The Clockwork Teddy

by John J. Lamb

  Meanwhile, from out in the crime lab corridor, I heard a woman’s tinny voice echoing from the Hall of Justice’s public address system. She said that Inspector Mauel needed to contact the front desk immediately. Nguyen heard the summons, too, and looked up at Gregg, who folded his arms to signal that he wasn’t going to move until he’d viewed the rest of the recording.

  On the monitor screen, I could see that Patrick had come to a halt in front of Vandenbosch’s knees. The robot said, “Hi, Kyle. I found you. Now it’s my turn to hide.”

  “Satisfied?” Although we couldn’t see Kyle, it was obvious he’d addressed the question to Bronsey.

  The PI replied, “Cool your jets, Junior. You know the deal. Now, we hook this thing up to the phone.”

  “Well, hurry!”

  “Kyle, did you hear me? I’m going to hide now and you have to find me,” Patrick said joyfully.

  “Oh, shut the hell up, Patrick!” Even though I knew Kyle was yelling at an inanimate object, I felt a surge of anger.

  “I’m sorry, Kyle,” the bear whimpered.

  “Check out Billy Bad Ass, the computer nerd. He’s so scared, he’s shaking like a freaking leaf,” Bronsey sneered and someone—probably Uhlander—giggled.

  Kyle shouted, “You shut up, too, or the deal is off! I’m in charge here!”

  “Relax, Vandenbosch.” Bronsey sounded placating. “We’ll run whatever this test is and then you can have your money and we’ll take the bear.”

  “Then get busy.”

  The screen blurred as someone picked up the bear and moved it. After about three seconds, the video image came back into focus and the scene had shifted to the back corner of the motel room. I could see part of the bathroom sink and a tiny bit of the alcove that served as a closet. The camera’s view seemed to be at just below normal eye-level, which led me to conclude that Patrick was now standing on the nightstand. However, there was no sign of Kyle and I suspected he was deliberately staying off-camera.

  There were some muffled sounds and then Bronsey mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, “Here they are.”

  After a second or two of silence, Kyle demanded, “What the hell was that?”

  “How should I know? The hookers are always trying to get into the rooms here,” Bronsey snapped.

  A man dressed in dark clothing and a ski mask abruptly emerged from the bathroom. He held a revolver in a two-handed grip and seemed to point it at Patrick, although I knew he was actually aiming the weapon at Bronsey. There was the sound of a sharp intake of breath.

  Meanwhile, Kyle was still hidden from the camera’s view. In a voice quavering with fear, he said, “Okay, okay, throw the bag on the bed and then take your guns out slowly and put them on the floor.”

  “It’s a freakin’ rip-off,” a man’s voice hissed.

  “Be cool, Joey,” said Bronsey. “Vandenbosch, you’re making a huge mistake.”

  “I don’t think so, lard ass. You see this? You see THIS?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s a forty-five. Come on, talk some trash to me now, tough guy!”

  “In a quieter voice, Bronsey said, “Be cool, Joey. Be cool. Just go with the program. Just . . . aw, shit . . .”

  Based on Bronsey’s account of the shooting, I had no doubt that it was Uhlander who unexpectedly moved into the foreground of the picture and blocked our view of the masked robber. At that same instant, the gunfire began. It was deafening, but not loud enough to mask the gargled scream of a man in pain. I knew it was Uhlander, who’d been accidentally shot in the back by Bronsey.

  The camera’s view shifted with a violent jerk and I caught a momentary glimpse of Bronsey’s hand shoving a staggering Uhlander towards the masked robber and Kyle, who was finally visible on screen. Then the screen became an erratically dancing blur as Bronsey bolted from the room with Patrick in his hand. I could tell when he got outside. There was a tremendous increase in background noise from the vehicle traffic out on Lombard Street. Yet I could still hear Bronsey’s sharp and ragged intake of breath as he tripped and fell.

  Suddenly, the screen was no longer blurry. It was simply dark and I realized that Bronsey had just dropped Patrick and the bear was now lying facedown on the parking lot pavement. There was a scuffing sound, some distant voices, and then another crack of a pistol. A few seconds later, I thought I could hear the rapid footfalls of someone running from the room, but it might have been my imagination.

