They did not speak on the drive back to the office.
Jack passed the time staring out the side window, squinting at every person as if he thought that they would know something, anything, about Hanna, his weary face only growing more haggard. Twice, as she was changing lanes, Sam caught him snapping his eyes open, and thought about telling him it would be okay to sleep. She had a feeling he would need to be told, that an outside source would have to allow him to miss a few waking hours. She knew he'd dismiss the idea as he had before, but decided to suggest it again. "Jack..."
He reached over and turned up the radio at the sound of his name, and she bit back the rest of the sentence before it escaped. So he didn't want to talk. There would be plenty of time to talk later.
The security guard nodded his head slightly as they entered the garage, and she was sure he was wondering what they were doing there. As the car stopped, Jack frowned and looked at the bare concrete walls of the garage, trying to place his location. She'd never seen him this out of it, and she wondered if the drive back had given him enough time to let the events of the day truly settle in for the first time.
He blinked at her when she said, "I'm going to need a photograph for the timeline." Jesus, he really was out of it. "Of Hanna." No response. She pondered calling the shrink from Employee Assistance, wondered how mad the man would be if she woke him up at nearly midnight on a Friday night. "Jack. I need a picture of Hanna."
"I have one in my office." His voice was gravelly, and he seemed to be swallowing past a big lump in his throat. She wished she could do more than just watch him walk to his office, flick on the light and remove the picture of his daughter from the frame. Jack looked at the picture for a long moment, a small sad smile coming on his face, before he walked out of the room, striding purposefully to the white board. He pinned Hanna's picture up, sighed heavily, and traced the image with a finger. Then he picked up the black marker and wrote "Hanna Malone", her birthdate and day of disappearance, and the case number. Putting the marker back, he took a step away from the board, and again, a grim half-smile flickered on his face.
"Thank you," she said quietly, and he nodded.
"She's, uh, she's a good kid, Sam. A great kid." Jack looked at her expectantly, as if he needed confirmation. She swallowed, meeting his eyes for a long moment before he turned back to the image and said, "Find my daughter, Samantha."
"I will," she said, the words nothing short of a promise. She reached up and patted his shoulder awkwardly, wondering why this was so damn hard, why she couldn't comfort him without it being an ordeal. Maybe because every time she thought about it, she'd see Marie all alone on the couch. Completely alone. What did she have? A husband angry and unable to look at her, a husband who probably didn't love her anymore, a husband who blamed her for something unforgivable in his mind. Her daughter missing, in the hands of God-knows-who. Her other daughter upstairs in another room, old enough to know something's really wrong, too young to know what to do. And she was all alone with no one to hold her and tell her it would be okay.
I want to tell her it'll be okay, Sam thought. I want to be there for her. But that's not that easy. I am actively engaged in the destruction of her marriage. I'm the reason she's alone. She knew that Jack hadn't given her the case to make her completely uncomfortable, but it had.
Thank you for leaving me torn, boss.
A sharp trilling broke the silence. Recognizing the sound of her cell, Sam pulled the phone from her pocket and pushed Talk. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Danny."
"Hey. You got something for me?" Jack turned, his face brightening.
"Would I call otherwise?"
"Spill."
"Ransom call just came in."
"Already?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "Ransom demand," she mouthed. He nodded, gestured for the phone. She shook her head.
"Yeah," Danny said. "What's weird, though, the caller apologized for not calling earlier."
"What?"
"He apologized. Exact words, and I quote, were 'I'm sorry for not calling earlier, Hanna and I had an extended dinner.'"
"He mentioned the girl?"
Sam heard the rustle of Danny's nod. "Oh, yeah. He was very polite. Asked how the mother was."
"How is she?"
"She told him to kiss her ass and give back her daughter."
"Hmmm, didn't think she was the type. What is he asking?" She gestured to Jack for paper and a writing instrument. He pulled his notepad from his jacket pocket and took a pen off Martin's desk. Turning the end of the pen to reveal the point, he handed both items to her, then pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.
"Ten thousand, bill denominations don't matter as long as it's not marked."
Only ten thousand? What the hell? Her pen hovered above the page. "You're sure about that amount?"
"Scout's honor, Samantha. You can listen to the tape."
She inhaled, letting the breath out in a rush. "That's a very small amount of money for a ransom, Danny."
"I know. He wants it by 3 am outside the Museum of Natural History. The wife has already said she'll pay it, even if Jack won't."
She thought for a moment. "Okay. Thanks, Danny. Will you and Martin stay there? Maybe one of you can get ahold of Vivian? I haven't seen her." He agreed, and she hung up, slipping the phone back in her pocket.
"Well?"
Sam sighed, sat down, and locked eyes with him. "Ten thousand." Jack didn't seem concerned by the amount of money. "That's nothing, Jack."
He nodded. "I know."
"You know what they say about ransoms like this."
Jack nodded again.
"She could be dead already, Jack. It's not a significant amount of money."
"I'm going to the drop." She recognized his tone; he generally used it to end conversations. Not this time.
"Jack, are you listening to me? Hanna could be dead. You should be a little more concerned."
"I am concerned!" he yelled. "She's not dead, okay? She's not dead."
"Jesus, Jack! It's not a significant amount of money! Why would the kidnapper take so little money for a girl?"
"I don't know!" he roared. "I don't know," he repeated quietly. "Sam, she's not dead. Maybe. . . Maybe the kidnapper isn't after the money."
Samantha sighed again. "Maybe not."
