by Paul Bishop
From where he stood in the middle of the room, Pagan turned a full three-sixty. “Not upstairs,” he said. He turned completely around again. “Probably placed against the inside of an exterior wall…A wall easily accessible from outside…most likely near a window…” He began turning around again.
“Or a sliding glass door,” I suggested.
Everyone turned to look at me. I was standing next to the sliding glass door leading to a back garden patio. On the other side of me was a fireplace with an ornate plaster mantle. Nothing looked out of place.
“Needs a power source,” Pagan said.
I looked down at the electric plug outlet in the small space of wall between the fireplace and the start of the sliding glass door. There was what looked like a six outlet surge protector plugged in and completely covering the standard two plug outlet. I unplugged it and took a close look. It was a disguised camera.
“You make my brain hurt,” I said to Pagan, holding the device out toward him.
Pagan reached for it, but Livia Nelson stepped in front of him and grabbed the item from my hand.
She turned it over and around and touched a little round hole on the front. She swore softly.
Pagan was already on his phone talking to Dante Castano, who was still at the Martin home in Sherman Oaks. Pagan described what we’d found then disconnected.
He took the device gently from Livia.
“How much does something like that cost?”
“A few hundred dollars,” Pagan said.
“Easily available?”
“Online, Best Buy, Walmart.”
“No way to trace the purchase?”
Pagan shook his head and handed the device back to Livia. He turned toward Smack Daddy and Judith. “I take it neither of you bought nor installed this?”
Smack Daddy looked a little shell-shocked.
“I never even noticed it before,” Judith said. “What is it?” She was having a little trouble keeping up.
“A remote recording device.”
“Somebody has been watching us?” Judith’s already pale face turned chalky.
Pagan’s phone vibrated. He accepted the call and spoke his name into the phone, “Pagan.” He listen for a moment, nodding. “Okay. Thanks.”
He disconnected and looked at me. “Same device as here. In Gerrard Martin’s room. A plug right beneath a window.”
I sighed. I didn’t know if we were any closer to finding the missing children, but there was now no doubt they were connected, even if we still didn’t know why.
Chapter 23
“The truth is always an insult or a joke,
lies are generally tastier. We love them.
The nature of lies is to please. Truth
has no concern for anyone’s comfort”
- Katherine Dunn, Geek Love
I sat across the table from Pagan and watched him savor the last morsel of what had been an amazing ossobuco alla milanese, which was a fancy way of saying cross-cut veal shanks braised with vegetables, white wine and broth. I knew it was amazing because I’d finished my own portion moments before. We were back at the Hacienda in Sophia’s, the Italian trattoria. Apparently, there was always an open table kept for Pagan. One of the perks of living at the Hacienda he told me.
The restaurant itself verged on kitsch, the painted murals on the wall almost obscured by grape vines and framed photos of the Italian goddess who provided both namesake and inspiration. However, the red-checked tablecloths over rough wood tables and candles stuck in Chianti bottles were offset by the amazing food and the warmth of the family who ran the business.
In her late teens, Ciara, one of three daughters who acted as waitresses, was clearly infatuated with Pagan. For his part, he was smiling and friendly without in any way being encouraging. I appreciated him after having worked with too many preening males who would have taken advantage.
Pagan accepted an espresso, which was provided without his asking. Somebody knew I couldn’t stand the stuff as I got my own pot of regular coffee delivered, again without asking. Life with Pagan was a constant surprise. Apparently, there was no check either. Another perk.
“What’s your take on the case?” Pagan asked me after his first sip of espresso.
I made a production of pouring out coffee into the provided mug, giving myself a second to think about my answer. My bad leg ached a bit and I had it stuck straight out along one side of the table. I took a swallow of my own coffee, thankful for its warmth. I’d chowed down more calories today than any two days in recent memory, but when Ciara delivered tiramisu, I found I still had a little room. Pagan’s plan to fatten me up was obviously working.
“I think we’ve still got two missing kids, not to mention a missing five million dollars, which we didn’t actually mention to anyone.”
Pagan gave a low chuckle.
The two crime scenes had been turned over to the PM Watch detectives from the respective areas. There was a patrol unit stationed at both residences, but everything appeared to be on hold.
“Frustrating, isn’t it?” Pagan said.
I chased the last trace of tiramisu around the small bowl it had been served in. I swallowed the captured delicacy and indelicately licked the spoon. I sat back in my chair and readjusted my leg using both hands. “Still no ransom demand, which seems a moot point if you factor in the five million dollars. If this was about money, there would have been no reason to take the kids, but there are no other indications of why these two kids were targeted. It’s clear they are connected, but who would want these kids?”
“Exactly, Randall. The precise point,” Pagan said. “Good for you.”
I must have looked confused.
“Think about your last statement,” Pagan said.
I tried to remember. “Who would want these kids?” I said tentatively.
“Look at it from the opposite angle…” Pagan urged.
“Who didn’t want these kids? I don’t get it.”
“Yes. Who didn’t want these kids? Come on, Randall. I need you to work it through so I don’t sound crazy,” Pagan pushed.
