside the car. She had been praying that he would merely climb over the front seat and take her Honda, instead of stealing her life.

He was older, with thick, longish white hair that looked sweaty and dirty. And his face appeared carved from solid rock with rivulets running all over the surface. He was older, but he was also a big, tall man, well over two hundred pounds with broad shoulders and huge, veined hands. He towered over the petite Wohl. Even without the weapon she had no chance against him. His gun was pointed right at her head. The fact that he wasn’t wearing a mask terrified her; she could clearly see his face.

He doesn’t care. Doesn’t care if I know who he is. He’s going to
kill me. Rape and then kill me. And leave me out here.
She started to sob.

“Please don’t do this,” she said as he took a step forward and she took a step back, bracing for the attack.

She never noticed the other man come up behind her. When he touched her shoulder, she shrieked and turned. He was smaller and wiry, his Hispanic features clearly defined. Yet she never saw this because he held up the canister and the dense mist hit her squarely in the face.

Choking, Diane took a deep breath to clear her lungs. It didn’t work; her senses quickly leaving her, she slumped in his arms. They put her in the back of a rental van parked nearby and drove off.

T
HE LAW ENFORCEMENT ARMY
was here in full, splendid force. Sean and Michelle watched from one corner of the pine needle–strewn yard as cops, techs, and suits swarmed over the stricken Dutton home like ants on a carcass. In certain important respects that analogy was exact.

The ambulances had come and taken the living members of the Dutton family to the hospital. Mrs. Dutton was still inside enduring the swarm. The only doctor she would be seeing later was one who would cut her up even more than she was already.

Sean and Michelle had been questioned three times by uniforms and then tie-and-jacket homicide detectives. They methodically gave detailed answers and notebooks were filled up with their descriptions of the night’s horrific events.

Michelle’s attention turned to two black sedans skidding into the driveway. When the men and women popped out she said to Sean, “Why’s the FBI here?”

“Didn’t I mention? Tuck Dutton is the First Lady’s brother.”

“The First Lady? As in Jane Cox, wife of President Cox?”

Sean just gave her a look.

“So that means her sister-in-law was murdered and her niece was kidnapped?”

“You’ll probably see the news trucks pull up any minute,” he said. “And the answer would be, ‘No comment.’ ”

“So Pam Dutton wanted to hire us. Any idea why?”

“No.”

They both watched as the Fibbies talked to the local detectives
and then marched inside the house. Ten minutes later they came back out and headed toward Sean and Michelle.