Ulterior Motives

by Terri Blackstock

“She’s right,” Anne said.

  Larry began to pace, trying to think. “Dubose moves the painting after Ben discovers it—and when Chamberlain doesn’t find the painting where it’s supposed to be, he naturally assumes that Ben has it.”

  “We’ve looked all over that gallery and Dubose’s house.”

  “Could he have given it to a friend? Sent it to someone?”

  Ben stared at the wall for a moment, remembering that last day, before Dubose had fired him. He had been preoccupied, busy with something.

  “I remember him getting a package ready to mail out,” Ben said. “It was a cylinder, about four feet long. I never thought of it then, but it could have been the Marazzio. The Multitude was four feet by seven feet.”

  Tony was practically on top of the table as he leaned over to prod Ben. “How did he mail it? U.S. Post Office, Fedex?”

  “UPS,” Ben said. “He always sent things UPS.” His breath was short as he looked hopefully at both of them. “I know where he kept those receipts. It’ll have the address he mailed it to.”

  Tony grabbed his sport coat. “Let’s go.”

  Ben followed him to the door, but Sharon ran after them. “What can I do? I can’t just sit here.”

  “Pray,” Larry said over his shoulder. “Pray hard.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Why hasn’t Daddy come yet?” Emily’s voice was hoarse and raspy. Her lips were getting dry from thirst. She sat close to Christy, afraid to venture too far across the floor, for fear of what might lurk there.

  “He will. Didn’t you hear the man? He said tonight. Daddy will come tonight.”

  “What if he can’t find us?”

  “He will. I know he will.”

  Hearing a scratching sound in the wall, they tensed up and huddled closer. “What’s that?” Christy asked.

  Emily covered her face with both hands, but then dropped them, for they hurt too badly. The dirt from all the digging was still caked on them, but the sores they’d rubbed while digging were beginning to get infected. Christy had the same problem, except that she also had that cut on her head and the scrapes on her back from where she’d been jerked out from under the wall in the shed.

  “It’s a rat, isn’t it?” Emily asked weakly.

  Christy began to cry quietly. “Let’s pray some more,” she said. “We have to pray that God will keep the rats from coming in here. We have to tell him how scared we are.”

  Emily bowed her head without protest.

  “Dear God,” Christy whispered, “could you please help us, please, and make those rats go away so we won’t be so scared? We would appreciate it very much.”

  The scratching sounded again, and Christy stomped her foot on the floor and let out a loud yell, hoping to frighten whatever it was away. The sound grew quiet.

  “I scared it,” she whispered.

  They heard a sound up above them, another scratching sound, but this one came from the window at the very top of the bathroom, probably fifteen feet up.

  “What’s that?” Christy asked.

  Emily turned on the flashlight and shone it up. The light was weak because the battery was running out. The faint circle of light hit the window, and they saw something standing on the sill looking down at them.

  “It’s a—”

  Before Emily could get the words out, it leaped from the windowsill to the floor.

  Both girls screamed and backed further against the corner. Something furry grazed Christy’s leg, and she screamed louder, harder. Then they heard a sound they hadn’t expected.

  “Meeeeooouw.”

  Emily caught her breath and shone the light on the animal. “Christy, it’s a cat. Look!”

  Christy opened her eyes and began to laugh with relief at the big yellow tomcat. “A cat? Come here, kitty. You scared me.”

  It was a good-natured cat, and it rubbed against Christy’s leg and allowed her to pick it up. “Look, Emily. He’s so sweet.”

  Emily giggled and petted him. “How did he get in? It’s so high up.”

  “There must be a tree outside the window. See? I told you God would answer our prayer.”

  “What?” Emily asked. “We didn’t ask for a cat.”

  “No, but he’ll scare the rats off. And he’ll keep us company, so we won’t be scared.”

  Emily thought about that for a moment. “Yeah. Maybe he’ll stay here until Daddy comes to get us.”

