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“I’m done with this witness, Your Honor,” Yuki said.
Chapter 95
AT 8:30 THAT MONDAY MORNING, Miriam Devine took the bundles of mail from the hallway console and brought them into the breakfast nook.
She and her husband had just returned home to Pacific Heights last night after their cruise, ten fabulous days in the Mediterranean, where they were mercifully cut off from phones and television and newspapers and bills.
She wanted to keep the real world at bay for at least a couple of days, keep that vacation feeling a little longer. If only she could.
Miriam made drip coffee, defrosted and toasted two cinnamon buns, and began her attack on the mail, stacking catalogs on the right side of the kitchen table, bills on the left, and miscellaneous items across from her coffee mug.
When she found the plain white envelope addressed to the Tylers, she shuffled it to the bottom of the “miscellaneous” pile and continued working, writing checks and tossing junk mail until Jim came into the kitchen.
Her husband drank his coffee standing up, said, “Christ. I don’t want to go to the office. It’s going to be hell even if no one knows I’m there.”
“I’ll make meat loaf for dinner, sweetie. Your favorite.”
“Okay. Something to look forward to anyway.”
Jim Devine left the house and closed the front door behind him. Miriam finished dealing with mail, rinsed the dishes, and phoned her daughter before calling her next-door neighbor Elizabeth Tyler.
“Liz, honey! Jim and I just got back last night. I have some mail for you that was delivered here by mistake. Why don’t I drop over so we can catch each other up?”
Chapter 96
I STOOD WITH CONKLIN in the Tylers’ living room. It was only fifteen minutes since their neighbor Miriam Devine had dropped off the handwritten note from the kidnappers.
It had had the effect of an emotional nuclear bomb on Elizabeth Tyler and was having a similar effect on me.
I remembered canvassing the Devines’ house the day of the abduction. It was a cream-colored clapboard Victorian almost identical to the Tylers’ house, right next door. I’d spoken to the Devines’ housekeeper, Guadalupe Perez. She’d told us in broken English that the Devines were away.
Nine days ago, I couldn’t have imag
ined that Guadalupe Perez would have picked up an envelope that had been slid under the door and that she would have stacked it with the rest of the Devines’ mail.
No one could have known, but I felt heartsick and responsible anyway.
“How well do you know the Devines?” Conklin asked Henry Tyler, who was furiously pacing the perimeter of the room. There were pictures of Madison on every wall and surface — baby pictures, family portraits, holiday snapshots.
“It’s not them, okay? The Devines didn’t do it!” Tyler shouted. “Madison is gone!” he yelled, holding his head with both hands as he paced. “It’s too late.”
I dropped my eyes back to the sideboard and the block letters on the plain white bond that I could read from five feet away:
WE HAVE YOUR DAUGHTER.
IF YOU CALL LAW ENFORCEMENT, SHE DIES.
IF WE FEEL ANY HEAT, SHE DIES.
RIGHT NOW, MADISON IS HEALTHY AND SAFE, AND WILL STAY THAT WAY AS LONG AS YOU KEEP QUIET.
THIS PHOTO IS THE FIRST. YOU WILL RECEIVE A NEW PICTURE OF MADISON EVERY YEAR. YOU MAY RECEIVE A PHONE CALL. SHE MAY EVEN COME HOME.
BE SMART. BE QUIET.
ONE DAY MADISON WILL THANK YOU.
The photo of Madison that came with the note had been printed out on a home-style printer within an hour of the time she was abducted. The girl seemed clean and unharmed, wearing the blue coat, the red shoes.
