No way, she thought. Not a Bible, not this guy. She bent down and opened the book. A Perfect rectangle was cut out of the book's pages from top to bottom, exactly the size of the stack of hundred-dollar bills that now occupied the space. The detective didn't touch the money, always a great source for fingerprints. Perps will wear gloves for everything else, but when it came to cash money, they needed to lay their skin on that. Fingerprints grew on hundreds like mushrooms in springtime. She called to a tech to come get the Bible and bag it.
She found shoes under the bed and ran her latex-gloved hands inside, feeling around for any contraband.
Nothing there.
The techs had already removed all vent covers and vacuumed lint, hair and fiber from the openings and the mouth of the pipes. So that was done, she noted to her satisfaction. She looked at the ceiling. The overhead light fixture was unscrewed and hanging loose. Again, vacuumed and searched.
The en-suite bathroom proved tricky, as the bathtub itself was actually a new shell dropped over the original tub. She again called on the techs to remove the shell and look inside the skin. Same with the medicine cabinet: they were to remove it from the wall and check behind. Satisfied that she had made about as big a mess in the man's bathroom as possible--which wasn't actually her intent at all--she next went into the second bedroom. It had been furnished with a reclining loveseat, a fifty-inch flatscreen, small fridge, and a daybed. Just for giggles, she switched on the flatscreen. First, to see if it worked or whether it needed its case removed; second, to see what the subject might have been watching. You never knew what surprises that might yield. But this time it was futile: MSNBC came on the air, and a replay of Rachel Maddow sprang to life. MSNBC, the detective thought, seriously? She thought this over for a moment, then clicked the TV control's recall button. Now she found she was on an adult channel with an invitation to watch 180 minutes of college girls making out, all for just $9.99. According to the sub-text, the owner of the set had already purchased the video and could watch it for another eleven hours until the clock turned over and he'd have to move along. Or pay again, if it was really all that satisfying.
She dropped the remote in disgust then looked around before extending the footrests on both segments of the love seat. Then she dropped to her knees and peered underneath. Freshly vacuumed; good, the techs were a crackerjack team, and she was glad. Satisfied that all was under control, she stood and searched out the head CSI. She told her that she was leaving the premises. Two uniforms were waiting outside the door if the techs needed anything.
DETECTIVE JERRY O'REILLY found the Kit-Kat Klub was every mother's nightmare: naked young women everywhere, lecherous men of dubious mating value, plus the usual muscle, larcenous bartenders, and bedraggled women to keep an eye on things. The Klub offered three dance poles for enjoyment, one of which was occupied continuously from ten in the morning until two the next morning. Dead air clung in the corners and close spaces, while the bar smelled of disinfectant. O'Reilly wasted no time tracking down Hermione, who was found in a small stall down a dim hallway, giving a private dance to a man whose wife would be disappointed in him. O'Reilly watched through the curtain and then burst inside. The man froze in mid-stroke, immediately stuffing his semi-erect member back into his Dockers. O'Reilly badged Hermione, and her customer fled.
Hermione shrugged into a negligee.
"I'm over eighteen," she smiled through a thick lip gloss. She looked like forty years reached through an alley.
"Still, Daddy would be so disappointed."
"Who do you think that man was? That was Daddy."
"A black SUV you're buying was seen in a neighborhood of police interest. Why were you there?"
Hermione was blotting her lipstick with tissue plucked from a box on the single table in the stall.
"Why do you think I was driving? I'm not the only one interested."
"According to your BFF Baedeker, you're the only prospect who's been driving the Caddy. Again, why were you in Schaumburg?"
"Oh, there's a law against going to Schaumburg now? Is that it? Sheeesh!"
"Tell me what you know about the little girl you were watching in Schaumburg. I want to know where she is."
The dancer shook her head and made a zipper mime at her mouth.
O'Reilly took a step forward and seized the woman's wrist. He twisted it outward as one twisting the throttle on a motorcycle.
"Ow! Ow! What the hell's the matter with you?"
"We need to know about the little girl, Nancy. I'm not leaving here, and I'm not going to stop hurting you until you give me something!"
"I...don't...ow!"
"Uh-huh. Let's try that again." He twisted even harder, and she plunged down onto her knees from the torque.
"She's--she's--I don't know. A customer gave me a thousand dollars."
"To do what?"
"To find out about her. Her mom's habits."
"Did you find out anything?"
"When the mom comes and goes."
O'Reilly shook his head violently. "That's not enough. Tell me what you did!"
"I followed them to the hospital. Then I made a call. I got to keep the five thousand dollars."
"Oh, now it's five thousand?"
"For all of it, yes. You're hurting me, please stop!"
O'Reilly responded by twisting even harder. "I want this person's name."
"I don't know it. Twice I've given him a private dance. Then he asked me if I'd like to earn five thousand."
"And you jumped at it, am I right?"
"I did. I've got bills like everyone."
"Tell me how you got in touch with this person."
She was on her knees wincing. Cries of pains punctuated her loud breathing.