  “He’ll have to,” Christy said. “He can’t get back out until someone opens the door.”

  “He’s a good answer to our prayers,” Emily giggled, rubbing her face in the purring cat’s fur. “How did God know?”

  “God knows what we need better than we do,” Christy said matter-of-factly. “My mommy always says that.”

  “Has God ever sent her a cat?”

  “Nope. Other things. It’s always something different.”

  “So praying really works?”

  “It worked this time, didn’t it?”

  Emily smiled as the cat curled up on her lap and lay down, purring.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Nelson Chamberlain sat on a small hill near the train tracks, waiting for the 10:30 train to arrive. As he sat, he wove the red handkerchief through his fingers, in and out, until it ran out. Then, unwinding it, he looked up the tracks.

  He could hear the sound of a distant train, and knew that it would be here any moment. He would be glad. He didn’t like getting dirty, and it wasn’t his style to sit on a heap of dirt waiting for a train to come by. His work was clean—never-get-your-hands-dirty work. But lately, he’d been getting his hands dirty more and more. It made him uncomfortable, but he supposed it would all be worth it when he had exchanged the painting with Boudreaux and was on his way to England.

  The train grew closer, and he saw its headlight coming up the tracks. He watched as it slowed and passed him, and he counted one boxcar after another. The train slowed even more, until it finally came to a halt, creaking and crawling by in front of him.

  He sat still until he was sure it had stopped, then waited another ten minutes before picking out the car where he wanted the painting delivered. There was one not far from where he’d been sitting that had an open door and nothing inside. If they set the painting at the back right corner of that one, as he’d told them to, it would be safe.

  He got to his feet, dusted off his pants, and checked to make sure no one was around who would find him suspicious. The first car, where the engineer sat, was around a curve, and no one in it was able to see him. He slipped his handkerchief over the pipe that held the door in place, and tied it there. Then he checked it, made sure it was secure and could be seen.

  Jumping off the car, he looked up the tracks. He was going to drive his car to a place about two miles from here, then walk back up the tracks for about a mile. When the train left at 12:30, after Ben had delivered The Multitude, he would watch for that car, jump on it while the train was still moving slowly, get the painting, then jump off near where his car was parked.

  It was foolproof. They could, of course, station cops on the train when Ben put the painting on board. But they wouldn’t dare try to grab him before he told them where the children were. Besides that, they wouldn’t know where his car was parked, and once he jumped off the train and fled, they’d never be able to find or identify him. He would be home free after he got the painting and was back in his car on the way to the airport, where Boudreaux had agreed to meet him.

  He laughed as he went back over the hill to his car, which was parked behind some trees so it couldn’t be seen. Just a couple more hours of this nightmare, and he would finally be on his way to ending it.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The UPS receipts were exactly where Ben thought they would be. Louis Dubose had been a master organizer. He kept his office immaculate and always filed away everything so it wouldn’t clutter his desk.

  The receipt they were looking for was at the front of the file. Victoriously, Ben
pulled it out. “It’s got the address as clear as day.”

  Tony looked it over. “Are you sure this is the right item?”

  “Positive,” Ben said. “Look, he mailed it out of town, but not too far away . . . in St. Petersburg. And it says it’s a cylinder. It has to be it,” Ben said. “Come on. We don’t have much time if we’re going to get it.”

  They flew across St. Clair and into St. Pete, checking their map to find the street the address was on. When they found it, they saw that it was a small shop called “Home Address.” A sign in the window said, “Open till 10.” “It’s only 9:30,” Tony said. “Somebody’s on our side.”

  Tony, Larry, and Ben burst in. “Do you have mailboxes here, where people can send things?”

  “Yes,” the man said, gesturing toward an entire wall of postal boxes. “Do you need one?”

  “No.” Tony took out his badge and flashed it to the man. “We’re with the St. Clair PD. We need to confiscate the contents of Suite 320.”

