massive security guards stood near the door. McThune knocked gently, and motioned for his small squadron to back away. He didn’t want to scare the poor woman.
The door opened slightly. “Yes,” came a weak voice from the darkness.
“Ms. Sway, I’m Jason McThune, Special Agent, FBI. I saw you in court yesterday.”
The door opened wider, and Dianne stepped into the crack. She said nothing, just waited for his next words.
“Can I talk to you in private?”
She glanced to her left—three security guards, two
agents, and three men in scrubs and lab jackets. “In private?” she said.
“We can walk this way,” he said, nodding toward the end of the hall.
“Is something the matter?” she asked as if nothing else could possibly go wrong.
“Yes ma’am.”
She took a deep breath, and disappeared. Seconds later, she eased through the door with her cigarettes, and closed it gendy behind her. They walked slowly in the center of the empty hall.
“I don’t suppose you’ve talked to Mark,” Mc-Thune said.
“He called me yesterday afternoon from the jail,” she-said, sticking a cigarette between her lips. It was not a lie; Mark had indeed called her from the jail.
“Since then?”
“No,” she lied. “Why?”
“He’s missing.”
She hesitated for a step, then continued. “What do you mean, he’s missing?” She was surprisingly calm. She’s probably just numb to all this, McThune thought. He gave her a quick version of Mark’s disappearance. They stopped at the window and looked at downtown.
“My God, do you think the Mafia’s got him?” she asked, and her eyes watered immediately. She held the cigarette with a trembling hand, unable to light it.
McThune shook his head confidently. “No. They don’t even know. We’re keeping a lid on it. I think he just “walked away. Right here, in the hospital. We figured he might have tried to contact you.”
“Have you searched this place? He knows it really well, you know.”
“They’ve been searching for three hours, but it looks doubtful. Where would he go?”
She finally lit the cigarette and took a long drag, then exhaled a small cloud. “I have no idea.”
“Well, let me ask you something. What do you know about Reggie Love? Is she in town this weekend? Was she planning a trip?”
“Why?”
“We can’t find her either. She’s not at home. Her mother ain’t saying much. You received a subpoena last night, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, Mark got one, and they tried to serve one on Reggie Love, but they haven’t found her yet. Is it possible Mark’s with her?”
I hope so, Dianne thought. She hadn’t thought about this. In spite of the pills she hadn’t slept fifteen minutes since he’d called. But Mark on the loose with Reggie was a new idea. A much more pleasant idea.
“I don’t know. It’s possible, I guess.”
“Where would they be, you know, the two of them together?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know? You’re the FBI. I hadn’t thought about that until five seconds ago, and now you’re asking me where they are. Give me a break.”
McThune felt stupid. It was not a bright question, and she was not as frail as he thought.
Dianne puffed her cigarette, and watched the cars crawl along the streets below. Knowing Mark, he was probably changing diapers in the nursery or assisting with surgery in orthopedics, or maybe scrambling eggs in the kitchen. St. Peter’s was the largest hospital in the state. There were thousands of people under its varied
roofs. He’d roamed the halls and made dozens of friends, and it would take them days to find him. She expected him to call any minute.
“I need to get back,” she said, sticking the filter in an ashtray.
“If he contacts you, I need to know it.”
“Sure.”
“And if you hear from Reggie Love, I’d appreciate a call. I’ll leave two men here on this floor, in case you need them.”
She walked away.
BY EIGHT-THIRTY, FOLTRIGG HAD ASSEMBLED IN HIS OFFICE
the usual crew of Wally Boxx, Thomas Fink, and Larry Trumann, who arrived last with his hair still wet from a quick shower.
Foltrigg was dressed like a fraternity pledge in his pressed chinos, starched cotton button-down, and shiny loafers. Trumann wore a jogging suit. “The lawyer’s missing too,” he announced as he poured coffee from a thermos.
“When did you hear this?” Foltrigg asked.
“Five minutes ago, on my car phone. McThune called me. They went to her house to serve her around eight, but couldn’t find her. She’s disappeared.”
“What else did McThune say?”
“They’re still searching the hospital. The kid spent three days there and knows it very well.”
“I doubt if he’s there,” Foltrigg