  Nguyen clicked on the pause icon and said, “There’s nothing after that. The robot is designed to turn itself off after thirty seconds, if no one is interacting with it. The next image is of Mr. Lyon and a CSI.”

  “Gee, Bronsey neglected to mention that he used Uhlander as a human shield to get out of there. Talk about a bottom-feeder,” said Gregg as his cell phone began to trill.

  As he answered the telephone call, I said, “Ms. Nguyen, right before the final gunshot, I thought I heard maybe two people talking. Is there any chance you can isolate those sounds and amplify them?”

  “Absolutely. We knew that there were pedestrians out on the sidewalk, so we assumed that was the origin,” said Nguyen, as she double-clicked on an icon and then used the keyboard to type a command.

  The image on the monitor flickered as Nguyen reset the digital video sequencing. This time there was no background noise from the traffic on Lombard Street and what I heard utterly chilled my blood. We’d heard Kyle’s voice enough already to identify him as the person who said, “Mom, please don’t kill him!” I also recognized the voice that answered him. It was Lauren Vandenbosch, and she snarled, “Shut up and get out of the way, Kyle. He can identify us.” Nguyen had the volume turned way up, so the gunshot that instantly followed was deafening.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered, realizing that I had driven my wife to a rendezvous with a killer.

  “They need us down in the lobby ASAP.” Gregg disconnected from the call. Then, seeing my face, he said, “What?”

  “The person wearing the ski mask was Kyle’s freaking mom.” Aafedt pointed at the monitor. “You can hear it. Kyle begged her not to off Uhlander, but she shot him because he was a witness.”

  Gregg turned back to me and looked nearly as sick and frightened as I felt. “Jesus Christ. Ash is at Lauren Vandenbosch’s house right now.”

  “After Lauren lured her there with a freaking dog-and-pony show story about how she just wanted some teddy bear artist companionship. And I’m so damned stupid, I bought it.” Suddenly, my fear was replaced by a more savage combination of emotions and my fist tightened around my cane. In an icily calm voice, I continued, “If they hurt her, I will kill them both, just as slowly as possible. They’ll be begging for death by the time I finish.”

  Nguyen blanched and slowly pushed her chair away from me.

  “But as far as Lauren knows, she’s not a suspect in the murder, so maybe she won’t do anything,” Aafedt said hopefully.

  Gregg hung his head. “I hope you’re right, Danny, but . . . the reason they need us to respond Code Three to the lobby is because someone dropped off a teddy bear at the front desk. And there’s an envelope pinned to it that’s addressed to me.”

  Twenty-three

  “I’ll call dispatch and get patrol units en route to Vandenbosch’s house,” said Aafedt as he snatched up the phone from Nguyen’s desk.

  “And along with the physical description, tell them that Ash is wearing blue jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt with a bunch of tabby cats appliquéd on it,” I said, knowing the responding cops would need the information.

  “What the hell is appliqué?” asked Aafedt.

  “It’s an embroidery technique that she taught me this past winter on her sewing machine. She was so patient, and I was like sewing my fingers together and . . .”

  “Don’t worry. Everything is going to work out all right,” said Gregg, pulling me by the arm. As we left the office, he called out to Aafedt, “Meet us downstairs when you’re done.”

&n
bsp; We rode the elevator to the ground floor and rushed to the lobby, which was crowded with people waiting for copies of police reports and other services. Two uniformed cops stood next to the metal-detector kiosk at the building’s entrance and one of them waved to us. My heart shot into my throat as I saw what was on their metal worktable. It was Shannon Shoofly Pie, the bear that Ash had given Lauren. There was a business-sized envelope safety-pinned to the bear’s costume and on it was printed “TO INSPECTOR MAUEL, SFPD” in oversized block capital letters and red ink. I knew the choice of color was deliberate.

  The older of the two cops said, “We’ve already run it through the scanner. It’s just a teddy bear, but the envelope looked suspicious. That’s why we called.”

  Gregg asked, “Did anyone see who dropped it off?”

  “No. One of the records clerks found it when she came back from lunch. It was on that low wall near the door.”

  His partner added, “We checked the video from the security cameras and it looks as if a male transient dropped it off at thirteen-thirty-one.”

  “Almost a half hour ago,” said Gregg, checking his watch.

  “Which means Vandenbosch paid some vagrant to make the delivery,” I said.

