Silent Night (12 page)

“Mrs. Dornan, if we're right and Siddons is heading for the Canadian border, he's not going to get there for at least another three or four hours. Although the snow has stopped in some areas, the roads are still going to be something of a mess all night. He can't be traveling fast, and he doesn't know that we know he has Brian. That's being kept from the media. In Siddons's mind, Brian will be an asset—at least until he reaches the border. We will find him before then.”

The television monitor was still on with the volume low. Catherine's back was to it. She saw Detective Rhodes's face change, heard a voice say, “We interrupt this program for a news bulletin. According to a report that has just been broadcast by station WYME, seven-year-old Brian Dornan, the boy who has been missing since this afternoon, has fallen into the hands of alleged murderer Jimmy Siddons, who told his sister that if the police close in on him, he will put a bullet through the child's head. More later, as news comes in.”

A
fter Aika left, Cally made a cup of tea, wrapped herself in a blanket, turned the television on, and pressed the MUTE button. This way I'll know if there's any news, she thought. Then she turned on the radio and tuned in a station playing Christmas music, but she kept the volume low.

“
Hark, the herald angels sing
. . .” Remember how Frank and I sang that together when we were trimming the tree? she thought. Five years ago. Their one Christmas together. They'd just learned that she was pregnant. She remembered all the plans they'd made. “Next year we'll have help trimming the tree,” Frank had said.

“Sure we will. A three-month-old baby will be a big help,” she'd said, laughing.

She remembered Frank lifting her up so that she could place the star on the top of the tree.

Why?

Why had everything gone so wrong? There wasn't a next year. Just one week later Frank was killed by a hit-and-run driver. He'd been on his way home from a trip to the deli for a carton of milk.

We had so little time, Cally thought, shaking her head. Sometimes she wondered if those months were just a dream. It seemed so long ago now.

“
O
come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant
. . .” “Adeste Fideles.” Was it just yesterday that I was feeling so good about life? Cally wondered. At work the hospital administrator had said, “Cally, I've been hearing wonderful reports on you. They tell me you've got the makings of a born nurse. Have you ever thought of going to nursing school?” Then she'd talked about scholarships and how she was going to look into it.

That little boy, Cally thought. Oh God, don't let Jimmy hurt him. I should have called Detective Levy immediately. I know I should have. Why didn't I? she wondered, then immediately answered her own question: Because I wasn't just afraid for Brian. I was afraid for myself, too, and that may cost Brian his life.

She got up and went in to look at Gigi. As usual, the little girl had managed to work one foot out from under the covers. She did it every night, even when the room was cold.

Cally tucked the covers around her daughter's shoulders, then touched the small foot and tucked that in, too. Gigi stirred. “Mommy,” she said drowsily.

“I'm right here.”

Cally went back to the living room and glanced over at the television for a moment, then rushed to turn up the volume. No! No! she thought as she heard the reporter explain that police now had information that the missing boy had been kidnapped by escaped cop killer Jimmy Siddons. The police will blame the leak on me, she thought frantically. They'll think I told someone. I know they will.

The phone rang. When she picked it up and heard Mort Levy's voice, the pent-up emotions that had seemed so frozen erupted suddenly. “I didn't do it,” she sobbed. “I didn't tell anyone. I swear, I swear I didn't tell.”

*   *   *

The steady rise and fall of Brian's chest told Jimmy Siddons that his hostage was asleep. Good, he thought, better for me. The problem was that the kid was smart. Smart enough to know that if he had managed to throw himself out of the car next to the breakdown lane, he wouldn't risk getting run over. If that jerk hadn't spun
out and caused the fender-bender, it would be all over for me now, Jimmy thought. The kid would have gotten out and the troopers would have been on my tail right then.

It was past eleven o'clock. The kid should be tired. With luck he'd sleep for a couple of hours anyhow. Even with the snow on the roads, they should be at the border in, at most, three or four hours. It'll still be dark for a long time after that, Jimmy thought with satisfaction. He knew he could count on Paige to be waiting on the Canadian side. They'd worked out a rendezvous point in the woods about three miles from the customs check.

Jimmy debated about where he should leave the Toyota. There was nothing to tie him to it as long as he made sure he wiped it clean of fingerprints. Maybe he'd ditch it in one of the wooded areas.

On the other hand . . . He thought of the Niagara River, where he would make the border crossing. It had a strong current, so chances were it wouldn't be frozen. With luck, the car might never surface.

What about the kid? Even as he asked himself the question, Jimmy knew there was no way he'd take a chance on the kid being found near the border and able to talk about him.

Paige had told all her friends she was going to Mexico.

Sorry, kid, Jimmy thought. That's where I want the cops looking for me.

He reflected for a moment, then decided the river would take care of the car
and
the kid.

That decision made, Jimmy felt some of the tension ease from his body. With every mile, he felt more sure that he was going to make it, that Canada and Paige and freedom were within reach. And with each mile he felt more anxious—and more determined—that nothing happen to screw it up.

