“So what if we wake them up,” Gloria said. “They can go back to sleep after. I need to know that my son is okay.” She stepped away from the counter and approached Madeline. “You’re the only one who has a number for the man. Call him.”

Madeline nodded. “My cell’s up by my bed. I’ll be right back.”

Bob was shaking his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Madeline ignored him and kept on walking. Bob turned to make his case to Gloria. “You have to trust the man to do his job.’

It was Gloria’s turn to have a drink. She’d opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of white wine. She filled a glass nearly to the top and took a sip as Bob watched disapprovingly.

“Look what’s happening to us,” he said.

She eyed him with wonder. “Are you surprised? After what we’ve been through? After what I’ve been through? Letting the lot of you humiliate me on a world stage?”

She took a large swallow. Her eyes misted over and her lower lip trembled. “I’m so ashamed. I’m just so, so ashamed.”

“Gloria,” Bob said tiredly. “Go back to bed. Take your drink with you if you want.”

Madeline returned to the kitchen, cell phone in hand.

“Did you get him?” Gloria asked.

“I’m just trying now,” she said. She studied the screen, tapped it with her thumb, put the phone to her ear. “It’s ringing.”

Gloria and Bob went silent, stared at Madeline.

“Still ringing,” she said. “Maybe he’s got the phone muted.”

“Yes,” Bob said. “That makes sense.”

“No,” Gloria said. “That doesn’t make any sense. Not under the circumstances. Like, if the police had to call him, like the detective who was here. Mr. Weaver’d have to leave his phone on in case there was an emergency.”

“Then—that’s six rings—maybe they’re just sleeping through it,” Madeline said.

“I’m sure it’s been a very long day for them,” Bob said. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“That’s eight rings,” Madeline said. “Now it’s going to—Hello, Mr. Weaver? It’s Madeline Plimpton. Please call me the moment you get this. We’re desperately worried about Jeremy. Please call.”

She brought the phone down where she could see it, ended the call, and gazed hopelessly at Gloria and Bob.

Gloria put down her glass and placed both hands over her mouth. “Oh God,” she said.

Bob said nothing.

Sixty-One

SIXTY-ONE

CORY Calder, on the floor, blinking blood out of his eyes, looked up at Craig Pierce and said, “Where’s the girl?”

“What girl?” Pierce said.

Cory put a hand to his temple, felt blood, then moved it to his neck. The pain was excruciating.

“You were too clever by half,” Pierce said.

“I don’t . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”