Maggie Caruso had never slept well. Even when things were going well—during their honeymoon in the Poconos—Maggie had trouble mustering five hours of uninterrupted sleep. When she got older—when the credit card companies started calling her at the end of the month—she considered herself lucky if she got three hours of sleep. And last night, with her children absent from her, she sat up in bed, clinging to the sheets, and she barely managed to sleep for a couple of hours... which was exactly what Gallo had calculated before he went looking for her that morning.
"I thought she might like some coffee," Gallo said as she entered the gleaming white interview room. Unlike the day before, DeSanctis was not with him. Today it was just Gallo, in his usual ill-fitting gray suit and a surprisingly warm smile. He handed Maggie her coffee with both hands. Be careful, it's hot," he said; he seemed really worried.
"Thank you," Maggie replied, as she watched him closely, studying her new attitude.
"How does it feel?" Gallo asked as he pulled up a chair. Just like the day before, he sat next to him.
"I'm fine," Maggie said, hoping she was brief. Can I help you with something?
"Actually, there's one thing that…" Gallo let the words hang in the air. It was a tactic he'd picked up right after joining the secret service. When it came to getting people to talk, there was no better weapon than silence.
Agent Gallo, if you're looking for Charlie and Oliver, you should know that neither of them came home last night.
-Really? Rooster asked. So he still doesn't know where they are?
Maggie nodded.
"And he still doesn't know if they're okay?"
"I haven't the slightest idea."
Gallo crossed his arms and was silent.
-What? Maggie asked. He does not belive me?
"Maggie, did Oliver and Charlie contact you last night?"
Maggie was silent for a fraction of a second.
-I dont know what...
"Don't lie to me," Gallo warned.
He narrowed his eyes and the nice guy disappeared without a trace. If you lie to me, you won't be doing them any favors.
Gritting her teeth, Maggie ignored the threat.
"I swear, I don't know anything.
For the third time, Gallo let the silence do his work. Thirty seconds of nothing.
"Maggie, do you have any idea what you're dealing with?" Her," she finally asked.
-I have already told him...
"Let me tell you about a case we worked on last year," he interrupted. We had a target who was using a typewriter to keep in touch with another suspect. It's a very ingenious method: destroy the tape in the machine, send a fax from an impossible place to find, nothing that we could use to catch them. But unfortunately for the lens, all electric typewriters emit their own electromagnetic emanations. They're not as easy to read as a computer, but our techs had no trouble finding them. And, once we gave them the make and model number of the typewriter, it took them less than three hours to recreate the message from the sound each key makes. The guy would press "A", we would see "A". We caught them both a week later.
Maggie squared her shoulders, making an effort not to lose her composure.
"They can't escape us," Gallo added. It's just a matter of time. Refusing to back down, he added, If you help us find them, we can come to an agreement.
Okay, Maggie, but if I'm forced to do it alone... the only way she'll ever see her children again is through two-inch-thick glass. And that, if they manage to get that far.
In a single, fluid movement, Gallo scratched the back of his neck and opened his jacket. Maggie could see Gallo's gun in his leather holster. Gallo was staring at her, there was no need to add anything else.
Her chin trembled. He tried to get up but his legs did not respond.
"It's over, Maggie… you just have to tell us where they are.
She turned and pursed her lips.
Tears ran down her cheeks. "It's the only way he can help them," Gallo insisted. Otherwise, she will have her hands stained with her blood.
Wiping her eyes with the palm of her hand, Maggie searched desperately for something, anything, to focus her gaze on. But the stark whiteness of her walls kept leading her toward Gallo.
"Okay," he added, leaning toward Maggie. He just says the words and we'll make sure nothing happens to them. He." He placed a hand on her shoulder and slowly lifted her chin. Be a good mother, Maggie. It is the only way to help them. Where are Charlie and Oliver?
Maggie looked up and felt the world melt before her eyes. Her children were all he had left. They were all she had. And the only thing she had ever needed. Sitting up in the chair, she shook Gallo's hand off her shoulder and finally opened her mouth.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice controlled and smooth. I haven't heard from them.
"Don't be such a good boy," Joey scolded over the phone. He leaned back in the car seat and looked across the street toward Maggie Caruso's building. Just tell me what's in the files.
"You know very well I can't do it," Randall Adenauer said in his unmistakable Virginia accent. However, you can ask again.
"Come on," Joey groaned, rolling his eyes. But if he wanted to know Charlie's and Oliver's background under the law, there was only one way to play that game. Are they the kind of people he could hire? Joey asked.
