Page 81 of Pied Sniper

“The one who ran away? No, not yet. The photos didn’t catch enough detail of his face since he was wearing a hat and his scarf was pulled up. Fletcher and Flaherty spent half an hour looking around the area but since we already knew he was probably long gone, I didn’t want them to waste any more time. They still have a case to pursue in Frederickstown.”

“Even if he were closeby, there were plenty of places to hide. He could have snuck into a building or hunkered down in his vehicle. The bus lines all run in that part of town too. I don’t know, John, maybe it was nothing. Seems weird that he ran. Most people would stop and ask me what I wanted.”

“I agree it’s weird and suspicious but no one recognized him when we sent the photos out last night. Not Grace or Jonathan or Flavia.”

“Maybe Abigail will.” I took another sip, then set the mug down. “Let me get ready.” I showered and washed my hair quickly, braiding it loosely so I wouldn’t have to waste time drying it. Then I brushed my teeth, applied some makeup and dressed in jeans and a cute blouse with a collar that peeked over my sweater. I added socks, deciding footwear was too big an issue to contemplate, and jogged downstairs, arriving in the hallway just as the doorbell rang. “I’ve got it,” I called out, unsure where Solomon was. The man was so lithe and quick-footed that he sailed around the house like he was floating on air. I wasn’t sure how he did it. I was more like a hippo in comparison, if hippos were smaller, cuter, and had better hair. Perhaps I should buy hippo PJs. Solomon might like them, but not nearly as much as I would.

“I screwed up,” said Abigail when I opened the door. Delgado stood behind her. “I know I did.”

“Why don’t you tell me all about it,” I said, since I didn’t know if agreeing with her was the right thing to do. It certainly seemed like she screwed up but what did I know? I didn’t have a clue about the circumstances yet. “Can I get you both anything?”

“Coffee would be great,” said Delgado.

“For me too, please,” added Abigail, glancing around the entryway and into the living room. “This is a nice house. Do you live here?”

“My husband and I do,” I said as they followed me to the kitchen. Solomon sat on one of the tall stools by the island. He’d already assembled a plate of pastries and coffee cups. I signaled to our guests to take their seats while I got the coffee pot. After I sat next to Solomon, I asked, “What happened? Why didn’t you call me?”

“There wasn’t time! They said if I didn’t act immediately, Tiffany would die!” Abigail hugged her white coat around her, seemingly cold in our warm house. I wondered if her nerves were chilling her.

“We need to start from the beginning,” said Solomon. “How did they contact you? By phone or email?”

“Actually we need to go one step before that. Do you have the photo?”

Solomon walked over to the camera he placed on the counter and returned with it, pressing the buttons until he found the photo he wanted. “Do you recognize this man?” I asked, when he turned the viewing screen to Abigail.

She leaned in and peered. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Why? Who is he? Does he have something to do with Tiffany’s kidnapping?”

“We don’t know yet.” I shook my head, frustrated. “Okay, let’s go back to how they approached you. Was it by email like before?”

“No, actually they got a note to me.”

“A note? How?”

“It came with my room service order just before the press conference started. There was a note tucked under the plate. I figured they must have guessed I was being monitored and their communications might be traced.”

I noticed Solomon and Delgado glance at each other in some unreadable communication. “Do you still have it?” I asked.

“Yes, right here.” Abigail slid her hand into her coat pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. I unfolded it, noticing the generic printed type. That and the paper it was printed on were too common to be of any use. But what about fingerprints?

“Are you the only one to touch it?” I asked.

“Yes. And whoever wrote it, I guess.”

Solomon produced a bag from his pocket and held it open while I slipped the paper inside. “I shouldn’t have touched it,” I said, annoyed with myself.

“The lab can eliminate your prints,” he said, apparently unconcerned. “But we should avoid adding anymore. I’m not sure MPD will find it very useful, given that Abigail didn’t immediately hand it over.” Opposite him, Abigail winced.

I scanned the letter, pursing my lips in thought, then read it aloud. “Get rid of the cops. Bring the money to the trashcan on the corner of Century Street and West at 6.15PM or Tiffany will be dumped in a ditch. Dead.”

“I had to,” said Abigail. “They were going tokillher.”

“Did you have the money?”

“No, I couldn’t collect it all so I took what I had. When I got there, a phone was taped to the trashcan. Like something out of a movie.”

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