Tony Marcella 07 - Call of the Witch

by Dana E. Donovan

  Spinelli cocked his head to one side. “Dmitry?”

  “Yes. It was disgusting.”

  “Dominic,” I said. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head doubtfully. “Dmitry doesn’t have a daughter.”

  “What?” Carlos’ feet came down hard on the floor. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. I’m sure of it. He was only married once, to a woman named Anastasia Popova of Lesnoy, Russia. They had three boys, Alexander, Nikolay and Mikhail. In 1991, Dmitry was part of a Russian dance troupe touring the United States. They let him come here with his family, but when the dance troupe left for home six months later, the Kovalchuks stayed behind.”

  “Defected?”

  “No, not defective. A little dysfunctional, maybe.”

  “Dominic, I said defected. Did they defect from Russia?”

  “Oh. Yes.”

  “And our government let them?”

  “Sure. You see up until 1992, Lesnoy was a closed town, founded after World War II for the sole purpose of producing highly enriched uranium for nuclear weapons. They even assembled some nuclear bombs there.”

  “But Dmitry wasn’t a nuclear scientist.”

  “Didn’t matter. The possibility that he or his family might know anything about Russia’s secret nuclear program made them prime candidates for free tickets to the promise land.”

  “So no daughter,” said Carlos, still not believing.

  “No daughter,” said Dominic, more assertive this time. “Shorty after arriving in the United States, the youngest one, Mikhail, died. A year later, the older boy, Alexander, ran away. Then two years ago, Anastasia and Nikolay, now grown, returned to Russia to be with her family. That’s when Dmitry opened up his dance studio.”

  Carlos, still unable to put the daughter thing to rest asked, “Can we arrest him for that?”

  “For what?” I asked. “Opening a dance studio?”

  “For groping that little girl.”

  I hesitated, not wanting to trivialize the issue. “I don’t know, Carlos. Of course I don’t like what I saw any more than you do, but I’m not sure if what we saw can be considered groping. The man tapped the girl’s behind.”

  “Tony. He grabbed the kid’s ass. The man’s a pedophile. I think we should get a search warrant to check out his studio. He could have Kelly tied up there somewhere.”

  “Carlos, patting a girl on the behind doesn’t necessarily make him a pedophile.”

  “He could be,” said Dominic.

  “What?”

  “Look at this.”

  He shuffled through a loose pile of documents on the table and came up with a copy of a police report with a Danvers P.D. stamp of disposition on it. “Here.” He handed the report to me. “Last year Dmitry Kovalchuk was arrested on child molestation charges. Seems the mother of one of his students accused him of fondling her daughter in a closed-door office at his studio.”

  “What became of it?”

  “The Danvers P.D. dropped the charges before it reached the D.A.`s office.”

  “How come?”

  “Lack of evidence. Two days after filing the complaint, mother and daughter disappeared. Left the state, one neighbor said.”

  Carlos commented, “That’s odd.”

  “Yes, especially since they left behind their furniture…clothes….the kid’s bike, her toys...even a bird.”

  “A bird?”

  “A Parakeet.”

  “No one knows what happened to them?” I asked.

  Dominic shook his head. “No, but no one really looked for them either. No one ever filed a missing persons report on them. The Danvers P.D. doesn’t have the resources to expand an investigation like that.” He pointed at the document. “That’s why the disposition stamped reads DEFERRED. The case file will likely end up in a cold storage box somewhere until the statute of limitations runs out.”

  Carlos said, “That’s it, Tony. We need to go there and tear that studio apart.”

  I held my hand up. “Easy boy. One step at a time.”

  I said to Dominic, “Can we get a warrant to search his studio?”

  “We can try, but Dmitry’s not a registered pedophile. Without probable cause––and I might add that a deferred complaint is not considered probable cause––then it’s not likely you’ll get it.”

  “I don’t need probable,” said Carlos. “I just need five minutes with him.”

  “Carlos.” I held my hand up again and he settled back down. I gave Dominic the nod. “Try,” I said.

