closely—definitely since before the divorce, probably since way before, if he was being honest with himself—and Bill wasn’t about to complain or hurry her along. It seemed clear her interest in him was strictly professional, but still, he had to admit that it felt kind of good. Plus, it was obvious she was trying to formulate a question she didn’t quite know how to ask, and he was more than happy to let her twist in the wind for a while as payback for leaning on him so hard about his gun at the beginning of the interview.
At last, she cleared her throat. “Why do you suppose…”
He thought he knew what she wanted to ask but waited her out. Finally she finished, rushing through the question as if embarrassed about asking. “Why do you suppose he didn’t just shoot you and take the girl? He was holding a human shield, but you had no such protection.”
Bill smiled. “I’ve been asking myself exactly that question since about five seconds after the guy drove away. I really don’t have a clue. The only thing I can guess is that maybe he was afraid shooting me would cause a mass panic and that the rest of the people inside the rest stop might stampede wildly toward the door in an attempt to escape, blocking him in. He must have known the cops were on their way and that he had a limited amount of time to get out. After all, this State Police barracks is only a mile or so away from the place.”
At last, Agent Canfield turned off the recorder and unplugged it, winding the cord around the machine. She reached into the breast pocket of her chambray shirt and pulled out a business card, handing it to Bill. “This has my office number as well as my private cell phone number on it. If you think of anything else, I don’t care how small or unimportant it seems, please call me. Any time, night or day, I don’t care. We need to catch this guy, and we need to do it before he takes another girl.”
“How is she?” Bill asked.
“Who?”
“The teenage girl the guy tried to kidnap. Allie, I think, was her name. How is she doing?”
Canfield thought about it and laughed. It made her whole face light up and Bill wanted to tell her she should do it more often. “The girl is fine,” she said. “She’s a tough kid. Her mother, though, that’s a different story. I don’t think she’s going to let that poor thing out of her sight again. Ever.”
Canfield stood and picked up the recorder, indicating the interview was over. “I’ll take you back to the rest stop to pick up your vehicle.”
“Isn’t that kind of a menial job for a big-shot FBI Special Agent?”
She laughed again and said, “We’re stretched a little thin at the moment, as you might imagine. Everyone available is back at the rest area cleaning up your mess.” She said it with a smile.
The pair walked out of the State Police barracks and the heat rolled over them. The pavement felt soft and mushy underfoot. “Seriously, though,” Canfield said, “nice work back there. You could have been killed, but you managed the situation, and now that seventeen-year-old girl is going home with her parents tonight when she could have been God-knows-where, facing an unthinkable fate.”
They slid into an unmarked Chevrolet Caprice, and Canfield cranked the engine. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to think about this, but the media is going to be all over you when we get back to the crime scene. I called our people at the plaza, and there are television trucks and reporters everywhere. We can’t order you not to talk to them but would prefer that you don’t—”
“Don’t worry about that,” Bill interrupted. “I have zero desire to be a reality TV star.”
“Good. We will be behind most of the assembled media when we enter the parking lot, so, with a little luck, you might be able to make it to your van unseen, but I wouldn’t hold out too much hope on that score. I’m sure they’re staking out your vehicle, just waiting for you to
At last, she cleared her throat. “Why do you suppose…”
He thought he knew what she wanted to ask but waited her out. Finally she finished, rushing through the question as if embarrassed about asking. “Why do you suppose he didn’t just shoot you and take the girl? He was holding a human shield, but you had no such protection.”
Bill smiled. “I’ve been asking myself exactly that question since about five seconds after the guy drove away. I really don’t have a clue. The only thing I can guess is that maybe he was afraid shooting me would cause a mass panic and that the rest of the people inside the rest stop might stampede wildly toward the door in an attempt to escape, blocking him in. He must have known the cops were on their way and that he had a limited amount of time to get out. After all, this State Police barracks is only a mile or so away from the place.”
At last, Agent Canfield turned off the recorder and unplugged it, winding the cord around the machine. She reached into the breast pocket of her chambray shirt and pulled out a business card, handing it to Bill. “This has my office number as well as my private cell phone number on it. If you think of anything else, I don’t care how small or unimportant it seems, please call me. Any time, night or day, I don’t care. We need to catch this guy, and we need to do it before he takes another girl.”
“How is she?” Bill asked.
“Who?”
“The teenage girl the guy tried to kidnap. Allie, I think, was her name. How is she doing?”
Canfield thought about it and laughed. It made her whole face light up and Bill wanted to tell her she should do it more often. “The girl is fine,” she said. “She’s a tough kid. Her mother, though, that’s a different story. I don’t think she’s going to let that poor thing out of her sight again. Ever.”
Canfield stood and picked up the recorder, indicating the interview was over. “I’ll take you back to the rest stop to pick up your vehicle.”
“Isn’t that kind of a menial job for a big-shot FBI Special Agent?”
She laughed again and said, “We’re stretched a little thin at the moment, as you might imagine. Everyone available is back at the rest area cleaning up your mess.” She said it with a smile.
The pair walked out of the State Police barracks and the heat rolled over them. The pavement felt soft and mushy underfoot. “Seriously, though,” Canfield said, “nice work back there. You could have been killed, but you managed the situation, and now that seventeen-year-old girl is going home with her parents tonight when she could have been God-knows-where, facing an unthinkable fate.”
They slid into an unmarked Chevrolet Caprice, and Canfield cranked the engine. “I don’t know if you’ve had a chance to think about this, but the media is going to be all over you when we get back to the crime scene. I called our people at the plaza, and there are television trucks and reporters everywhere. We can’t order you not to talk to them but would prefer that you don’t—”
“Don’t worry about that,” Bill interrupted. “I have zero desire to be a reality TV star.”
“Good. We will be behind most of the assembled media when we enter the parking lot, so, with a little luck, you might be able to make it to your van unseen, but I wouldn’t hold out too much hope on that score. I’m sure they’re staking out your vehicle, just waiting for you to
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