Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  SIXTY

  Madeline cautiously surveyed the grounds as she headed for the trail. Even though the sky was overcast, the glare made her head feel worse. She wished for her sunglasses as she stumbled along on feet that had almost gone dead from lack of circulation. She concentrated on each step, not allowing herself to think too far in advance.

  Once she was off her property, she followed the trail that would take her past the San Ysidro Ranch. There was a more direct route to Jane’s house, but Madeline couldn’t risk being seen on Park Lane, especially now that she didn’t have her wig anymore. She took San Ysidro Lane down to Las Tunas. From there, she turned onto El Bosque and took it to Moore Road, then turned left onto East Valley Road, where she could cross and take the back route to Jane’s house.

  Every car that passed as she waited to dart across the street made her paranoia rise. She kept her face hidden as much as possible while trying to make a break for safety. She crossed without recognizing any of the vehicles that passed her, and hurried down the lane to the wooded trail that was a shortcut to Jane’s house.

  It was now almost quarter to three. Jane would be picking her daughters up at Montecito Union in fifteen minutes. She would be gone before Madeline reached the house. Her only hope was that Jane didn’t have any other errands to do afterwards. If she wasn’t home by 3:30, Madeline would have to come up with some other way of getting into town.

  Her mind stopped there. She had no phone, no money. She’d have no other way to get downtown except by foot, and even if she could make it that far, she’d never get to the District Attorney’s office before it closed for the day. She concentrated on fording the creek and navigating the still muddy paths and the overgrowth on the trails. She hoped and prayed she’d make it to Jane’s before collapsing.

  When she came out onto San Leandro Lane, it was 3:05. Her timing could be perfect. Madeline forced herself to stand upright as cars passed her. She limped her way through Jane’s front gate and followed the driveway toward the house. It was very tempting to flop on the porch and wait for Jane’s return, but she felt too conspicuous out front, in view of the street.

  Instead, she let herself in the side gate to the Emerson’s backyard and was promptly toppled by their golden retriever, Max. She had no strength left to fight him off as he joyously licked her face. She laid there and took the tongue bath, gagging on Max’s less-than-appealing breath until he got a whiff of the wine splatters on her pants.

  He was in the process of licking her pants clean when he suddenly started barking and wagging his tail. He turned his attention to the arrival of his family and bounded into the garage as soon as Amber and Amelia got out of the car. Madeline struggled to her feet just as Jane’s youngest came into the backyard.

  “Aunt Maddie, are you alright?” Amelia asked, alarmed by Madeline’s frightening condition. Jane and Amber appeared at the doorway. Their hands flew to their mouths in horror.

  “Oh my God, Madeline!” Jane cried out. “What the hell happened to you?” Madeline tried to think of some reassuring words, but she found herself incapable of speech. “Girls, take Max out for a walk before you start on your homework,” Jane said, trying to usher them away, for Madeline’s sake and theirs.

  “What about our snack?” Amelia asked petulantly.

  “Is Aunt Maddie going to be alright?” Amber asked, unable to take her eyes off her usually glamorous godmother.

  “You can have it as soon as you get back,” Jane answered her youngest. “Go on—it doesn’t have to be a long walk. Just make sure he does his duties.” The girls quarreled over who had to carry the poop bag while Jane shepherded Madeline into the kitchen.

  “Maddie…who did this to you?” she asked, tears in her eyes as she spied Madeline’s wrists. “Jesus, Maddie—what is going on? Sit down, honey. What can I get you?”

  “Water,” Madeline croaked. Now that she was out of harm’s way—at least temporarily—she felt the full impact of all she had endured. Jane returned with a glass of water and a first aid kit.

  “Tell me what happened to you,” she said, examining Madeline’s hands and wrists.

  “I will. I promise. But I need your help. I need to get downtown, immediately. Can you take me there?” The urgency in Madeline’s eyes frightened Jane. “But no one can know. Swear to me you won’t tell anyone.”

  “I swear.” Jane turned her head and called out, “Lucita, I’ve got to go out for a bit. Will you watch for the girls? They should be back in a few minutes,” Jane said, doing her best to hide her nervousness.

  “No problem,” Lucita said as she entered the kitchen. “Dios Mio!” she exclaimed as she spotted Madeline.