  “I will.”

  “All right, what else you got?”

  He handed me a glossy eight-by-ten photo of a five member equestrian team posing in riding gear on a coral-style fence, behind them were two magnificent-looking horses. “That’s Russell Haywood, age thirty-nine.”

  “Kelly’s riding coach?”

  “Yup. If the face and name seem familiar, it’s because he’s a former Olympic equestrian gold medalist. I think from the ‘88’ summer games in Seoul.”

  “Name’s not familiar to me,” I said.

  Carlos took the photo and gave it a passing glance. “Me neither. Only women and sissies watch the equestrian competitions. That and synchronized swimming.” He turned to me and laughed. “Am I right, Tony?”

  Dominic’s face grew flustered. “Hey, I watch equestrian competitions and synchronized swimming. Those are both very demanding sports and worthy of Olympic status.”

  “Sure, right up there with curling,” I said. “What’s next, Olympic shuffleboard?”

  “How about Olympic chess?” Carlos joked. “I can see it now, Stephen Hawking vs. Boris Spassky. What a heart-pumping adrenaline-packed match that would be.”

  “Spassky?” I said. “Isn’t he dead?”

  Dominic snatched the photo from Carlos’ hands. “Spassky’s not dead.” He sounded pissed. “Bobby Fischer is dead.”

  “Fisher?” said Carlos. “Is he the guy with all those kids’ games.”

  I shook my head. “No, that’s Fisher-Price.”

  “Please,” said Dominic. “Can we continue?”

  “Sure.” I motioned a rolling hand gesture to move it along. “By all means…. continue.”

  He tossed the photo onto the pile of documents on the table and referred to a small spiral-bound notepad he kept in his shirt pocket. “Russell Haywood owns and operates Bridle Bit Stables in Essex on Rt. 133. He coaches young boys and girls who want to enter competitions and aspire to someday make the Olympic Equestrian team.”

  Carlos said, “Don’t you mean young girls and sissies?”

  “Carlos.” I gave him the look, hoping to shut him down. It used to be more effective in the days before my return to prime. My brows were bushier then, my scowl more intimidating. Nowadays it’s more a look of mild displeasure, bordering on annoyance. Still, it usually gets the job done.

  Dominic thanked me with a nod. “I really don’t have anything on Haywood, except maybe a late-paid parking ticket or two. His stables are only a mile from one of the Brewbaker and Massy department stores. Lionel Brewbaker drops her off there once a week when he visits that store.”

  “Does Haywood have any money problems?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Any history with the law?”

  “None.”

  I checked my watch. It was already past 9 PM. I said to Carlos. “We should still talk to him. Put him on your list of people to see tomorrow.”

  “Got it,” he said.

  I turned back to Dominic. “Did you find out anything on Raul Martinez?”

  “Martinez,” said Carlos, his voice low and gravely with a tone reserved for only the despicable.

  Spinelli gave him a fleeting glance but dismissed it quickly. “Raul Martinez,” he said, “twenty-seven, unemployed, arrested numerous times for assault and battery, drunk and disorderly, domestic violence, misdemeanor possession; small stuff like that. He has a driver’s license, but doesn’t own a vehicle and ne
ver owned a van.”

  “That domestic,” said Carlos. “Was that on his mother?”

  “No, it was on his wife––well—ex-wife now.”

  “Good for her,” I said.

  “Yes, but Karina Martinez did call the police on him a few times. And although responding officers believed her son had hit her, Ms. Martinez refused to press charges.”

  I could see Carlos’ face getting redder by the minute. Still he maintained composure and I found no need to push the matter. I said to Dominic, “What about known associates? Got anything on a guy named Hector?”

  “No, but I’m working on it. You still don’t have a last name, do you?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry.”

  “That’s all right. I’ll dig up something.”

  “Is that it then?”

  “Yes. No! Wait…. I also have this.” He handed me an NCPD rap sheet on Amanda Brewbaker. It was small, four arrests, all on drug possessions resulting in two dismissed charges, one settled and one pending prosecution. “I thought you’d find this interesting.”

