Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  What troubled her now were the conversations she’d had with Mike. She sat rigidly as the possible consequences of those phone calls filled her with dread. She sprang off the bed and grabbed her phone, her impulse being to warn him of possible danger. She stopped just short of repeating the same mistake that had put both him and Burt in jeopardy.

  A murderous rage was building inside her, one that made her want to tear the room apart and throw the furnishings off the balcony. But what she really wanted to do was beat Steven to a bloody, unrecognizable pulp.

  She fought back the powerful urge to flee the room with her newfound determination to retaliate. She had awakened one horrible day to a never-ending nightmare. If she ever wanted to be free of it, she’d have to concentrate like she’d never had to do before. She’d have to turn herself into a one-woman defense team and turn the tables on Steven. She prayed she’d have the guts and perseverance to go the distance.

  While she had Mike on her mind, she sent him a text: Just checking in. Nothing new to report. All’s well. Call u tomorrow. That done, she went through the motions of feigning a conversation with him. It was important to make Steven’s crew think everything was under control now that Burt Latham was out of the picture.

  “Hi Mike, it’s me. I just wanted to let you know I’ve moved back to my room at the Westin,” she said to her iPhone. “I guess I over-reacted to the news of Burt’s death. I just got paranoid. Plus, the other place wasn’t nearly as nice as this one. I’ve got a gorgeous view of the ocean from my bed and the bathtub… Oh yeah, it’s amazing. I could definitely get used to it… I know. I was so freaked out. But I got to thinking about what you said, about how Burt probably had any number of vendettas against him. I suppose it comes with the job. But I’m still shaken up by it… Oh, I know, but it seemed too coincidental at the time. I was his last client, so I just assumed I was somehow responsible.”

  Madeline paused as she pretended to listen to Mike’s reply. She lay back on the bed and twiddled a strand of hair with her free hand.

  “I’m just glad you didn’t hop on a plane to come rescue me,” she said with a laugh. “No, I’m totally okay now. The way I look at it is I’ve got two and a half more days in paradise before I head back to L.A.” She paused, imaging what Mike would say.

  “Well, actually, I have given it some thought. Yeah… I’m thinking I should take you up on your offer, if you still want me hanging around,” she said coyly. “Well, I really appreciate it. But you know this is a ‘no-strings’ deal…we’ll take it as it comes, alright?

  “Okay, I should let you go,” she said, yawning. “Same here. Bye.” She went through the motions of ending the call and pulled herself off the bed with effort. She ran a bubble bath and stripped out of her clothes. After soaking for about fifteen minutes, she rinsed and dried off. She put on a little makeup, rearranging everything so it would be obvious she’d been there.

  She put on a different outfit, pulled back the sheets and rumpled the pillows, then collected her scanner and a few odds and ends she decided not to leave behind. She closed the blinds, turned out the lights and made her way back to the Nikko Hotel along the shore. She easily blended in with the clusters of people trying to draw out the day before submitting to cocktails and dinner.

  To make sure no one was on her trail, she lingered in the lobby as though waiting for someone to join her. Once she was convinced she wasn’t being watched, she returned the rental car, then took a cab to the anonymity and obscurity of the Hilton.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  As soon as she was back in her suite, the tension of the last few days fell away. The panic and devastation she had felt upon learning of Burt’s death had given way to a solid kernel of self-confidence. She had pulled herself together and come up with several strategies for dealing with Steven. She had ordered electronic gizmos and a detective course and several enlightening books. She had done her own sweeping and put a counter-offensive in play. Not bad for a day’s work.

  She stared at the listening device she had pried off her computer. Until she had time to read the course material that dealt specifically with this kind of dilemma, she had no plans to destroy it, for fear that would tip her hand in some way. Instead, she wrapped it in a hand towel and slipped it into a shopping bag, which she then stowed in the back of the closet.

  She checked the time: ten to seven. Now that the excitement of her mission was behind her, she felt fatigue fill its place. But that was the beauty of having a suite: she could stay in and not feel claustrophobic. She studied her dinner options and dialed room service. Believing she had cause for a mild celebration, she ordered a half bottle of champagne to go with her lobster bisque and diver scallops.

  In anticipation of her feast, she slipped into a silk sheath dress she’d picked up at one of the duty-free shops and turned on her computer. She finally felt up to dealing with the hundreds of emails she’d received since her life imploded. Before she got Outlook opened, the Instant Messenger icon flashed on the screen. Jane. The message had been posted several hours earlier. Madeline sat down at the desk as she scrolled up to the beginning of the message thread.

  r u there?? Holy shit! u r not going to believe what’s been circulating via email. I’m assuming u don’t know about this… Madeline read the next message. I just forwarded the link to u. brace yourself. Oh, girlfriend –i’m so sorry for u. CALL ME!!

  Madeline waited impatiently for her email to populate. During the long process of loading the program, dozens upon dozens of emails appeared in her inbox, starting with a few days ago. She hurriedly scrolled through the messages until she came across the one from Jane. On her preview pane, she could see the link and nothing else. The subject line read simply OMG!