Jack passed the time staring out the side window, squinting at every person as if he thought that they would know something, anything, about Hanna, his weary face only growing more haggard. Twice, as she was changing lanes, Sam caught him snapping his eyes open, and thought about telling him it would be okay to sleep. She had a feeling he would need to be told, that an outside source would have to allow him to miss a few waking hours. She knew he'd dismiss the idea as he had before, but decided to suggest it again. "Jack..."
He reached over and turned up the radio at the sound of his name, and she bit back the rest of the sentence before it escaped. So he didn't want to talk. There would be plenty of time to talk later.
The security guard nodded his head slightly as they entered the garage, and she was sure he was wondering what they were doing there. As the car stopped, Jack frowned and looked at the bare concrete walls of the garage, trying to place his location. She'd never seen him this out of it, and she wondered if the drive back had given him enough time to let the events of the day truly settle in for the first time.
He blinked at her when she said, "I'm going to need a photograph for the timeline." Jesus, he really was out of it. "Of Hanna." No response. She pondered calling the shrink from Employee Assistance, wondered how mad the man would be if she woke him up at nearly midnight on a Friday night. "Jack. I need a picture of Hanna."
"I have one in my office." His voice was gravelly, and he seemed to be swallowing past a big lump in his throat. She wished she could do more than just watch him walk to his office, flick on the light and remove the picture of his daughter from the frame. Jack looked at the picture for a long moment, a small sad smile coming on his face, before he walked out of the room, striding purposefully to the white board. He pinned Hanna's picture up, sighed heavily, and traced the image with a finger. Then he picked up the black marker and wrote "Hanna Malone", her birthdate and day of disappearance, and the case number. Putting the marker back, he took a step away from the board, and again, a grim half-smile flickered on his face.
"Thank you," she said quietly, and he nodded.
"She's, uh, she's a good kid, Sam. A great kid." Jack looked at her expectantly, as if he needed confirmation. She swallowed, meeting his eyes for a long moment before he turned back to the image and said, "Find my daughter, Samantha."
"I will," she said, the words nothing short of a promise. She reached up and patted his shoulder awkwardly, wondering why this was so damn hard, why she couldn't comfort him without it being an ordeal. Maybe because every time she thought about it, she'd see Marie all alone on the couch. Completely alone. What did she have? A husband angry and unable to look at her, a husband who probably didn't love her anymore, a husband who blamed her for something unforgivable in his mind. Her daughter missing, in the hands of God-knows-who. Her other daughter upstairs in another room, old enough to know something's really wrong, too young to know what to do. And she was all alone with no one to hold her and tell her it would be okay.
I want to tell her it'll be okay, Sam thought. I want to be there for her. But that's not that easy. I am actively engaged in the destruction of her marriage. I'm the reason she's alone. She knew that Jack hadn't given her the case to make her completely uncomfortable, but it had.
Thank you for leaving me torn, boss.
A sharp trilling broke the silence. Recognizing the sound of her cell, Sam pulled the phone from her pocket and pushed Talk. "Hello?"
"Hey, it's Danny."
"Hey. You got something for me?" Jack turned, his face brightening.
"Would I call otherwise?"
"Spill."
"Ransom call just came in."
"Already?" Jack raised an eyebrow. "Ransom demand," she mouthed. He nodded, gestured for the phone. She shook her head.
"Yeah," Danny said. "What's weird, though, the caller apologized for not calling earlier."
"What?"
"He apologized. Exact words, and I quote, were 'I'm sorry for not calling earlier, Hanna and I had an extended dinner.'"
"He mentioned the girl?"
Sam heard the rustle of Danny's nod. "Oh, yeah. He was very polite. Asked how the mother was."
"How is she?"
"She told him to kiss her ass and give back her daughter."
"Hmmm, didn't think she was the type. What is he asking?" She gestured to Jack for paper and a writing instrument. He pulled his notepad from his jacket pocket and took a pen off Martin's desk. Turning the end of the pen to reveal the point, he handed both items to her, then pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.
"Ten thousand, bill denominations don't matter as long as it's not marked."
Only ten thousand? What the hell? Her pen hovered above the page. "You're sure about that amount?"
"Scout's honor, Samantha. You can listen to the tape."
She inhaled, letting the breath out in a rush. "That's a very small amount of money for a ransom, Danny."
"I know. He wants it by 3 am outside the Museum of Natural History. The wife has already said she'll pay it, even if Jack won't."
She thought for a moment. "Okay. Thanks, Danny. Will you and Martin stay there? Maybe one of you can get ahold of Vivian? I haven't seen her." He agreed, and she hung up, slipping the phone back in her pocket.
"Well?"
Sam sighed, sat down, and locked eyes with him. "Ten thousand." Jack didn't seem concerned by the amount of money. "That's nothing, Jack."
He nodded. "I know."
"You know what they say about ransoms like this."
Jack nodded again.
"She could be dead already, Jack. It's not a significant amount of money."
"I'm going to the drop." She recognized his tone; he generally used it to end conversations. Not this time.
"Jack, are you listening to me? Hanna could be dead. You should be a little more concerned."
"I am concerned!" he yelled. "She's not dead, okay? She's not dead."
"Jesus, Jack! It's not a significant amount of money! Why would the kidnapper take so little money for a girl?"
"I don't know!" he roared. "I don't know," he repeated quietly. "Sam, she's not dead. Maybe. . . Maybe the kidnapper isn't after the money."
Samantha sighed again. "Maybe not."