  “I do,” I said, and handed it to Carlos after looking it over briefly. “This could be damaging for Amanda in her divorce case, especially if she presses for child custody.”

  “Damning is more like it,” said Carlos.

  Dominic agreed. “That’s why I brought it up. Losing custody, even shared custody, could result in a huge financial setback for her in a settlement. Maybe enough to provide a motive for kidnapping.”

  I shook my head. “Makes no sense. We already know the kidnappers demand is for only ten thousand dollars. Amanda Brewbaker stands to receive at least that much every month even without custody.”

  “I know. I’m just saying. Remember her alibi is paper thin.”

  “Okay, point taken. What else?”

  “That’s it. Oh, and so you know, I did review a few videos from this afternoon.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Got them from a 7-11, a Tasty Treat and a Gas-N-Go in the neighborhood around the Brewbaker’s.”

  “And?”

  “No van matching the description you gave me and no obvious child abduction.”

  Carlos stood up and clapped his hands clean. “All right then. On that note, I think––”

  “Wait,” said Dominic. “I still have this list of sex offenders. It’s broken down by preferences: boys, girls, teens, adolescents and tots.”

  “Tots?” Carlos shook his head in disgust. “Go over it with Tony. I’m going to take a leak.”

  I waited until he left the room before saying to Dominic, “Have you noticed him acting funny lately?”

  “Carlos?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know, more easily irritated I guess.”

  He shook his head. “No. More arrogant maybe.”

  “You think it’s his new girlfriend?”

  He laughed. “You kidding me?”

  “What?”

  He scooted past the corner of the table and pulled a chair up close to mine. “Tony, what do you know about his new girlfriend?”

  “Not much. I’ve never met her.”

  “Exactly. It’s been three months since they supposedly started dating and still we’ve never seen her.”

  “You think she doesn’t like cops?”

  “I think she doesn’t exist.”

  “Huh?”

  “Think about it. He told us her name is Lauri Shullit.”

  “That’s right, Lauri without the E.” Spinelli eyed me with anticipation. I eyed him back. “What?”

  “Lauri?” he said, apparently leading me.

  “Yes.”

  “Shullit?”

  I still didn’t get it. “Yes?”

  “It’s an acronym.”

  “What is?”

  “Her name.”

  “I’m sorry. Spell it out for me.”

  “Lauri Shullit. You take the letters, rearrange them, and you get the names Lilith and Ursula.”

  “Nooo.”

  “Yes! Look!” He turned over one of the papers on the table and wrote Lilith and Ursula’s name on the back. Then he wrote down Lauri Shullit’s name below, circled each letter and drew a connecting line to the corresponding letters above.

  I fell back in my chair, speechless, my eyes blinking in disbelief. Spinelli smiled, perhaps for the first time in a week. “That’s amazing,” I said, after finally finding my voice. “How did you figure that out?”

  “It was easy. Carlos first mentioned this girl right about the time we both got married. Remember how he went on and on about how beautiful she was, how funny and clever she was?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I know Carlos. If he hooked a girl like that, he’d bring her around to show her off like a trophy.”

  “You bet he would.”

  “So, naturally I checked her out.”

  “And?”

  “She doesn’t exist. She’s not in the DMV register. She doesn’t pay a utility bill. I even Googled her. There’s no such person. The name comes up blank. Lauri without the E is more uncommon than the name Rumpelstiltskin. Besides that, without the E the name is usually spelled L-O-R-I. And Google doesn’t pull up a single entry for the last name, Shullit. Once I figured out she was made up, it only took a minute to guess where he got the name from.”

  “He’s jealous,” I said.

  “Big time.”

  “But that’s sad; I mean to think he’d have to make something like that up. Carlos has never had a problem meeting women.”

  “True, but then he’s never met anyone as perfect as Ursula.”

  “You mean perfect as Lilith.”

  “Ursula.”