  She clicked on the link and was taken to a website. Before she activated the arrow, a sinking feeling came over her. It only took a couple of seconds to confirm the video was the parent of the still photographs Steven had used as his excuse to divorce her with impunity.

  A strangled cry escaped her throat as she stared in disbelief at the footage of her having sex with whom she assumed was the mystery man from the ball. Tears of shame and disgust streamed down her face, leaving wet trails on her new silk dress. She fumbled with the mouse until she was able to stop the video. She stood up, knocking the chair backwards, as great, painful sobs wracked her entire body.

  “NO!” she yelled at the top of her voice. “NO!” Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor. Her cries became incoherent babble that eventually ceased altogether.

  She sat in stunned silence as she assimilated this latest affront. As the minutes ticked by, the look of anguish in her eyes gave way to steely resolve. She got herself and the chair off the floor and sat back down at her computer.

  She stared at the freeze-frame shot of herself, her head lolling awkwardly as her assailant had his way with her. As much as it wounded her, she knew that Steven had gone too far this time. He might have several layers between him and this videotaped rape, but those layers could be peeled back, one by one, until the mastermind of her ultimate humiliation would be revealed.

  Putting this out for public consumption was the cruel move that would become his undoing. No matter what she had to do, she wouldn’t stop until Steven Ambrose Ridley paid for his crimes, in spades.

  Madeline lifted the silver dome covering the seared scallops and nearly gagged. She quickly recovered the dish and called room service to come and get the tray. She was so distraught, she could barely function. She wandered out to the patio and perched on one of the chairs. She was a physical and emotional wreck, but she didn’t care anymore.

  She snorted contemptuously as she thought of what she used to hold so dear: money, prestige, connections. What did those things really matter in the larger scheme of things? She had lost something a lot more valuable—her dignity—and she could see no way to redeem it.

  What g
alled her most was the way Steven had disposed of her. It wasn’t like she had been a shrew; they had always more or less been on the same page. She believed they actually had quite a successful marriage. Hah! What a joke that is, she thought bitterly, using her fingers to wipe away the tears.

  “What did I do wrong?” she asked out loud. The sound of her voice startled her; it was the raspy, brittle voice of a much older woman, one who felt herself victimized by life. Madeline cleared her throat and tested it again. “I won’t let him do this to me,” she said adamantly, her inner strength and fire returning. “Whatever it takes, I’m going to set the record straight,” she pledged, her mind already conjuring up a viable game plan.

  FORTY-NINE

  While Madeline was hard at work on her computer, Jane logged on. Madeline pounced on the chance to get a damage assessment. Jane replied immediately.

  how are u??

  ok. they finally agreed to take the video down, Madeline replied.

  thank God! what was that??

  I can’t get into it now, but i can tell u Steven was behind it.

  what? r u shitting me?!

  no, unfortunately.

  what’s going on?

  i’ll tell u when i get back to sb.

  when is that?

  thursday or friday. I need to know who sent u the link. I need u to forward the original message with the full address of who sent it.

  ok – why?

  i need to trace it back to the original source, if possible. How many people do you think got it? Madeline asked, though she was afraid of the answer. Jane’s balloon remained motionless for a few seconds, increasing Madeline’s dread.

  everyone.

  Madeline bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. She knew when she saw the video the whole purpose of releasing it had been to cause her as much shame as possible. That’s when it occurred to her Steven was trying to force her out of Santa Barbara. He probably figured she’d never be able face anyone she knew after her character had been so thoroughly trashed.

  what have u heard? Again, Jane hesitated.

  everyone thinks Steven kicked u out because he found out u were having an affair. Natalie said u were being blackmailed and Steven refused to pay anymore. Madeline clenched her teeth, the muscles in her face twitching as she read this outrageous lie.

  where did she hear that?

  Amanda told her. Madeline barked a harsh laugh as she sat back and connected the dots. Amanda was married to John; John was one of Steven’s partners. So cozy. All Steven had to do was confide in his partner and share the video link and it was un fait accompli. Destroying her reputation had been so simple, it hardly seemed sporting.

  is it true? Jane asked.

  of course not! it’s all a pack of lies. but u can’t let anyone know that you’ve been in contact with me. just go along with it for now and feed me the latest developments. ok?

  absolutely! what else can i do to help? Madeline sighed as she replied.

  if I think of anything, i’ll let you know. gotta run.

  hey – i’m on your side 100% - i want u to remember that.

  thanks. XO. delete these messages.

  Madeline closed out of Messenger and stood up. She stretched her arms toward the ceiling and twisted, eliciting a series of pops and cracks down her spine. She took a swig of the now warm beer and regretted it. She nibbled on a leftover crust from her club sandwich to get rid of the unpleasant taste as she went to inspect the minibar.

  She had sent back the unopened champagne in favor of a draft beer, seeing as her call for celebration had been premature. Beer was definitely more fitting for her downtrodden frame of mind, as some sort of sedative was in order after the shock of finding herself starring in an X-rated internet video.