“You always sound crazy. You sound crazy right now.” I was stalling for time, my brain whirling.
Pagan rolled his eyes. “You can see my words. You know I’m being sincere. Humor me.”
I picked up my coffee mug. Set it back down without drinking from it. I took a deep breath to clear my head, then closed my eyes, blew the air out slowly through pursed lips, and started talking.
“Smack Daddy didn’t want Unicorn,” I said, eyes still closed, making my way slowly through the mental maze Pagan had posited for me. “At least he wanted everybody – or at least the bad guys to whom he owed money – to believe Unicorn was unwanted. It’s why he set himself up to be ridiculed by leaking the screwy DNA tests. That was deliberate. He was willing to suffer the scandal in order to completely distance himself from his child.”
I opened my eyes to see Pagan’s cool grays staring at me steadily. “And…” he prompted.
“And…” I hesitated, and then continued. “From their body language and the color of their words, it is clear both Harvey Martin and his daughter Sophie considered Gerrard a huge burden, but for different reasons.”
“Did they want him?”
I shook my head. “Harvey definitely not. Sophie is a different situation. She’s carrying a huge burden of guilt. Harvey Martin denies her any kind of help, any outside life. He is punishing her for Gerrard’s condition. As a result, Gerrard is a huge responsibility weighing Sophie down.”
Pagan nodded. “Crushing her.”
I sat and thought. “You’re saying the commonality between the two children is they were unwanted by those who are supposed to care for them.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, but why only these two kids? It’s a harsh world. Aren’t there many unwanted children?”
“I am only one, but I am one. I can’t do everything, but I can do something. And because I cannot
do everything, I will not refuse to do the something I can do.”
I was confused again. I hated when Pagan did this.
“A quote from Edward Everett Hale,” Pagan said. The colored ribbons attached to his words showed only slight exasperation. “But passing over the attribution, the homily applies.”
I got it. “Somebody decided to do something about these two children in particular because he or she could. But it has to be somebody who the two children have in common. Somebody who is familiar with both situations.”
“Somebody with a plan,” Pagan said. “Opportunity.”
“And money,” I said.
“Five million dollars is a lot of money. It may be the key to the timing.”
“Somebody who knew Smack Daddy was gathering cash,” I said.
“Somebody who would care deeply about both these children.” Pagan said.
“Somebody smart,” I said. “Which would leave out Richards and Tuttle, Smack Daddy’s bodyguards.”
Pagan chuckled. “Those two might be sharing a jail cell, but not a brain cell.”
“Then who else? Who do these two kids have in common? There are no mutual caregivers. The families are from completely different worlds.”
Pagan leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. He looked thoughtful.
“You know something,” I said. “Don’t you?”
“I suspect,” Pagan said.
“What? Who? Give…”
Pagan held up his hands. “Not yet. It’s only a glimmer of an idea. Let me gnaw on it. I don’t have it yet.”
“Come on …” I was exasperated.
“It’s no good, Randall. I can’t get the words out yet. The idea is unformed. It has no substance. I’ve got to think more about it.”
“And what am I supposed to do while you cogitate?” I folded my arms across my chest.
Pagan leaned forward, put his right hand on my left forearm and pulled my arms loose. “Don’t get angry with me…”
“I’m not angry…”
“Arms crossed high and tight across your chest. Classic anger. Plus, never forget, I can hear it in your tone.”
He was right, of course.
“This is my process.” Pagan said. “I can only explain something to somebody else after I’ve worked it through sufficiently for myself.”
I tried a smile. “That way you always sound like the smartest person in the room.”
“I am not always the smartest person in the room, Randall, but I am always the most sensitive. And despite your attempts to soften your delivery I can still hear the underlying rancor.”
I threw up my hands then recrossed my arms. I tried not to do it high and tight, but the end result was not exactly low and loose.
Pagan smiled. “Please try to understand.” Sincerity colored every ribbon attached to his words. “Isn’t this why we both have trouble sustaining any kind of social relationships? Please be the smartest person in this room. Please understand me.”
Chapter 24
“Things come apart so easily when
they have been held together with lies.”
- Dorothy Allison, Bastard Out of Carolina
Fifteen minutes later I was in a daze of a different nature. It had been very odd sitting in Sophia’s and realizing my living quarters had been changed without anything more than me turning over a key to my own apartment.
Leaving Pagan to his ruminations I’d made my way up the Hacienda’s bell tower stairway to the second floor and turned left to the doorway Pagan had shown me earlier in the morning.
So much had happened that earlier in the morning seemed almost a lifetime away.
The day had been filled with emotional scenes and there was yet to be a resolution to most of them. I hesitated outside the door, not willing to go in and face a space filled with moving boxes containing my life, none of which I would have packed myself.
I finally used the key pad beside the door to gain entry. I led with my cane and stepped in with my head down, but when I looked up I was flabbergasted. The whole loft area had been transformed. Yes, the hanging, flying carpet bed was still there, as was the wall of electronics, but several explosions of colorful flowers had been added along with a white lace mosquito netting, which fell from a point on the ceiling and draped down over the bed like something out of Scheherazade.
