The Chain(21)

Rachel parks the Volvo on the other side of the street and checks Wendy’s Facebook feed. Now she is coming home, it says.

Rachel has about eight or nine minutes with Denny in there by himself. Is he by himself? Is there a dog or a housekeeper or something?

Can she just put on the ski mask, march across the road, and ring the doorbell? How can she get him into the car if she has to make a quick getaway? In the movies, lone kidnappers used chloroform-soaked rags to get their victims. Could you buy chloroform at the pharmacy? What if she used too much and sent the frickin’ kid into cardiac arrest?

She puts her face in her hands.

How is this happening to her? When is she going to wake up from this nightmare?

She goes through these thoughts over and over until it’s too late. Wendy’s white VW SUV rolls up in front of the house, and Wendy gets out.

Rachel curses herself.

She’s blown it. Almost on purpose. Almost on purpose out of sheer cowardice.

But as soon as his mom appears, Denny comes outside, and he and a kid from next door start playing basketball on the other kid’s hoop.

She watches them both greedily. The way a predator watches its prey.

Either would do in a pinch. If she could get one of them alone…

She looks at her watch. Not yet five o’clock. This morning when she woke up, she had been a completely different person. As J. G. Ballard pointed out, civilization is just a thin, fragile veneer over the law of the jungle: Better you than me. Better your kid than my kid.

When the one-on-one basketball game is over, Denny goes back inside. A few moments later, a Lowell Police Department patrol car pulls up in front of the Pattersons’ house and a six-foot-three uniformed cop gets out.

Rachel slinks down in her seat, but the cop hasn’t come for her. He is carrying a giant box of Legos. He rings the Pattersons’ bell and Wendy answers. She gives him a kiss, and Rachel watches the cop go inside. She watches through the living-room window as he ruffles little Denny’s hair and gives him the Legos.

I guess Wendy doesn’t report everything on Facebook and Instagram, Rachel thinks. And there goes Kid 1. No law enforcement. The rules are clear. She takes out her notebook and her phone. Kid 2 is now Kid 1.

Toby Dunleavy.

Rachel looks at Helen Dunleavy’s Facebook feed. She selected Helen because she was another one of those people who felt the need to share everything that was happening to them every half an hour or so. She seems like a nice lady, though, and a good mom. That’s the kind you want: a good mom who will do anything to get her child back.

She deep-dives on Mike, Helen’s husband. Standard Chartered is a safe, boring enough place to work. He’s probably used to dealing with stress and he’ll have money to pay a ransom. Mike is English but lived in Manhattan for many years. He has a food blog and he’d written a funny post titled “What Came First, Zabar’s or the Upper West Side?” Another nice guy. Not a guy you’d want to put through hell.

But then, nobody should be put through what she’s going through.

She pauses and again racks her brain for any other way out of this, but nothing comes to mind. Follow The Chain. That’s all. If you follow The Chain you get your kid back. If you don’t…

Her iPhone begins ringing as she’s looking at Toby’s Tumblr feed. The screen says Unknown Caller.

“Hello?” Rachel says hesitantly.

“How are things going, Rachel?” a voice asks. It’s someone speaking through a voice distorter. The original someone who contacted her this morning when she was on I-95.

“Who are you?” Rachel demands.

“I’m your friend, Rachel. A friend who will tell you the truth no matter how bitter that truth is. You’re a philosopher, aren’t you?”

“I guess—”

“You know what they say. The living are only a species of the dead, aren’t they? And a very rare species at that. The cradle rocks over the abyss. Your daughter’s named Kylie, is that right?”

“Yes. She’s a great kid. She’s all I have.”

“If you want her to stay in the land of the living, if you want her to come back safely, you’re going to have to get your hands dirty.”

“I know. I’m researching targets right now.”

“Good. That’s what we want. Do you have a piece of paper nearby?”

“Yes.”

“Write this down: 2-3-4-8-3-8-3-h-u-d-y-k-d-y-2. Say it back to me.”

Rachel repeats it.

“That’s the Wickr account name for this part of The Chain. That’s W-i-c-k-r. You’ll need to download the app on your phone. Send the details of the targets you are considering to that account. Someone here may vet this list. We may veto some of your choices. Sometimes we veto all the candidates, and occasionally we suggest some of our own. Is that clear?”

“I think so.”

“Is it clear or not?”

“It is. Look, I might need help with this part, but I don’t know if I can bring in Marty, my ex-husband. He might want to go straight to the cops.”

“Then you’d better not bring him in,” the distorted voice says quickly.

“His brother, Pete, was in the Marines, but he’s definitely not a fan of law enforcement. He had some trouble with the police when he was a kid, and I think he was arrested last year in Boston.”