“By the time I’m done with you, you’ll spend the rest of your life in an institution receiving drugs and electric-shock treatment. You’ll be wearing diapers and spend your days sitting on a porch somewhere. Then about every half hour or so a big, fat, mean, ugly nurse will come and wipe the drool off your chin, pull your blanket up and slap you in the back of the head.”
“You bastard,” she snarled.
“Or you can quit drinking, get some help and become the wife I want. And forget this nonsense about a divorce. I won’t allow it.”
“You mean the slave you want.”
“This conversation is over,” he said.
With that, he stood up and left the room. Catherine sat silently in her chair thinking about what she had just been told. She should have realized he would be prepared for any ultimatum she could come up with and through the alcohol induced numbness she came to the only conclusion available to allow her to escape.
She poured herself another glass of vodka and decided to go to bed. As she was walking up the stairs Gordon, having changed out of his tux, came rapidly down them. As he passed her he announced, “I’m going out.” This statement mildly surprised her since he normally did not bother to tell her.
A few minutes later, after cleaning up the broken glass and preparing for bed, Catherine spent a few minutes seated at her vanity, staring in the mirror. As she watched her reflection, a single tear trickled down her cheek. Before she realized it, she was holding her face in both hands and sobbing in despair. When she finally stopped, she used her hands to brush the moisture off of her face. The hopelessness, helplessness and despondency becoming too much to deal with, she picked up a bottle of sleeping pills and poured the thirty plus pills into the palm of her left hand and held the glass, still half full of vodka, in her right. She shifted her eyes back and forth between her two hands, thinking how easy it would be. How peaceful, painless and relieving it would be to escape this way.
“No,” she said out loud looking into her eyes in the mirror. “The sonofabitch isn’t going to get off that easy,” she continued as she set the drink on the table and poured the pills back in the bottle. “But I have to find a way to make that bastard pay for the hell he has put me through.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Prentiss drove the Lincoln east on the southern half of the freeway that circles the Twin City metro area. Traffic was moderately heavy even though it was getting to be later in the evening. He was becoming annoyed by it because his urge needed to be dealt with.
He reached the east side of the metro area and took one of the main highways heading toward Wisconsin. Traffic became much lighter and he reached his destination shortly before midnight. He had driven a circuitous route, seemingly wandering around aimlessly looking for any possible surveillance. All of the members of this most exclusive club were constantly reminded to take this very basic precaution.
Normally he would drive past the entrance to the estate at least twice as an added precaution. Tonight he was in a hurry and although he had seen the headlights of another car behind him for a while, they had disappeared. He believed whoever it was had turned onto a side road a mile or so back.
Prentiss stopped at the gate and showed his identification to one of the armed guards. The man went into the guard shack while his partner patiently watched Prentiss. Less than a minute later the gate began to open and the guard came back to the car, handed Prentiss his identification and wished him a good evening. Prentiss ignored the man and speedily drove the final three hundred yards to the main building.
He left his car with an attendant, entered the two-story, eighteen thousand square foot building through the solid oak double front doors but not before allowing the security camera a good look. An attractive, middle-aged woman, with dark auburn hair, a stylish cocktail dress and five-inch spiked heel shoes warmly greeted him in the foyer.
“Hello, Judge,” she said as she linked her left arm through his right and began guiding him into the building’s interior.
“Hello, Charlene,” Prentiss pleasantly replied.
“It is nice to see you again,” she said with a practiced smile. “What can we do for you tonight?”
“I was thinking I could use some pampering. Some stress release.”
“Wonderful! I know just what you like,” Leo’s hostess replied as the two of them began climbing a stairway to the second floor. She opened a door to one of the private rooms, a tastefully furnished suite with a king size bed and an expensive oak table around which were four chairs in front of a small fireplace.
Prentiss opened his checkbook, removed his platinum AMEX card and handed it to Charlene. She thanked him and discreetly backed out of the room. He went to the bar and poured himself a glass of champagne as two pretty, slender, very young girls, one a light brown-skinned, black-haired oriental and the other a blonde white girl entered through a door in the back wall beside the bed. They were dressed identically in black lace bras and panties. They introduced themselves as Nicolette and Yuke.
Prentiss moved to the bed and sat down on it between the two girls. As the white girl began to undress him, the other went to the table and returned holding a mirror covered tray. She took one of the ecstasy pills and playfully put it in Prentiss’s mouth and then swirled her tongue around his ear.
As Nicolette finished removing his shirt Yuke held up the tray and handed him a short straw. There were four lines of cocaine neatly laid out on the glass. Prentiss inhaled two lines, finished his champagne and handed the glass to Yuke to be refilled as Nicolette pulled off his pants and socks.
He slipped off his boxers and positioned himself on the pillows in the middle of the bed leaning against the headboard. Prentiss watched the girls as they began to kiss and fondle each other. The cocaine and ecstasy started to work and after about fifteen minutes of being entertained voyeuristically, the giggling girls turned their attentions on him. As Nicolette began to fellate him, Yuke took a plastic hose with an inhaler attached to the end and placed the inhaler over his nose. Within seconds, the nitrous oxide, cocaine and ecstasy had Prentiss floating in a blissful, euphoric state.