  “It’s over there. It’s really a post office box, but we call them suites so it’ll make people look like they have offices. Do you have a warrant?”

  “No,” Tony said. “But there are two children in trouble right now, and if we take the time to get one, they could wind up dead.”

  “But I can’t hand over some other guy’s mail to you.”

  “Look, all we want is a cylinder that’s in there. It’s going to save the lives of this man’s two little girls, who’ve been kidnapped. Now, you can make me go get a warrant, but you’re coming with me, got that? I’ll take you in and question you for a couple of days on how you knew the guy who rented this box, and what your connection might be in his murder and the kidnapping of the two little girls.”

  The man looked a little stunned, then quickly reached behind the counter for the key. “All right. Open it.”

  Tony took the key and opened it. “It’s a cylinder all right. Return address . . . your gallery.”

  Ben breathed out a sigh of relief. “Open it. Let’s make sure it’s the right painting.”

  Carefully, Tony opened the box and laid it on the counter, while the manager watched with awe. He opened the cylinder and slid out the contents.

  “See?” Ben said. “That’s it, all right.” He took it with careful hands and unrolled it partially. “That’s The Multitude.”

  “All right,” Larry said. “We don’t have any more time to waste. We have to go by the station to report to the captain before we make the drop. We’ll need a lot of help on this one.”

  They thanked the tense manager, then rushed out with the package and drove as fast as they could drive back to St. Clair.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Anne put Bobby to bed, then sat for a while in the rocking chair, thinking about her lost child. Where were Emily and Christy? Would they really get them back tonight?

  Unable to sit still, she got up and walked A through the house. She headed up the stairs, wanting to go into Christy’s room, wanting to be among the things Emily had left there. She stepped into the doorway and saw Sharon and Jenny sitting on the bed, huddled together. They both looked up at her.

  “Excuse me,” she said, wiping her tears. “I didn’t know you were in here.” She backed away, but Sharon stopped her.

  “Anne, wait.”

  Anne looked at her questioningly.

  “We were praying for the girls, and for Ben. Would you come pray with us?”

  Anne hesitated. “I’m not much of a prayer. If there’s a God, I’m not sure he’d listen to a prayer that came from me.”

  “The fact that he ever listens to any of us is just evidence of his grace,” Sharon said. “Come on.”

  Anne came into the room and sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Turn around, Anne,” Jenny said. “Let’s sit in a circle and hold hands. Jesus said that whenever two or more of us are gathered in his name, he would be among us.”

  “Really?” Anne asked. “He said that?”

  “Yes,” Sharon said. “We’ve got to pray for them.”

  “Okay,” Anne whispered.

  Sharon reached for Anne’s left hand and held it tightly. Jenny took the other, as mother and daughter held hands, as well. And Sharon began to pray.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Across town, in Lynda Barrett’s home, she and Jake sat on the couch in her living room, with fifteen other friends of Sharon’s from their church. Sharon hadn’t been told they were meeting, but it didn’t matter if she knew or not. Lynda had called them right after she’d gotten the call from Sharon about an exchange being made that night. Lynda had known there was only one thing to do.

  The fifteen held hands and prayed one by one, earnestly, deeply . . .

  It was Jake’s turn, and he grew emotional as he began to speak. “Lord, you said that you would intercede for us, with groanings too deep for words . . . when we don’t even know how to pray. I don’t know where those little girls are, Lord, or what they need, or what danger they’re in, but you can see them. You know. Lord, please take care of them. Surround them with your presence. Don’t let any harm come to them. They’re so little . . . And Ben . . . he’s out there looking for that painting . . . something he can give to the man who has them. Let him find it, Lord. And I pray for the kidnapper, that you’ll work on him, as well. Foil him, Lord. Get in his way. Convict him . . . I know you can answer this prayer, Lord. I’ve seen your answers before. But not our will, but thine. You know what’s best . . .”

