Storm Front

a half under normal conditions. Virgil made it in a bit less than an hour from the time he hit the street. On the way, he called the Rochester cops back and told them to press Ellen on exactly how and when she was dropped and anything she might be able to give them on where her kidnappers might be.
    And he said he would be right there.
    He’d just crossed I-35 south of Owatonna when it occurred to him that he should let Davenport know that Ellen had been found. Davenport was a bear if you woke him before eight o’clock in the morning, but he recovered.
    So Virgil called and Davenport said, “You better not be in that fuckin’ boat,” and Virgil said, “No, no. I just got a call from Ellen Case. They cut her loose in Rochester.”
    “Aw, man. That’s terrific. I was scared to death you’d stepped on your dick with that TV thing,” Davenport said. “I was getting ready to tell people I didn’t even know you. Where are you? You’re going, of course.”
    “Yeah. The sonic boom that just woke up Owatonna was me going past. I’ve got the Rochester cops talking to Ellen, trying to see what she might give them on the kidnappers.”
    “You know what? I bet that Mossad chick is on her way to the East Coast, and I bet they’ve got a private plane to get them out of the country. They saw the TV show, freaked out, cut Case loose, and took off. You won’t see her ass again, not this side of Jerusalem.”
    “You’re probably right,” Virgil said. “I hope I put a dent in her rep. Pisses me off.”
    “Call me again when you’ve talked to Case.”
    —
    B Y THE TIME Virgil got to Rochester, the cops had moved Ellen to the St. Mary’s emergency room. A cluster of six uniforms and two detectives were loitering in the waiting area, when he hustled inside. One of the detectives recognized him, said, “Virgil,” and Virgil said, “Donny,” and “Where is she?”
    “She’s sitting on a bed. She says she’s okay, and the doc says she’s tired and probably could use a Xanax or something.”
    “I need to talk to her. Did she give you anything?”
    “She’s got no idea where she was,” Donny Hall said. “They had her in a gunnysack from the time they grabbed her until the time they turned her loose. One man, one woman, they were in a motel somewhere. C’mon this way.”
    Ellen was lying on a hospital bed, her shoes off, but otherwise fully clothed. She opened her eyes when Virgil came in and sat up, tears leaking down her cheeks. “I just, I just . . .”
    “Easy,” Virgil said. “Can you talk to me? I don’t want to upset you any more than you already are.”
    “I can talk, I’m not hurt. But I’m so
tired.
I thought they’d kill me. I’m never going to forgive Dad. This is so far over the top.”
    “Did you see the woman?”
    “Only for a half-second, just from the side of my eye. They just, they just . . .”
    She started to freak, and Virgil patted her leg. “Easy, easy.”
    “I was in my garage. I was wondering if I had anything good to eat in the refrigerator, and I never saw them coming. They threw this
bag
over me. It smelled like telephone poles smell. Then they threw me on the floor and the woman, I think this was the woman, she hit me, she slapped me, and I couldn’t even scream. Then they started with the tape and then they threw me in the van, I’m sure it was a van. . . .”
    The first ride in the van, the night of the kidnapping, had been a long one, but that morning, a short one. She’d never had any trouble breathing, because even though she couldn’t see out of the sack, it was loosely woven. “Smelly, but I could breathe.”
    When she had to use the bathroom, the kidnappers pulled the tape off at the waist and led her to the toilet. The woman stayed with her in the bathroom. To give her food or water, they’d untape the sack again and pass the food or bottles of water under the edge. The sack never came off her head. The sack itself, she said, was back in the ditch by the Kwik Trip.
    Virgil walked her through the whole story, and at the end, was ninety-nine percent certain that he’d made the right call on Zahavi.
    When Virgil pressed her to identify the woman as Yael-1, or Tal, she couldn’t—no names had ever been used—but she thought that yes, they may have been Israeli.
    “Why?” Virgil asked.
    “For breakfast . . . I had toast, cream cheese, and lots of vegetables and fruit. I went to Israel three times with Dad, and that’s what Israelis