  “We didn’t touch the envelope,” said the older cop. “We figured you’d want to process it for latent fingerprints.”

  “We don’t have time for that.” I picked up the teddy bear and unpinned the envelope from the costume. “Besides, we know who sent this letter.”

  I tore the envelope open and pulled out a sheet of white printer paper that had been tri-folded. Opening the letter, I immediately suspected that Kyle was the author of what I knew was a ransom demand note. The message had been produced on a computer word processor and was printed in bold red capital letters with the excess of underlined phrases you’d expect to find in a bombastic manifesto written by an insignificant and emotionally immature twit like Kyle. As Gregg and I began to read the letter, I found some of my fear giving way to annoyance when I saw that the super genius had misspelled my wife’s first name.

  The text read:

  TO SFPD INSPECTOR MAUEL:

  WE HAVE KIDNAPPED ASHLEY LYON. AS PROOF, HER HUSBAND CAN IDENTIFY THIS BEAR AS THE ONE ASHLEY HAD THIS MORNING. OUR HOSTAGE IS ALIVE AND SAFE FOR NOW. SHE WILL STAY THAT WAY, IF YOU GIVE US PATRICK AND DON’T TRY ANY CUTE COP GAMES. SO, DON’T BE STUPID! DON’T TRY TO HIDE A GPS TRANMITTER INSIDE PATRICK, BECAUSE WE WILL FIND IT AND ASHLEY WILL DIE! NO HELICOPTERS OR SURVEILLANCE CARS. WE WILL SEE THEM AND ASHLEY WILL DIE. I WILL CALL YOUR OFFICE TELEPHONE THIS AFTERNOON WITH FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. WHEN I DO, JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN. WE ARE IN CONTROL.

  “ ‘We are in control.’ I’ll bet that arrogant little wimp had to get his mommy’s permission before writing that,” I said, handing the letter to Gregg. “And now I realize why I didn’t see Lauren’s Outback this morning. It must have been in the garage.”

  “They had to get Ash into the car without the neighbors seeing.”

  “Exactly. This also explains why Lycaon suddenly withdrew all the criminal charges they’d filed against Kyle.”

  Gregg nodded. “He’s offered to sell Patrick back to them.”

  “Yeah, but I’ll bet it was his mom’s idea.” I slapped my cane against my palm. “Lauren has been behind the scenes like a freaking puppet-master from the very beginning and I never even suspected. And then I delivered Ash to the killer’s house and drove away.”

  “She fooled all of us, Brad. But we’re going to get Ash back safely. I promise you.”

  Aafedt trotted up. “We have units en route Code Three. Is that . . . ?”

  Gregg held up the letter. “Yeah, it’s a demand note from Kyle. They want the robot as ransom.”

  “The uniforms aren’t going to find anyone at the house,” I said. “Lauren has had five hours to move Ash. They could be anywhere by now.”

  “Danny, I need you to roll out to Lauren Vandenbosch’s house right now and personally supervise processing the crime scene,” said Gregg. “Job number one is locating her credit card and ATM card numbers—”

  “I’ll issue an alert on them in the credit data systems.”

  “Precisely. If she uses them, I want to know when and where.”

  “I’m on it.” Aafedt turned and headed for the door that led toward the police parking lot.

  Gregg grabbed Shannon Shoofly Pie. “Now, we’d better get up to my office. There’s no telling when that bastard is going to call and I have to start letting the bosses know that we have a hostage crisis on our hands.”

  I sighed, “And I have to figure out some way to tell Heather and Chris that their mom has been kidnapped . . . and it’s my fault.”

  We went back upstairs to the homicide bureau, and as we entered Gregg’s office, his desk phone rang. He grabbed the receiver but after a moment or two of conversation wore a look of disappointment.

  Hanging up, he said glumly, “That was dispatch. The patrol units are at Lauren’s house. The Outback is gone and there’s nobody there.”

  “I didn’t think there would be.”

  “There’s also no sign of a struggle.”

  “That, I wasn’t expecting. The place should be in shambles, because Ash would have fought them tooth and nail.”

  “The officer said it looked like they were having coffee. Maybe she was drugged. I’ll call Danny right now and make sure he collects the cups and looks for signs of any pharmaceuticals. GHB is pretty easily available on the streets,” said Gregg. He was referring to Gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, a chemical compound famous as a “date rape” drug.