"He gave me a phone. I called him on that. Then I threw it in the Chicago River like he told me. That's all I know."
"You called and told him which hospital the little girl was in?"
"Uh-huh. That was it!"
"Stand up. We're going downtown."
"What for?"
"I'm charging you with conspiracy to kidnap. It could get even worse, depending."
"Mister, I've got two kids of my own. They're with their sitter. I can't just leave them."
"Not to worry. Our team is on its way to your house as we speak. The kids will be taken care of."
"Please tell Miss Sellars I'm sorry. I didn't know--"
"Sure you knew. Save the bullshit excuses for someone who cares. Where's your coat?"
"In my cubby in the back office."
"Let's go get it. You're done for the night. Maybe done for the next twenty years."
"Jesus."
"Yes, praying is a good idea for you."
They left the stall, and he followed her into the back office, shoving a man aside as he shoved his star in the guy's face. She grabbed her coat and purse out of the cubby. She asked about getting dressed, and he only told her to bring her clothes. She looped the clothes bag over her wrist and followed him out of the club. At the car, she was still shrugging into her coat.
"My nipples are so hard," she said with a smile at him.
"So put your fucking coat on. Nobody ever taught you?"
"You're so mean."
"Lady, you don't know mean. You'd best be praying nothing happens to that little girl. If something bad happens, you won't live to see your next birthday. I fucking promise you."
"So cold."
"Zip your fucking coat and get in!"
As O'Reilly headed for the California Avenue Jail, Hermione rocked up and back in the seat beside him. He hadn't cuffed her and thrown her in back. He hadn't needed to.
He owned her.
12
This time, McMann waited out front of Hermione's building while the technical services team searched the dancer's apartment. She wanted a pristine scene with no suggestion she had gone inside and contaminated the scene with hair or fibers tracked in by her from Lisa's house. She was very smart and very careful--her style at a
ll times.
While she waited, McMann went online and checked her emails. Then she logged into the CPD dashboard and went over inter-departmental messages. There was one from her captain, and she clicked it open.
Just great. Another case assignment. She was going to have to leave Hermione's and travel to take down another missing person report. The uniforms had been there, and now it was her turn. She sighed and closed up her laptop. She advised dispatch that she was proceeding to the nursing home where an elderly gentleman had gone missing. She asked that dispatch advise CSI she'd had to leave. A uniform was with them upstairs in Hermione's, and that was sufficient police presence, so she could safely leave.
As she backed out of her parking slot a pang of regret cut through her chest. She was abandoning Melissa and her search for baby girl Lisa. She felt horrible and found herself gasping for air just for a moment or two. Then she collected herself together and dropped the Impala into drive and headed downtown.
Well, she knew she was going to have to call Melissa and advise her she'd been called to a newer case. She dreaded making that call. So she switched on the FM radio and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as she picked her way eastbound.
Halfway in, she decided she had to call and putting it off any longer wasn't fair to Melissa. She punched the number with the saved contact on her phone.
I COULDN'T STAND WAITING while they searched the stripper's house. But I had no choice. Finally my cell rang.
I picked up and said hello. My voice sounded like someone at the bottom of a well.
"Melissa? Detective McMann calling. How you holding up?"
"That's not why you're calling, is it? You're going off to another case. I just knew it would happen tonight."
"I have no choice. While we wait for the results of the search of Hermione's apartment I have to take a call downtown. It will take all of an hour."
Sure, I thought, plus two hours writing up the report.
But I couldn't say all that. "It's all right. My in-laws are here, and they have Colonel Eustice helping us now."
"Colonel who? What jurisdiction is he from?"
"He's not. He's Army Intelligence, retired."
"OMG. You have got to be kidding. Please call him off."
"I figured they'd already told you by now."
“Not yet. But now I know, and I want this Colonel Eustice guy out of my case."
"Your case? You're leaving my case as we speak."
It was the first disagreement we'd had in almost twenty-four hours. We both hated it. I did, and I'm sure she did, too.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Melissa. But believe me, I'm still on your case. I'll be back to you tonight yet."
"Promise?"
"I swear it. Even while I'm working something else I'll still have a close eye on your case. I guarantee it."
"Well--"
"I promise to check in at least twice tomorrow, too."
Long pause. Then, "That's it? You'll be checking in? Will you be doing actual work on my case tomorrow?"
"If we receive an actionable lead, yes. Otherwise, I'll be waiting, just like you."
"The FBI called me tonight," I stated glumly. "They're deferring to your jurisdiction."
"That's SOP. They always defer unless it's a case of known interstate flight. Then they hang onto it."
"How do we know it isn't?"
"Isn't interstate? Actually, we don't, I guess. It's all just speculation right now. You sleep with your phone tonight in case that ransom call comes in, all right? Remember, agree to whatever they say. Then call me immediately. And leave the colonel out of it. Are you listening to me?"
“I am. No more colonel. He won't listen to me, though. My father-in-law hired him. He says he's already got a team on the street following up leads."
"I don't even know what that means. We have no other leads except Baedeker and Nancy Callender at this point. I sincerely don't know what else he might be following up. I mean it, do what you need to do, but call him off."
