Free A Quiet Vendetta by R.J. Ellory

would only be so long before Ducane would appear in person. No matter the life, no matter the pressures, a father was a father when all was said and done. Schaeffer knew Ducane had already threatened to fly down there and kick some FBI ass, but Washington had assured Schaeffer they were doing all they could to keep the governor in Shreveport.
    By mid-afternoon on Thursday tempers were fraying and patience was as thin as rice-paper. Woodroffe had taken six men out to Gravier to trawl the area around the site of the car and the call box in search of anything else indicative of the caller’s identity or the killer’s motivation. Schaeffer held court in the Field Office, he and five men tracking through the entire chain of events since the discovery of McCahill’s body. There were many questions, but seemingly no further answers, and by early evening when Woodroffe returned empty-handed, Schaeffer believed they had reached an impasse.
    At eight minutes past seven the second call came.
    The caller asked for Stanley Schaeffer by name. He told the field agent who took the call that
Stan would know what it was about
, but refused to identify himself.
    ‘Good evening, Agent Schaeffer,’ were the words that greeted Schaeffer when he took the receiver and identified himself.
    It was the same voice, undoubtedly. Schaeffer would have recognized that voice a hundred years from now.
    ‘You are well, I trust?’ the voice asked.
    ‘Well enough,’ Schaeffer replied. He waved his hand to quieten down the murmur of voices around him and took a seat at his desk.
    Woodroffe gave him a thumbs-up. The call was being recorded and traced.
    ‘I am calling from a different callbox,’ the voice said. ‘I understand it takes approximately forty-three seconds to locate me, so I won’t waste time with asking how the investigation is going.’
    Schaeffer opened his mouth to speak but the voice continued.
    ‘I told your colleague Agent Fraschetti that a trade would be required. I am now going to give you my terms and conditions, and if they are not met I will shoot the girl in the forehead and leave her body in a public place. Understood?’
    ‘Yes,’ Schaeffer said.
    ‘Bring Ray Hartmann down to New Orleans. You have twenty-four hours to find him and get him here. I will call at exactly seven p.m. tomorrow evening and he should be ready to take my call. At this time this is all I ask of you.’
    ‘Hartmann, Ray Hartmann. Who is Ray Hartmann?’
    The voice laughed gently. ‘That is all part of the game, Agent Schaeffer. Tomorrow evening, seven p.m., and have Ray Hartmann there to take my call or Catherine Ducane is irretrievably dead.’
    ‘But—’ Schaeffer started.
    The line went silent.
    Woodroffe was in the doorway before Schaeffer had replaced the receiver in the cradle.
    ‘Two blocks down and east of Gravier,’ Woodroffe said. ‘We have a unit three or four minutes away already.’
    Schaeffer leaned back in his chair and sighed. ‘Won’t find anything,’ he said quietly.
    ‘You what?’
    Schaeffer closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘You won’t find anything down there.’
    Woodroffe looked momentarily irritated. ‘You think I don’t realize that?’
    Schaeffer waved his hand in a conciliatory fashion. ‘I know, Bill, I know.’
    ‘So who the hell is this Ray Hartmann?’
    ‘I’m fucked if I know,’ Schaeffer said. He rose from his chair and filled a paper cone from the water cooler. ‘I don’t know who he is or where he is, but we’ve got twenty-four hours to find him and get him here or the girl is dead.’
    ‘I’ll call Washington,’ Woodroffe said.
    ‘And give the tape to Kubis and see if he can find out anything else about this guy.’
    ‘Sure thing,’ Woodroffe replied. He turned and left the room.
    Schaeffer drank his water, crumpled the cone and tossed it into the trashcan.
    He returned to his desk and sat down heavily. He sighed and closed his eyes.
    Outside it started raining, and a little more