  “GHB tastes too salty. Ash would have noticed it. More likely it was Rohypnol,” I replied, naming another popular sedative used by sexual predators. “And I can’t dodge this any longer. I’ve got to call Heather.” I sat down at my old desk and stared at the cell phone in my hand for almost a minute before I could work up the courage to press my daughter’s wireless number.

  Heather answered on the first ring. “I love caller ID. Hello, Mama!”

  It suddenly felt as if my heart was being torn from my chest by a giant pair of pliers. I managed to rasp, “Actually, it’s your dad, honey. I . . .”

  “Dad, what’s wrong?”

  “We just found out that your mother was kidnapped this morning and it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry,” I blurted out.

  “What? How?”

  “Lauren Vandenbosch was the one wearing the ski mask. She killed Uhlander.”

  “And, oh my God, Mama was supposed to spend the day with Lauren. Did you . . . ?”

  “Yes. Yes, honey, I dropped her off this morning and then went to play the brilliant detective while my wife was being abducted. We don’t know where your mom is . . . or . . .”

  “She’s alive. I know she’s alive, Daddy. Have they made contact with you yet?”

  “Yes. They dropped off a demand note about an hour ago. The Vandenbosches want the robot, or they say they’re going to . . . kill your mom.” I took a deep breath. “God, how do I tell Chris? How do I tell him that I caused this?”

  “Daddy, you are not responsible for what happened,” Heather said sternly. “And don’t worry about telling Chris. I’ll call him on our way in to the station.”

  I glanced over at Gregg, who was on the phone and rapidly jotting down notes on a yellow legal pad. “I have the feeling Gregg’s office is about to become a kidnapping operation command post. The suits might not let line-level troops like you in.”

  “I’d like to see them try and stop us. You hang on, Daddy. Colin and I will be there in less than a half hour.”

  As I disconnected from the call, I heard that Gregg was no longer talking to Aafedt. He said in an aggravated voice, “Look, Captain, why don’t you come on down here and personally explain to Brad Lyon why you won’t release the evidence. I’m certain he’d love to hear all about your policies and procedures. Oh, that’s not what you’re saying? Then send someone down here right now with that freaking rob
ot!” Gregg slammed the receiver down and then hurled the notepad across the office. “I swear to God, there must be some requirement that you have a full frontal lobotomy before they give you captain’s bars.”

  I pushed myself from the chair to retrieve the notepad. “Has the department decided to pay the ransom?”

  “Screw the department. I made the decision and it’s a no-brainer. We give them the robot and get Ash back. If we lose the opportunity to prosecute Ma Barker and her ego-maniacal son, then so be it.”

  “Thanks, partner.” I handed him the notepad.

  “You’re welcome. How did Heather take the news?”

  “Obviously, she’s scared, but it also sounds as if she’s ready to kick some ass.”

  “Imagine that. A member of the Lyon family spoiling for a fight? Who’d a thunk it?”

  I smiled for the first time since watching the video in the crime lab. “She and Colin are on their way up here.”

  “They’d be calling him in anyway. I’ve requested SWAT and the hostage negotiation team,” said Gregg. “Oh, and I also got ahold of Lieutenant Garza. She’s en route back here, Code Three. She told me to tell you that everything is going to be all right.”

  “I hope so. I—”

  The office door opened and Nguyen came in, carrying Patrick in both hands. The cyber criminalist carefully stood the robot on Gregg’s desk, next to Shannon Shoofly Pie. Then Nguyen looked at me. “Mr. Lyon, I heard what happened and I’m so sorry. We’ll all be praying for your wife.”

  I barely nodded in response. It was a kindly sentiment, but also an unintentional reminder of how often I’d seen such prayers go unanswered. Apparently, my expression betrayed that bleak thought. Thinking that she’d somehow said the wrong thing, Nguyen mumbled an apology and slipped from the office.

  Not long after that, Gregg’s office started to fill up with detectives and uniformed cops. Gregg began handing out assignments. Then the SWAT commander arrived, dressed in his black military fatigues and baseball cap. He advised Gregg that his unit would be ready to roll in less than ten minutes. Meanwhile, I sat there feeling useless.