There was a pause at the other end of the line. As Special Agent in Charge of the Violent Crimes Unit, Adenauer had access to the best files and databases the FBI had. As an old friend of Joey's father, he also had some outstanding bills that he was long overdue to pay.
"No doubt," he said. I would hire them today.
-Really? Joey asked, surprised, but not terribly. Or is everything clean?
"Like a whistle," he replied. The youngest had some problems due to vagrancy, but nothing more. According to our data, these are two angels. Why, what did you expect to find?
This time it was Joey who was silent for a few seconds.
"No... nothing," he replied. Before he could continue, there was a beep on the other line. Caller ID revealed it was Noreen. Listen, I have to cut it off," Joey added. I will call you later. Thanks, Poochie.
A moment later he was talking to his assistant.
"Gallo and the mother have returned?" Noreen asked.
Joey glanced at the passenger seat, where a digital screen showed a small blue triangle blinking across an electronic map in the direction of the Brooklyn Bridge.
"They're on their way," he said. Tell me about you? Something interesting?
"Just some old university data from the bank's personnel office." In academic terms, Oliver's grades were good, but not excellent...
"Small fish, big pond... new level of competition..."
"…but according to his resume, he was working two different jobs, one of them his own business. One semester, he was selling T-shirts; the next, he was organizing limo rides; he even had his own moving business at the end of each year. You already know the profile.
"Your typical young businessman." What about Charlie?
—Two years at the school of Fine Arts, he then he dropped out and finished his studies at City College. In both cases, however, he was the worst kind of student you could imagine. Outstanding in the subjects that interested him; insufficient in the rest.
"And why did he leave you?" Fear of success or fear of failure?
"No idea, but it's clear he's the wild card."
"Actually, Oliver's the wild card," Joey pointed out.
-Do you believe?
"Take another look at the details. Charlie may be better in a given situation, but when it comes to taking risks, it's Oliver who stepped up in a world that wasn't his own.
Joey waited, but Noreen didn't object to his argument. What else have you found besides resumes?
"That's all," Noreen said. Except for the mother's apartment, all Charlie and Oliver have are a few expired credit cards and a now-empty bank account.
"And have you checked everything else?"
Do I pay attention to you when you speak? Driver's license, Social Security, insurance policies, corporate documents, property data, and all the other data about our private lives that the government has been selling to credit bureaus for years, but only now, when they're blaming the Internet for it. , is getting some echo in the press. Other than that, nothing questionable. How have you been with the FBI?
"Same story: no convictions, no citations, no recent arrests.
"So that's it?" Noreen asked.
-You're kidding? This is only the first kilometer. When did Fudge say we'd have the phone and credit card details?
"Any time," Noreen replied, her voice quickening. Oh, and there's one thing you might find interesting. Remember that pharmacy you asked me to check out? Well, I called, said I was from Oliver's insurance company, and asked if they had any outstanding prescriptions for Mr. Caruso.
-And?
"They had nothing for Oliver..." "Shit..."
"But they had one for a Caruso named Charles."
Joey sat up straighter.
Please tell me that you...
"Oh, sorry, did I say Oliver?"
I meant Charles. That's right, Charlie Caruso.
"Wonderful, wonderful," Joey crooned. What have you found? "Well, he has a prescription for something called mexiletine.
"Mexiletine?"
"That was exactly what I asked; I then called the office of the doctor who prescribed the medication, who was more than willing to assist in an investigation by an insurance company...
"You're making great progress in this job, you know that?" Joey said. And the end result?
"Charlie has ventricular tachycardia.
-One that?
"A cardiac arrhythmia. He's had it since he was fourteen," Noreen explained. That's where all the hospital bills come from. All this time we thought they were his mother's. It is not like this. The bills are all Charlie's. The only reason they are in his mother's name is because he was a minor at the time. Unfortunately for them, when Charlie had his first attack, the operation cost $110,000. He apparently has a bad electrical connection in his heart that doesn't allow it to pump blood properly.
"So it's a serious condition?"
"Only if you don't take your medication."
"Shit," Joey said, shaking his head. Do you think he has the medication with him?
"Charlie and Oliver disappeared straight from Grand Central. I don't think he was carrying a spare pair of socks, much less his daily dose of mexiletine.
"And how long can he go without taking it?"
"It's hard to say. The doctor assumes that three or four days in perfect conditions, unless he is running around or is under a stressful situation.
"You mean like running away and fighting for your life?"
"Exactly," Noreen said. As of this moment, Charlie's clock is ticking. And if we don't find him soon, forget about the money and the murder, because those will be the least of that boy's problems.