  Now that she had let her natural calm dictate her counter-measures, she felt somewhat vindicated and worthy of a stiff drink. She opened two mini Jack Daniels bottles and poured them into a highball glass with two cubes of ice. She grabbed a notepad and pen and took her drink to the sofa, where she set about doing some serious strategizing.

  After two sips of the heady booze, her whole body relaxed. It was late and she’d had another long, stressful day. But the good news at 2:37 a.m. was the video had been pulled off the internet.

  Once she recovered from the shock, she took the necessary steps to inform the site of the video’s content and its link to a sexual assault. It hadn’t been as easy as she’d hoped to get her issue addressed, but once she made it clear the video documented an unsolved crime, she finally got the response she was looking for.

  She would have to track down its origins and pursue legal action at a later date. From what she had already learned through her detective course, tracing the user back would probably lead to an account with bogus registration information. If RAM L.P.’s security team was mixed up in this—and she’d bet her life they were—they’d be too clever not to cover their tracks. For the time being, she’d have to focus her attentions on the plan of attack that would afford the best results.

  Now she assessed what her next moves should be. She thought of labeling this list “Getting Even with Steven,” but the mere thought of his name made her tense up all over. She decided instead on “Operation Justice.”

  The order of her objectives wasn’t as important as trying to get her head around all the different avenues she needed to pursue. She’d made up her mind to take her suspicions to the SBPD. She needed to remember the name of the detective Burt had spoken to about her rape. It would come to her, she hoped. She wrote “Call SBPD” on the list.

  Something told her not to expect much from the detective agencies she had contacted in Santa Barbara. In one respect, she was okay with that; she didn’t relish having to explain the twisted circumstances behind her desire to find out the truth about Burt’s death. Trying to get anyone on board with the rest of her baggage seemed impossible at this stage. Who would believe her?

  At least she wasn’t completely unschooled in the steps it would take to unearth Steven’s felonious financial dealings. Item number two on the list was “Hall of Records.” That was where Burt had found the thread that led him to the unrecorded loan payoffs. The way he had explained his steps seemed straightforward enough.

  The secret to finding the pertinent information lay in searching for deeds of trust listing RAM, L.P. as the lien holder. The website Burt used allowed him to search for…private party loans. Madeline circled this; she’d have to investigate that in the morning.

  So, if she was able to pull up a list of all the real estate loans made by Steven’s company, then she could go to the courthouse and ask to see those records. She took a healthy slug of her drink, hoping that would somehow meld these facts into a plan of action she could imagine carrying out. She didn’t know anything about public records and trust deeds. How would she know what to look for?

  I’ll just have to go through it one trust deed at a time, use a pretext, like Burt did, offering to lower their interest rate… Then, if I contact any borrowers who’ve already paid their loan off—or think they have—they’ll tell me. Then I’ve got him. Piece of cake. She let out a groan and took another swig of the now watery bourbon.

  “Okay, back to the list.” She drained the remainder of her drink and sat back down on the sofa, her hands forming a pyramid as she pieced the steps together.

  She would contact the borrowers under a “pretext” the way Burt had. If any told her they had already paid off their loan to RAM, L.P., she could either get statements from them, or play it safe and turn the names over to the district attorney’s office. She winced at her choices; she didn’t like either one. She didn’t relish the idea of putting herself in danger on the one hand, or having the file collect dust at the D.A.’s office on the other.

  She’d have to leave that quandary for later. Th
e question now was what to do next. What, if anything, could she do from her exile in Guam? Not much.

  The solution seemed so simple, she gasped at not having thought of it sooner. The one thing she had going for her right now was her seeming cooperation. So far, she hadn’t given anyone who might be listening reason to doubt she would fulfill her obligation of staying on Guam long enough to establish the required residency. She had given herself an extra buffer by pretending she would stay in L.A. for a few days before going back to Santa Barbara. Assuming someone had been listening, she had bought herself some breathing room.

  She logged on to her computer and checked flight schedules. Tamuning, Guam to Los Angeles, March 2nd, one-way. She sat back and waited impatiently for the search to return the flight information. Now that it had occurred to her she could get off this island earlier—the main advantage being two days undercover in Santa Barbara—she couldn’t stomach the thought of lingering on Guam any longer.

  After five minutes of staring and swearing at the rotating dots, she gave up and tried a different approach. Instead of a broad search, she tried a specific airline. Much easier; her search came back in seconds. But there was a problem: all of Delta’s flights had a stop in Tokyo, which meant she’d have to travel with a passport. That wouldn’t work. She needed to purchase the fare under the name Madeline Dawkins and show that driver’s license at check in. She was already booked on a flight leaving two days later under the name Ridley. She had to let that reservation stand and fly under the radar with her maiden name.

  She backed out and tried a different airline. Same problem. Now that she had her heart set on getting back to Santa Barbara early, it depressed her to think she wouldn’t be able to. She tried a third airline. Success: Guam to LAX via Honolulu. There was a flight leaving at 7:15 a.m.—in just four hours. Could she possibly get herself together by then? She’d have to. Getting back to Santa Barbara only one day early wouldn’t give her enough of a leg up on Steven.