The First Lady - James Patterson Page 0,64

at the South Gate?”

“One of the homeless guys that hangs out in Lafayette Park, a character called Gregory. He’s been there for years, a regular, but we’re still interrogating him.”

“How did he get it?”

“Another homeless guy passed it on to Gregory, with a twenty-dollar bill, and told him to bring it to us. Gregory didn’t recognize the other guy. It was a cut-out operation.”

“Sure was,” I say, removing the manila envelope from the plastic evidence bag. There’s the slightest lump about midway down the envelope. “Who else knows about this?”

“Just me, ma’am,” he says. “I … opened it up and saw what was inside, and then I came straight here, looking for you.”

Parker says, “What are you waiting for? Open the damn thing up!”

Luckily his desk is clear. I put the evidence bag down and reopen the nine-by-twelve envelope. The adhesive hasn’t been used, which means whoever prepared this was at least smart enough not to lick it shut and leave DNA evidence behind.

I peer into the envelope, maneuvering it so one of Parker’s office lamps is illuminating the interior. Inside there’s a single sheet of paper and there appears to be block typesetting on it.

I ignore that for now.

There’s a small plastic sandwich bag, and there’s something pink contained within. I take a breath and reach in and pull out the bag, rest it on top of Parker’s clean desk.

It’s the last joint of a finger, perhaps the pinky finger. The nail is colored a light red, and there’s a bloody piece of gauze wrapped around the severed end.

Parker seems frozen in his chair, hand held up to his mouth.

“See, ma’am?” Stephenson says. “That’s what I saw.”

The skin is still pink, which means the joint was severed not too long ago. I say, “Stephenson, whatever happened at the South Gate never happened. Understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” I say. “You have another bag or container with you?” He fumbles in his pocket, takes out a small plastic bag with a pill in it. “My antacid pill,” he says with a touch of an apology in his voice. “Haven’t taken it yet.”

“Yeah, well, we’re all pretty busy, aren’t we,” I say. With my latex-covered fingers, I pick up the severed finger, and after Stephenson swallows his pill dry, I put the joint into his bag. I dig into my handbag, pull out my business card, then scribble my name, date, and the time on it, and slip it into the bag.

I say, “You’re to leave here, not talk to anyone, and take that to Gil Foster, over at the Technical Security Division. Not particularly in his wheelhouse, but tell him what’s going on, he’ll get it to the right person, and he’ll confirm what we suspect through our fingerprint records.”

“Yes, ma’am,” and he’s out of Parker Hoyt’s office as fast as he came in. When he’s gone, Parker says, “What else is in the envelope?”

I slide out the sheet of paper, and Parker gets up from his chair and walks around, and we both read the note with its ink-printed letters:

WE HAVE THE FIRST LADY. SHE HASN’T DROWNED.

FOR HER SAFE RELEASE

A. DEPOSIT $100 MILLION IN CENTRAL BANK OF CARACAS, ACCOUNT HPL 0691959, ACCESS CODE B14789, WITHIN THE NEXT TWELVE HOURS

B. HARRISON TUCKER TO MAKE PUBLIC SPEECH IN 24 HOURS TO APOLOGIZE FOR WHAT HE DID TO HER

C. SHE WILL THEN BE RELEASED ALIVE. ANYTHING ELSE OCCURS, HER BODY WILL BE RELEASED SO THAT SHE CAN BE BURIED WITH HER FINGER.

I sense Parker is trembling from looking at the note, and I say, “Guess she’s not in hiding, Mr. Hoyt.”

CHAPTER 52

HOYT GOES AROUND the desk and sits down, and damn the man, he seems to pull it all together in those five seconds and once more is in charge. “Very well, Agent Grissom, I’ll take it from here.”

If the cold bastard had told me I had just been appointed ambassador to Iceland, I wouldn’t have been more surprised. “Take what from here? What are you talking about? We need to work this!”

“What do you mean by we, Agent Grissom?” he says smugly. “This is a kidnapping, pure and simple. That falls under the jurisdiction of the FBI. I’ll be contacting them presently to start the investigative process.”

“It’ll take them at least a day to get brought up to speed,” I say. “We can’t afford to wait that long. You know it, I know it … the First Lady is in extreme danger.”

“And that’s why the FBI is going to handle the investigation. Not a