"I'll try. But at least he's doing something."
Long silence.
"Melissa, we're doing everything that's indicated so far on your case.
"Really? Tell me about Nancy Callender, please."
"I've only been able to speak to Detective O'Reilly for just one minute because he's with her right now. But what we know is that someone paid Nancy Callender--or Hermione if you prefer her stage name--, to spy on you."
"What?"
"That's right. She was the one driving the black SUV. Or, rather, parked along your street in the SUV. She was establishing your daily habits, when you come and go. Then she followed you and Lisa to the hospital. She made a call to a man who gave her five thousand dollars. That's what we know so far."
"Did she tell you his name?"
"Not yet. She claims she doesn't know his name."
"Where did she meet him? How can we track him down? I'm sure he has Lisa, McMann!"
"We don't know anything other than he paid her to watch you and she did that."
"Is she being charged with a crime?"
"O'Reilly will be offering her ways to reduce the seriousness of her case. By giving us names, for one thing. That's what we really need right now."
"Dear Lord, let my baby be safe from these animals!'
"As soon as O'Reilly is finished up with her, I'll call you. I promise. No delays, I'll call immediately. O'Reilly knows this and Jerry's a good guy. He'll stay on it and keep me up to the minute. That about does it for now. Okay?"
"If you say so. I've got a mother-in-law that could get those answers out of Nancy-whatever in about five seconds. Can she talk to her?"
"You know she can't. Okay, I have to go now. But I'll be back to you very soon. Probably within the hour."
We hung up. I was left with a silent phone and the crushing news that the taking of my child had been planned out and the groundwork laid in a very systematic fashion. I wondered if this was just another child slavery ring operating in Chicago. There were others; the papers were full of stuff like this lately.
I went back into the kitchen and sat down next to Charlie, my dear, brusque father-in-law. I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder. He reached around and patted the side of my head. "What'd she say?"
"They have someone who followed me to the hospital the night I took Lisa."
"Names? Addresses?"
"Not yet. They're working on it."
"Colonel? Anything you can jump into here?"
"Definitely. I'm calling this McMann right now this second."
I looked up. Sure enough, the man had his phone out and his reading glasses down on his nose as he dialed the detective.
"No!" I cried out, holding up my hand. "Don't call. Please. I want the police to do this. I appreciate everything you and the Colonel have done, Charlie, but that's enough. At least for now. She's going to call me back within one hour."
"Fine," said my father-in-law. "And if she doesn't then I turn the Colonel loose."
"All right. Whatever. Rebecca, would you be a dear and get me some orange juice? There's a big jug in the fridge."
"Sure enough, darling."
Orange juice was served. I took two swallows and fell asleep sitting up.
I woke up as they were tucking me under a blanket on the couch.
"My phone."
Charlie held it up. "Right here beside you on the table."
"Night."
"Get whatever sleep you can. I'll wake you when your phone rings, just in case."
"Thank you, Charlie. Charlie?"
"Yes?"
"I wish Mark was here. I miss him with all my heart."
"Me too. He was the best of the best."
"The best."
"Good night."
Twenty minutes later, my phone played its tone.
I awoke, instantly frightened. "What? Tell me, Kendra."
"We have a name."
13
Up and down, up and down. Th
e little girl was quiet while on the swing set. But that was the only time.
It was warm and sunny outside at ten-thirty in the morning. Parrots could be heard squawking and screeching in the jungle just a hundred yards away. The place was alive with them, but the little girl was oblivious.
"I love my mommy," she sang to clouds as she swung up and back. "I love my mommy."
Twenty yards the other direction from the jungle sat a single story house with a porch across the front and a patio on the roof. The little girl could see two men with guns sitting on the porch closest to her, watching her swing and talking in low tones. She didn't know the language. Whatever they were saying was funny, because they laughed and swatted each other with their hats. Just then, a rotund, very dark woman wearing a red and white print dress and a white apron came out onto the porch, clapping her hands together. The little girl looked up. It was time.
She ambled up onto the porch, and the men stopped talking. The woman draped an arm across her shoulders and helped her inside. They went into the kitchen.
"Are Luis and Raoul bothering you?" the woman asked the girl.
"No. When do I see my mommy?"
"Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. You are going to a very special house today when the airplane comes for you."
"Who lives there? Is my mommy there?"
"Two weeks and she's still on the mommy," the woman said in Spanish to a younger woman who was chopping onions on a cutting board.
"The doctor says she can fly now."
"She's all well. They took good care."
The younger woman looked up from her chopping. "Tell me, Poquita, what is your name?"
"Angelina."
"Very good!" both women exclaimed. "Your father will be so happy. So will your mommy."
"Doesn't mommy like my other name?"
"She likes your new name. She told me on the phone."
"Can I call her?"
"She will be there this afternoon. That's Esma's promise to you."
"Esma, can I feed the goats?"
"First we feed the chickens. You can help me feed the chickens."
The little girl shouted a merry, "Yes!"
The Empty Place at the Table Page 7
