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Hopefully, Art Collin would have some information for her.
Gibson also left an email with Jan Roberts, a reporter now with theStar-Ledgerwhom she had come to know during her time as a detective back in Jersey City when Roberts worked for the local paper there.
She went back to her earlier searches on Langhorne’s upbringing.
Joel Langhorne sounded like your typical street enforcer: brutal, sadistic, hard-drinking, and loyal only to the capos above him. His wife, Ida Giordano, seemed to have been totally all in with her mob family. She had nearly gone to prison when her son had turned rat. She doubted that had made the woman love him more. She had died twenty years ago in a state-run nursing home. Langhorne had had no brothers and sisters. He was it for the Langhorne line.
Exceptfor Doug Langhorne.
She looked at what she knew about Langhorne’s wife, Geraldine. She had been born in the south, but her family had moved to New York when she was in her early teens. She had met Langhorne there and they had married. Now her husband was dead, and no one knew where Geraldine was. Probably dead, too.
Gibson closed her eyes and slumped in her chair. She had waffled back and forth over this case from the start.Do I work it? Do I run from it?Now she was doubting herself again.
This shit is so complicated it’ll take you the rest of your life to figure it out, and even that probably wouldn’t be long enough. Here you are dreaming about impossible wealth dropping into your lap. Hello, it is not going to happen. So why don’t you just leave this to the cops? And now the FBI? And then you can go back to being a computer nerd for ProEye. Nothing dangerous, just nice, steady work.
She ceremoniously turned off her computer and then hurried downstairs. Gibson had remembered she had forgotten to set the house alarm.
She walked over to the panel to do so.
And that was the last thing Gibson remembered.
CHAPTER53
GIBSON CAME TO SLOWLY, ANDthen, with a jerk of her head, she was fully awake and looking wildly around, but seeing only darkness.
She blinked when a light hit her in the eyes. She tried to shield her face but her hands wouldn’t move. They were bound to the chair she was sitting in. So were her legs.
Her heart thumping in her ears, she tugged against her bindings and said, “Who are you? Where am I? What are you doing?”
It sounded lame, like lines from a bad movie. But what else was she supposed to say?
The light dipped so it was no longer in her eyes.
“Ms. Gibson, I have some questions for you,” said a voice from the dark. “Answer them and you go free. Don’t answer them and things get complicated.”
Now, that really does sound like a shitty movie script. But it’s not, it’s real.
“Look, I don’t have to answer—”
“Your kids are in your house all alone right now. They probably wake up pretty early. You want to be there when they do, or not?”
This statement drained all the fight out of her. “What do you want to know?” she said.
“Sam Trask?”
“What about him?”
“Why did you go to meet him?”
Now she knew who had snatched her.
“And we know enough that if you try to lie, well, again, it gets complicated. I suppose your parents can take care of your children, though.”
Okay, the man was not beating around the bush.
“I was given Nathan Trask’s name to check out. And I thought I might start with his father.”
Is Nathan Trask the voice or is it one of his cronies? Am I important enough to get the big fish in person?