Like last time. He'd been all set. He'd had Cally's car, a hundred bucks, and was heading for California. Then he ran a lousy caution light on Ninth Avenue and got pulled over. The cop, a guy about thirty, thought he was a big shot. He had come to the driver's window and said real sarcastically, “Driver's license and registration,
sir
.”

That's all he would have needed to see, Jimmy thought, remembering the moment as though it were yesterday, a license issued to James Siddons. He had had no choice. He would have been arrested on the spot. He'd reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his gun, and fired. Before the cop's body hit the ground, Jimmy was out of the car and on the street, blending into the crowd around the bus terminal. He had looked at the departure schedule
board and rushed to buy a ticket on a bus leaving in three minutes, destination: Detroit.

That was a lucky decision, Jimmy thought. He'd met Paige the first night, moved in with her, then got some phony ID and a job with a low-life security firm. For a while he and Paige had even had a kind of normal life. Their only real arguments were when he got sore at the way she encouraged the guys who made passes at her in the strip joint. But she said it was her job to make them
want
to make passes at her. For the first time, everything was actually working out. Until he was dumb enough to hit the service station without taking enough time to case it.

He focused his attention back on the snow-covered road ahead of him. He could tell from the feel of the tires that it was getting icy. Good thing this car had snow tires, Jimmy thought. He flashed back to the couple who owned the car—what had the guy said to his wife? Something about can't wait to see Bobby's face? Yeah, that was it, Jimmy thought, grinning as he imagined their faces when they found an empty space where their car had been parked, or more likely another car taking up the space.

He had the radio turned on, but the volume was low. It was tuned to a local station to get an update on the
weather, but now the sound was fading and static was breaking up the signal. Impatiently Jimmy twiddled the dial until he found an all-news station, then froze as an announcer's urgent voice reported: “Police have reluctantly confirmed the story broken by station WYME that seven-year-old Brian Dornan, missing since five o'clock this evening, has fallen into the hands of alleged murderer Jimmy Siddons, who is believed to be heading for Canada.”

Swearing steadily, Jimmy snapped off the radio. Cally. She must have called the cops. The Thruway's probably already lousy with them, all looking for me—and the kid, he reasoned frantically. He glanced to the left, at the car just passing him. Probably dozens of unmarked cars around here, he thought.

Calm. Keep it calm, he told himself. They didn't know what kind of car he was driving. He wasn't going to be dumb enough to speed or, worse yet, crawl so far below the speed limit that they'd get suspicious.

But the kid was a problem. He had to get rid of him right away. He thought the situation through quickly. He'd get off at the nearest exit, take care of him, dump him fast, and then get back on the road. He looked at the boy sleeping beside him. Too bad, kid, but that's the way it's got to be, he said to himself.

On the right he saw an exit sign. That's it, Jimmy thought, that's the one I'll take.

Brian stirred as though starting to wake up, then fell back asleep. Drowsily, he decided that he must have been dreaming, but he thought he had heard his name.

A
l Rhodes saw the haunted look on the face of Catherine Dornan when she realized the implications of Brian being with Jimmy Siddons. He watched as she closed her eyes, ready to catch her if she fainted.

But then she opened her eyes quickly and reached out to put her arms around her older son. “We mustn't forget that Brian has the St. Christopher medal,” she said softly.

The mask of adult bravado that Michael had managed to maintain throughout the evening's ordeal began to crumble. “I don't want anything to happen to Brian,” he sobbed.

Catherine stroked his head. “Nothing is going to happen to him,” she said calmly. “Believe that, and hold on to it.”

Rhodes could see the effort it took for her to talk. Who the hell leaked to the media that Brian Dornan was with Jimmy Siddons? he wondered angrily. Rhodes could feel his fist itching to connect with the louse who had so thoughtlessly jeopardized the kid's life. His anger was further fed by the realization that if Siddons was listening to the radio, the first thing he'd do was get rid of the boy.

Catherine was saying, “Mother, remember how Dad used to tell us about the Christmas Eve when he was only twenty-two years old and in the thick of the Battle of the Bulge, and he took a couple of soldiers in his company into one of the towns on the fringe of the battle line? Why don't you tell Michael about it?”

Her mother took up the story. “There'd been a report of enemy activity there but it turned out not to be true. On the way back to their battalion, they passed the village church. Midnight Mass had just started. They could see that the church was packed. In the midst of all that fear and danger, everyone had left their homes for the service. Their voices singing ‘Silent Night' drifted out into the square. Dad said it was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.”

Barbara Cavanaugh smiled at her grandson. “Grandpa and the other soldiers went into the church. Grandpa used to tell me how scared all of them had been until they saw the faith and courage of those villagers. Here these people were, surrounded by fierce fighting. They had almost no food. Yet those villagers believed that somehow they'd make it through that terrible time.”

Her lower lip quivered, but her voice was steady as she continued. “Grandpa said that was when he
knew
he was going to come home to me. And it was an hour later that the St. Christopher medal kept the bullet from going through his heart.”

Catherine looked over Michael's head to Officer Ortiz. “Would you take us to the cathedral now? I want to go to midnight Mass. We'd need to be in a seat where you could find me quickly if you have any news.”