Three hours later, having had his AMEX card charged two thousand five hundred dollars, Gordon Prentiss got in his car and headed home.
TWENTY-NINE
The car Prentiss saw in his mirror that he believed had turned onto a side road just before he arrived at his destination had not turned at all. As he had done several times before while trailing the judge, Tony had simply turned off his lights while staying a discreet distance behind him.
After dropping off Vivian Donahue, Tony had hurried to the Prentiss residence in the hope that this might be the night he could follow Prentiss to Leo’s mystery house. Tony had been on station three minutes when he saw the Lincoln pull out of Prentiss’s driveway. Carvelli had considered putting a tracking device on the car but had ultimately decided against it. He was a little old school, didn’t totally trust the devices and he was quite confident he could follow Prentiss without being discovered. Freeway traffic, even for a late Saturday night, was enough to easily fool an amateur like the judge. It wasn’t until they went onto side roads and residential streets that he had to be more cautious.
Tony could see the Lincoln’s tail lights approximately a half mile ahead which told him the county road they were on was straight. As he carefully drove ahead in the darkness, he saw the brake lights come on when Prentiss arrived at his turn. Carvelli slowly crawled along for another three hundred or so yards then pulled over to the side of the road when he saw Prentiss had stopped at the gate. Tony checked his car’s display map and it indicated there was no public road leading off to where Prentiss turned.
Tony patiently waited while the guard checked Prentiss’ identification and then allowed the Lincoln to pass. Realizing this must be the place, Tony again checked the map display which showed a street to take on the left about two hundred yards up ahead. With his lights still off, he slowly drove ahead until he found t
he turn, took it and parked a hundred yards up the street from the corner.
Carvelli was still wearing the suit he had worn to the fundraiser, but he wanted to get a look at the place where Prentiss had stopped. He could see houses straight ahead but on the corner where he had turned, it was totally undeveloped woods. This would give him excellent concealment. Walking through it to see the spot where his quarry had stopped probably wouldn’t do his suit any favors.
There was just enough moonlight peeking through the cloudy sky to help him navigate through the trees. It took him about five minutes, moving slowly and quietly, to reach the spot across the road from the guard shack. In the darkness, the light from the small shack was enough to let him see everything he needed. Carvelli squatted behind a tree and watched the two bored guards, a couple of Leo’s thugs, he assumed, walk around in front of the closed gate.
Carvelli observed the scene for two minutes then quietly made his way back to where he had left his car. Tony emerged from the trees and as he hurried to his Camaro, brushed off his suit which had made the trip mostly unscathed.
Before pulling out for the drive back, he checked his GPS monitor and wrote down the exact location in the notebook he kept in the car’s console. He made a U-turn on the street where he had parked and drove back to the road he came from. Instead of trying to retrace the route Prentiss had taken, he saw from the map display that the road he was on would take him straight back to the freeway.
When he arrived at the freeway interchange, he pulled into a gas station to fill up the car. Tony was just about done fueling the Camaro when he saw a man emerge from the station’s convenience store and begin walking toward a car two islands over.
“Well, well,” he said softly to himself. “What have we here? What are you doing out in this neck of the woods?” he continued as the man got in his car.
Tony quickly stopped fueling and having used a credit card to pay, jumped back in his car as the man he had recognized pulled away from the pumps. Carvelli watched as the car turned left out of the station to head down the road Carvelli had come from.
“Well Conrad, what do you say we see where you’re headed,” Tony said aloud to himself as he pulled out to follow him.
Tony stayed about a half mile behind the car, safely assuming he knew where the man was going. He again occasionally switched off his headlights to give the illusion to the driver that the car following had turned.
Carvelli cruised to a stop, lights off, in almost the exact same spot he had stopped when following Prentiss. He again watched as this man also turned into the same guarded driveway. This time, though, the car barely stopped before it was allowed to pass through. Apparently the guards were very familiar with its occupant.
“Okay, Conrad,” Tony said out loud to himself when the car disappeared into the trees, “it seems you and I need to have a little chat ‘cause I know damn well you’re not a member of this particular club, but I do believe I know what you’re up to.”
THIRTY
The next morning, a Sunday, Tony made a call while seated at his kitchen table. It was shortly after nine and he was drinking his first cup of coffee. The call was answered on the third ring.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said when the woman answered. “I hope I’m not disturbing anything. Are you alone?”
“That’s none of your business,” Madeline Rivers answered.
“So you are alone,” he laughed.
“Not at all,” she said, “I have an extremely gorgeous male sitting right here on the couch next to me.”
“Bubba’s a cat,” Tony said referring to the beautiful, Himalayan Siamese she had that had been a gift from a woman who could no longer care for him, “and he doesn’t count.”
“Depends on what you’re looking for,” she laughed. “In fact, he might be the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. Loyal, affectionate and he doesn’t drink or snore. So what’s up you big lug, what’ve you been up to? I haven’t heard from you for a while.”
“I’ve been pretty busy with a case, which is why I called. I need a favor,” Tony answered. “Plus it’s for my case and I’ll pay you for it.”
“Okay. How much and who do I have to kill?”
