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CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
“Are you sure?” Jessie demanded, raising her voice to be heard over the siren.
The voice of Charlotte Stevenson’s husband, Evan, came through loud and clear over the phone.
"I'm positive," he said anxiously, "she wouldn't miss it for the world. Now, please explain why you need to know. You have me very concerned."
“I’m sorry but I have to go,” Jessie said, realizing how awful it was to leave him hanging. “I’ll try to have someone call you back when time permits.”
She hung up and looked over at Ryan, who was swerving in and out of the early afternoon traffic.
“I couldn’t hear a thing,” he shouted at her. “Where are we going?”
“The Westside Auditorium,” she said. “Charlotte’s husband said she’s attending a children’s concert.”
“That works out well,” Ryan told her. “The auditorium is right up the street from Falafel House. We’ll be there in thirty seconds. Unfortunately, she’s not answering her phone. I’ve called a half dozen times and it keeps going to voicemail.”
"Her husband said that might happen," Jessie replied. "Everyone is asked to turn off their phones before the concert starts. It doesn't end until 2 p.m. That's not for another five minutes, so we may not be able to reach her."
Jessie looked at the backseat, where Nina was cuffed.
"Last chance to come clean," she said. "Tell us exactly what Rhett is planning, and maybe we can get the prosecutor to offer you some leniency."
Nina only looked away. For a woman who had been so chatty before, her embrace of silence was unsettling. She seemed to have sensed there was no way out for her, and all she had left was the hope that her husband might somehow escape.
Ryan pulled up in front of the auditorium, and they both hopped out. Ryan locked the door, leaving Nina in the backseat. They rushed up the front steps and flashed their IDs at the security guard.
“Have you seen this woman?” Ryan asked, holding up a photo of Charlotte Stevenson.
“Yes,” the guard said, taken aback. “That’s Mrs. Stevenson. She arrived earlier, before the show started.”
“Do you know where she is?” Ryan pressed.
“I haven’t seen her in a while,” the man said. “I assume she’s watching the performance.”
“What about this man?” Jessie asked, showing him a photo of Rhett Kirby on her phone.
“Yes,” the guard said, “he came in very late, maybe fifteen minutes ago.”
“Did you see where he went?” Jessie asked.
“He went in the direction of the theater as well.”
“If you see him, take caution,” Ryan said. “He may be armed and he’s definitely dangerous.”
They turned and dashed toward the main entrance of the theater. Ryan opened the door, and they stepped into the darkened space. The sounds of two dozen singing children, all standing on the stage in their finest attire, hit their ears. Jessie grabbed his shoulder and pulled him outside again.
“If she’s in there, he’s had a head start in finding her,” she said. “Why don’t you begin searching at the back of the audience and work your way forward. I’ll find the backstage entrance and see if I can locate them from the front.”
She could tell that he was torn. The idea made sense, considering their time constraints, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the idea of them splitting up.
“Maybe we should just go to the crew, have them shut down the entire show and turn up the lights,” he suggested.
“We could,” she allowed, “but if he hasn’t found Charlotte yet, that might alert him to where she is. And it would definitely tip him off that we’re on to him. He might panic. And with kids around, that could get very ugly.”
“Okay,” he agreed, “but I don’t want you taking any chances. If you come across Kirby before I do, let me know. Do not engage him directly.”
“I won’t,” Jessie assured him. “Now get in there. We don’t have much time.”
