Gone(60)

He stepped away. The Kemps remained bunched together on the ground, amid the foul-smelling air. They cried, and then suddenly laughed, and hugged some more.

“Mr. Kemp,” Eldridge said.

Kemp looked up, tear streaks down his dirty face, his smile fading from his lips.

“Do you know where they are?” Eldridge asked.

Kemp shook his head. “No.”

“Who kept you here?”

“I don’t know their names. I didn’t recognize any of them. They used lights, they altered their voices.”

“How long ago did they leave?”

Hutchinson Kemp looked up, thinking. Peter watched the man closely. He couldn’t imagine what this ordeal had been like. He wondered if the family had been together the whole time. He doubted it. Likely the perps had separated them. Maybe interrogated Kemp. Threatened him.

Kemp was bruised, battered, cut along the ridge of his forehead, swollen knuckles, dried phlegm on his chest, a total mess. But he was coherent. “An hour ago. Maybe two. It’s hard to gauge the time . . .”

“I understand.”

Everyone was hanging on to Kemp’s words. Waiting for Eldridge’s signal to continue the search. While they had been tending to the family, the smaller group which had ventured down the fork returned, saying it was a dead end.

“Okay, my agents, stay in your pairs. Let’s look at each remaining tunnel. Don’t touch anything. Just a visual sweep. You find something interesting, you drop your tag. Radios won’t reach the surface, but we can keep in touch with one another. Got it? Everyone else, we’re headed out.”

The agents assented and then got going, splitting off into twos. The troopers seemed dismayed to return to the surface, but kept quiet. A federal forensics team would be ushered in as soon as the family was away from danger. Peter imagined the operation — a place this big, damp, pungent, nothing but rocks and dirt and a few pieces of lighting equipment. Maybe they’d find something down one of the tributary tunnels, maybe not.

Hutchinson Kemp spoke up. “I got the impression something had changed.” He looked from Eldridge to Peter. “I saw one of them talking on the phone. Like someone from outside had . . . called it off. The guy talking sounded upset, but then he told us we were free, that people were coming. He dismantled the phone and broke it into pieces. Then they left.”

“You think you can ID anybody? Did you see anything?”

Hutch looked at his wife, whose face reflected what he was thinking. He shook his head. “They were always in front of those lights.” He meant the tripods with area lights off to the side. Peter saw audio speakers, too.

Eldridge started to ask more, but Peter interrupted. “We need to get them out of here.”

The agent nodded. The remaining rescuers gathered closer around the family, preparing to leave. Peter helped Lily Kemp to her feet. The baby boy clung to her. Lily was trembling and weak. “You want me to take him for you?” Peter asked.

Lily shook her head. “No,” she said in a small voice. “Thank you.” The boy buried his face in his mother’s neck.

Hutch picked up Maggie. With everyone on their feet and ready, Eldridge got moving ahead.

They emerged into the afternoon, dust swirling in the quarry. Eldridge keyed his radio. “We’ve got them. We’ve got the family. Alive. We’re coming out now.”

Peter’s pulse raced; he felt the raised gooseflesh on his skin. The pride of having found the family, the vicarious thrill of their freedom.

They ascended up the edge of the site, along the road, the wind beating harder against them the higher they climbed. Just over the lip of the quarry, the man, Hutch, dropped to his knees. Peter let go of the woman and squatted next to him. The other rescuers crowded around, to see if they could help him back up.

Hutchinson Kemp just knelt there, holding his daughter, rocking, his face turned downward. Peter thought he could hear the man praying beneath the howling wind.

“Oh God,” he said. He buried his face in his daughter’s hair. “I’m so sorry.”

It started to rain.





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT / The Kansas City Shuffle

Something was happening. McDonough was on a two-way radio, looking down towards the giant crater in the distance. He snapped his fingers in the air and a trio of paramedics trotted down the slope towards the quarry. Emergency responders hurried to finish erecting the large tent, loading it with gurneys and medical supplies. A rescue chopper was flying in, ready to take the family to Albany Medical if anyone was in critical condition. There was a buzz in the air. They were coming out.

Stokes stood with Rondeau, but the younger detective started towards the commotion. Rondeau caught him by the arm.

“It’s all bullshit,” Rondeau said in a low voice. The meds they gave him were working, bringing him back around. The rain spattering against his skin was waking him up.

Stokes stared off toward the quarry.

“Do you hear what I’m saying?” Rondeau tightened the blanket around him. Someone was supposed to be getting him clothes. Where were they? He stunk and he was cold and he wanted to get dressed.

Stokes turned at last, looking concerned. “Okay, I hear you. Talk to me. How’s it bullshit? What happened?”

The paramedic pretended not to be listening in; she caught Rondeau’s look and walked away. McDonough was preoccupied, but close enough to eavesdrop.