  And so the prayers went on into the night as the group interceded for the family that was in such turmoil.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  The girls fell asleep with the cat lying across their laps. They were so exhausted that they didn’t wake when the cat sprang up after hearing a scratching on the wall. His night eyes spotted the small head jerking out of the hole in the wall where the sink had been. He hissed, but the rat wasn’t daunted.

  His ears stretched tightly back on his head, teeth bared, back hunched, until the rat had quietly made its way out of the hole and down the wall. It had scarcely hit the floor when the cat attacked.

  In seconds, the rat was dead, and the cat dragged it to the corner of the room, behind the rusty, stinking toilet. There he left it, and went back to the girls. Neither of them had stirred.

  Satisfied, he crawled back onto their laps, began to purr again, and went back to sleep.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  All right,” the captain, Sam Richter, said as he paced in front of the roomful of cops waiting to spring into action. “We have men posted at the tracks already, trying to catch him when he hangs the handkerchief. If we don’t get him then, we go ahead as planned. Everybody has their posts. You know what to do. The minute Chamberlain has the painting, apprehend him and bring him in.”

  “No!” Tony stood up and looked back at his partner for help. “Captain, that would be a mistake. We have to give him time to call about the kids.”

  “What if he doesn’t?” Sam asked. “What if he heads straight for the airport and leaves on the next plane out?”

  “He has no incentive to call,” one of the cops said. “If he has the painting, he’s not going to be worried about those kids.”

  “Maybe he’ll worry because he’s a human being,” Tony said. “Maybe he’ll keep his end of the bargain.”

  “The man is a criminal,” Larry said. “He doesn’t care about keeping his word.”

  Tony swung around, gaping at him. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”

  “I’m on the kids’ side,” Larry said. “And if we go ahead and collar him, maybe we can make some kind of deal to get him to tell us where they are.”

  “There’s one thing you’re all forgetting,” the captain said. “One of those little girls knows the kidnapper. He won’t want her to identify him. So we face the danger of his going back to kill the kids if we don’t find him right away. That is, if he hasn’t already done it.”

  “He hasn’t,” Tony s
aid. “And if he goes back, that’s great. He’s led us to them. We can collar him there before he has the chance to do anything. I’m not suggesting letting him go, Captain. Just give him some time after he gets the painting. Let’s see if he leads us to them or calls the parents to tell them where to look.”

  The captain sat down on the table at the front of the room, a deep frown clefting his forehead. “All right, then what if he doesn’t call or lead us to them? How far do we follow him before we take him?”

  “As far as we need to.”

  “Even as far as the airport?”

  “Yes!” Tony said. “Maybe he would call from there.”

  “What if he gets on a plane?” the captain asked. “Do we allow that?”

  “Yes!” Tony said. “We go with him. We watch. We alert authorities at the destination to be prepared to apprehend him the minute he gets off.”

  The captain gave him a disbelieving look. “And what would that serve?”

  “It would give him time, Captain,” Tony said, his face reddening with the effort of persuasion. “Time to make a call from the plane. It might be the only place he feels safe doing it. Think about it. He’ll think he got away without being followed, if we do our job right. Then when the plane takes off, he’ll be breathing easier, thinking he made a clean escape. At that point, it would be logical that he would call the family from the phone on the plane.”

  “You have to have a credit card to make a call from the air. You really think he’s going to mess up and use his own credit card to make a call, when he’s gone to such lengths to keep from being traced?”

  “He’s resourceful. We already know he has cards in at least two other names. But if we grab him before he talks, he may never tell us where the girls are.”

  “Oh, he’ll tell us,” the captain assured him. “I’ll see to that.”

  “What are you gonna do? Beat it out of him? Let him scream police brutality and get the whole case dropped for civil rights violations?” Tony dropped back into his chair. “Look, all I know is that there’s a family out there who is sick with worry over their children. We’re down to the wire now. Let’s not mess it up.”