There were no packing boxes. I moved to the closet and found my clothes all arranged on matching hangers. Next to the closet, the drawers of an antique dresser I hadn’t seen before were filled with my sweaters, workout clothes, and more personal items.
Two bookcases had been moved in. One held my books and the shelves of the other displayed my father’s collection of antique cameras – each placed with more care than I had ever shown them. Hell, I hadn’t had them out of their storage box in years.
Tears sprang to my eyes as I ran a finger over the battered Leica, which had been my father’s personal favorite when he was photographing in combat zones. It all felt weird and other worldly. Who had done this? Certainly not Arlo, to whom I’d given my apartment keys. It was almost a violation, yet everything appeared to have been done with such care it was hard to be upset.
I wandered through my new space. There was a fresh comforter on the bed with pillows in crisp white cases. A nightstand and lamp had appeared from nowhere, the lamp plugged into a conveniently placed floor socket by the bed. The book I’d last been reading in my apartment had been placed on the nightstand’s polished surface.
There was a knock on the door, which I’d left open.
“Are you alright, dear?”
It was Rose Parker. She stood in the doorway with a warm smile looking maternal and understanding.
I tried to stop the tears from streaming down my face, but the dam suddenly burst. Rose stepped forward and gathered me into an embrace. My cane slipped from my grip and I clung to this woman I barely knew, an emotional tsunami sweeping through me.
“I’m sorry,” I blubbered, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Rose stroked the back of my head. “There is nothing wrong with you,” she said softly. “At least nothing wrong with you that isn’t just as wrong with all the rest of us here at the Hacienda.”
“What do you mean?” I still had my face buried against Rose’s shoulder.
“The Hacienda is about second chances. It’s about a home and a family of our own choosing. Mr. Pagan chose you, just like he chose the rest of us. And we chose him.”
“Why do you all insist on calling him Mr. Pagan?” I asked, gulping to get control over my emotions.
“It’s a bit of a tease, dear. A nickname, which we know embarrasses him a bit. But he has been so kind to all of us here, it is really a term of endearment.”
I pulled back, disentangling myself from Rose’s embrace, a little embarrassed myself. “Who did all this?” I asked.
“Arlo and a number of others who are part of the Hacienda. Many hands make short work of a task, but I supervised and took care of all of your more personal items. A woman needs to keep certain things private.” Rose smiled.
It wasn’t like I had a drawer full of Victoria’s Secret underwear, or the array of icky plastic phallic items we uncover every time we serve a search warrant, but I was unreasonably grateful for her gesture.
“Thank you.” Tears welled up in my eyes again. “I’m sorry,” I snuffled. “This is so silly.”
“Not silly at all, dear,” Rose said, handing me a tissue from a stash in the sleeve of her light white sweater. “I’m sure you’ve had a very long day. Mr. Pagan can be a hash task master. Why don’t you take a shower and see if you can get some sleep.”
“I’ll do that, Rose. Thank you.”
When Rose left, closing the door behind her, I took her advice. There were fresh, fluffy white towels in the bathroom, along with a light terrycloth robe. It was long enough to hide the scars on my thighs when I wrapped it around me.
With my hair s
till slightly damp, I propped my cane against the three box steps leading up to the hanging bed. I then scrambled up and dropped down onto the soft wonder of it all. It was like being surrounded by Heaven.
I was exhausted, but I took a quick mental inventory and found I was feeling something odd and alien – happiness. In the middle of everything – shot in the leg, mental aberrations, two missing kids, and so much more – my default setting for the first time in forever was happiness.
I held the joy of that realization for a second, then two, and then fell into unconsciousness rather than sleep.
“Rise and shine, Randall…”
What the hell!
I sat bolt upright in bed, totally disoriented.
Where was I?
“Pagan?” My voice came out via a croak, my heart pounding.
Where was he?
“If you are talking to me, Randall, I can’t hear you. You have to press the intercom button. It’s right next to your front door.”
I plopped back onto the bed pillows.
“Randall…”
I sat up again, angry. I swung my legs out of the bed, and almost killed myself tripping down the three box steps. I finally steadied myself, grabbed my cane, and limped over to the front door. On the wall to the left was an intercom panel to which I hadn’t paid any earlier attention.
I flipped down the speaker button. “I swear I’m going to kill you, Pagan.” Anger and disorientation fizzed through me.
“Good morning, Randall.” Pagan’s voice was filled with sunshine and bluebirds. I might just actually kill him. “It’s five-forty. You’ve got twenty minutes to get to the dojo. Don’t be late. Tanaka hates it when people are late.”
There was a flat click as Pagan hung up.
I flipped the talk switch on my end again. “Pagan?” I was incensed. “Pagan? I swear, I’m going to rip this thing out of the wall.” I slapped the intercom panel with the flat of my hand. “Aarrrgh!”
I dropped my cane, turned my back to the wall, and slid down until I was sitting on the floor with my knees up. My heart was pounding.