  “Lilith.”

  “Urs––”

  “Hey guys!” Carlos came back into the room in a hurry. “I just got off the phone with Brit. The kidnappers sent Lionel a photo of Kelly. She’s sending it to me now.”

  “It’s the proof of life photo,” Spinelli said. “Watch. It’ll have today’s newspaper or some other means of conveying that it’s recent.”

  “There, I got it,” said Carlos. “He stared at the picture on his phone for ten seconds before handing it to me. “ It’s her. No doubt.”

  I took the phone. Spinelli came up behind me and peered over my shoulder. In the picture, we saw a frightened nine-year-old girl with bloodshot eyes, her mouth gagged, her hands and feet bound with duct tape. She was sitting in a corner on a bare wooden floor, her knees to her chest. Her hair mussed, her face dirty. Dried tear tracks cut vertical trails down the sides of her cheeks. As Spinelli predicted, a folded newspaper resting against her shins displayed the evening’s headlines. It was a frightening sight, and it made my heart stammer.

  Spinelli took it harder though. I felt his hand slip off my shoulder as he backed away, his gaze lost in the vacuum of the moment. He eased himself into a chair. His lips thinned. His eyes pooled. I came around to his left; Carlos to his right.

  “Dominic? Are you all right?”

  He shook his head faintly, his gaze lost in a distant corner of the room. “She looks so scared, Tony.”

  “But she’s alive,” I said. “That’s something.”

  He looked up at me, crowded his brows and gave life to his tears. “She’s just a baby.”

  Carlos put his hand on his shoulder and said, “Dominic, I know Kelly. She’s a strong girl. She’s smart and I know she’s keeping her wits about her. She knows we’ll save her.”

  “Excuse me,” said Dominic, getting up and pushing his way past us to get to the door. Carlos reached out to stop him, but I grabbed his hand and pulled it back.

  “Let him go.” I waited until Dominic was out of the room before adding, “He’ll be all right.”

  “Is he always going to be like this now, Tony?”

  “No,” I said, though I couldn’t be entirely sure about it. “Look, he’s going to be a new dad. He’s feeling a lot of different emotions right now. It’ll
get better once we get Kelly home safe and sound.”

  “You think?”

  “Yeah, I think.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “We have proof of life now, we have to verify it.”

  “What’s to verify? It’s Kelly. I recognize her.”

  “Yes, but is that newspaper resting against her legs actually this evening’s paper?”

  We looked at the photo again. The headline was clear, but the date was too small to read. Carlos increased the picture, expanding it to the largest size possible. “It’s a low-res photo,” he said. “Probably taken with another cell.” He squinted tightly. “But it looks like today’s date.”

  “How `bout the headline? Does it make sense?”

  He read it aloud. “Senate at odds with House over budget.” We both laughed at that. “Could be a headline from any paper on any day over the past two hundred years.”

  “I’ll run downstairs and buy a paper from the machine in the lobby,” I said. “You see if––”

  “Don’t bother,” said Dominic. “I have one.”

  We both turned toward the door. Spinelli was standing there holding up a copy of the Boston Press evening edition, its headline reading the same as that in the picture. He came in and dropped the paper down on the table. “Sorry about losing it like that earlier,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “We understand.”

  “Yeah,” said Carlos. He came up to Dominic and put his arm around his shoulder. “We understand. I told Tony it’s because you’re going to be a new dad and all. You got a lot of emotional things going on inside you right now. Doesn’t he, Tony?”

  I swallowed that pill with a heavy gulp. “Yes, Carlos. I suppose he does.” I put my hand out. “Can I see your phone?”

  Carlos gave me his phone. I punched in Brittany Olson’s number and hit send.

  “Tony?”

  “No it’s…. I mean yes. It’s me. How did you know?”

  “I figured you’d call. Carlos told me your phone was dead. Did you get the picture?”

  “Yes. We got it. Did the Brewbakers see it?”

  “Mr. Brewbaker did. The Mrs. isn’t here.”