“Five hundred cash and all you have to do is pick up a guy in a bar…”
“What do you think I am?”
“Relax,” he laughed, “it’s not like that. There’ll be nothing to it. It’s a guy I need to talk to and I don’t want him to see me coming. Besides, if this guy gets out of line, I guarantee you can kick his ass without breaking a sweat.”
“Will he be armed?” she asked.
“No, I doubt it. That’s not his thing. He’s a surveillance guy. A techie. You know the type. No people skills. Used to work for law enforcement, including the FBI. Now he’s freelance. One of the best in the business.”
“Okay,” she said. “So, tell me what you need.”
Tony then spent the next ten minutes telling the stunningly beautiful Ms. Rivers, a good friend and fellow P.I., what he needed from her.
Madeline Rivers was a Chicago police officer until she foolishly posed for PLAYBOY magazine, mostly as a lark. Unfortunately, the grief she took from the cops she once believed were her friends made it almost impossible to stay on the job. About two years ago she had resigned from the CPD, pulled up stakes and relocated to Minneapolis. A friend in Chicago who knew Tony Carvelli had introduced her to him and he had helped her get started in the business. The two of them were good friends, more compatriots than competitors. Maddy’s bread and butter was investigating men, and some women, for dating services to check them out for prospective romantic relationships. It was a booming new business and she was making an excellent living at it. She was especially adept at checking out the men for other women. If they could resist her, the odds were excellent they were loyal and trustworthy.
Around 8:00 that evening, Carvelli slipped unnoticed into a faux Irish pub named O’Reilly’s on Lake Street, a block west of Lyndale. For a Sunday evening, even on a pleasant early summer day, the place was fairly crowded. The crowd suited Tony well since he did not want to be noticed.
He spotted the man he was looking for sitting toward the end of the bar away from the entrance. Tony found an empty two-person table with a slightly obstructed sightline of his target. He ordered a Guinness Blonde from the pretty young waitress and made a quick call on his cell.
A few minutes later, Maddy walked in and as usual, the male patrons, as if suddenly sensing a subtle pheromone slowly making its way through the air, began to stir. She was wearing four-inch spike heeled half-boots, black designer jeans and a white silk blouse that was just transparent enough to detect the black lace bra she wore. The almost six foot tall one-time model spotted Tony and as several heads turned to follow her, she draped her purse over the back of the chair and took the seat at his table.
“It’s interesting watching what you do to a crowd,” he said.
“To tell you the truth, sometimes I like it but mostly I don’t. Anyway, where is he?”
“Seated at the far end of the bar.”
He described the man to her and as she was getting up to go snare him, she said, “What’s his name?”
“I didn’t tell you?”
“No.”
“Conrad Hilton.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, not at all. I swear that’s the guy’s name, Conrad Hilton. Listen,” Tony continued as he stood and dropped a few bills on the table, “you can handle this. If you have a problem, call me. Otherwise, I’ll meet you at the motel. I’ll wait in the lot until I see you pull in.”
She made her way to the end of the bar, stood behind Conrad, looked at Tony who waited by the front door then slightly nodded his head to let her know she found him. Maddy slid onto the barstool next to him which caused Conrad to almost wrench his neck when his head jerked at the sight of her.
“Excuse me,” she smiled and pleasantly said, “is your name Bill?”
&n
bsp; “Um, uh,” he stammered, “would you like it to be? I mean, um, I could change it if you want.”
“Oh, you’re not Bill,” she said clearly disappointed. “My friend set me up with a blind date and the guy she described sounded just like you,” she continued looking around the bar as if trying to spot someone else. “I’m a little late so, he might’ve left already. Do you mind if I sit here and see if he shows up?”
“No, be my guest,” Conrad replied silently saying the first prayer he had made in many years. “In fact, let me buy you a drink.”
The two of them made some small talk for a half hour or so, Maddy mostly lying about who she was and what she did. She easily steered the conversation to allow him to talk about himself, brag about his years with law enforcement, especially the FBI. He “confidentially” let her in on a couple of cases he had peripherally been involved with trying his best to make it sound like he had been the key to busting the bad guys.
Maddy played her part to the hilt, the over-awed female who was too impressed with his many significant accomplishments.
Half-way through her second drink, Maddy quietly said as she seductively drew an index finger along his arm, “This is kind of, you know, forward and all, but what do you say we get out of here?”
“I’m game. Where to? Your place or mine?” he said taking a shot at this once in a lifetime opportunity.
“Look,” she continued, “I know this place, it’s sort of an, ah, adult motel. You know what I mean? Why don’t you follow me?”
With that, she gathered her purse, stood and started toward the door. Conrad, lacking any willpower at all, followed behind her trying to understand how this could be happening.
Fifteen minutes later the two cars pulled into the parking lot of the Minnehaha Motel. They parked their cars and while Tony watched from a safe spot with an amused look on his face, Conrad scampered into the office to rent a room. When he got inside, Maddy turned toward Tony’s Camaro and gave him a look that could kill, hoping he could see it in the dimly lit parking lot.
Marc Kadella Legal Mysteries Vol 1-6 (Marc Kadella Series) Page 60