  “It’s okay, Lucita. Mrs. Ridley had an accident. I’m going to take her to the emergency room. But do not tell anyone. If Matt gets home before I do, tell him I had errands to run. And make sure the girls don’t say anything. Comprendes?” Jane asked, staring at her maid so intently, the message got across loud and clear.

  “I can’t believe this!” Jane said, dividing her attention between her friend and the freeway. “I’m in shock.”

  “You’re not the only one,” Madeline said. Now that she was in safe hands, Madeline felt the onset of immobilizing fatigue. She had to snap out of it, though; she had to be convincing enough to the D.A. or all would be lost. She’d be dead meat for sure at that point.

  “I’m just so glad you made it out of there! Jesus…I can’t even imagine what hell that must’ve been. Thank God you’re safe.” Jane grabbed Madeline’s hand, her eyes welling up. “You need to go into hiding, somewhere safe where he’ll never find you.”

  Madeline caught herself; her eyes had closed and she was almost asleep. She blinked hard and tried to recall what Jane had been saying. “…somewhere safe…hiding…in a safe place…you’ll be safe here…”

  “Turn right here,” Madeline said, startling Jane with her sudden alertness.

  “The D.A.’s office is on Santa Barbara Street, across from the courthouse,” Jane said.

  “I know—turn here! I’ve got to stop somewhere first.”

  “Where are we going?” Jane asked anxiously.

  “The Eastside Inn, on Garden Street. Turn left here.”

  As soon as Jane pulled into the motor court, Madeline was out of the car and headed for the lobby. After a few words with the girl at the reception desk, Madeline waited impatiently for the manager.

  “He’ll be right with you, Ms. Dawkins.” Madeline flashed Jane a tense smile, then was greeted by the manager as he beckoned her into his office.

  “After Burt’s death, I was wondering if I should turn this over to the authorities,” Jeff Bowen said, producing a manila envelope from his safe.

  Madeline took the envelope with shaking hands. She opened it and pulled out three separate documents, each paper clipped together. All three were signed statements verifying that they—the borrowers—had paid off their mortgages held by RAM, L.P. in full and were not aware that their property titles had not been cleared of the debt. All were accompanied by copies of canceled checks, and all had the updated title reports showing the liens had not been reconveyed. It was the smoking gun—three smoking guns, to be precise. And it was enough to close down Steven’s operation and put him away for years.

  No wonder Steven had Burt killed and had planned the same for her. It was all over for Steven Ridley; the whole glossy charade was about to come to a halt. If she could get to the D.A.’s office before all hell came raining down on her again.

  On the short drive to the District Attorney’s office, Madeline used Jane’s phone to call Mike. He was on the verge of hysteria once he heard her voice. He made her swear she was alright. She told him she was about to be a lot better and to get over to 1105 Santa Barbara Street immediately. She’d explain everything to him and the D. A. at the same time.

  Jane insiste
d on going into the D.A.’s office with her. Madeline didn’t put up a fight; she knew it wouldn’t be easy getting in without an appointment, and having a credible spokesperson couldn’t hurt.

  She couldn’t bring herself to look in a mirror, but she knew from her disheveled and wine-spotted clothing that she could’ve been viewed as a raving loony. She reeked and was mortified to be out in public in her condition. Nevertheless, she stated her case in a businesslike fashion.

  “My husband is guilty of several felony acts, including arranging a rape, murder, attempted murder, blackmail and embezzlement, and I can prove all of it,” she told the receptionist calmly. “His in-house security men abducted me this morning, bound and gagged me and left me to die in a wine cellar. If I don’t get to speak with the District Attorney right now, my captors will make damn sure I do not escape a second time,” she said, holding up her wrists as proof of her recent captivity. The ligature marks were convincing enough to get the receptionist on her feet.

  SIXTY-ONE

  “These are wicked,” Mike said, playing with the assortment of spy tools Madeline had picked up from her P.O. box. “Testing…one, two, three…” he said into the microphone of the voice recorder pen. Madeline rolled her eyes but she couldn’t help seeing the humor in Mike’s antics, probably because there had been so little to laugh about lately.

  “I think we should have the sign guy change the name on the door to ‘Mad Dog P.I.” This time Madeline shot him a disapproving look. “Hey, why not? We’d probably have greater success with that than we would with an event planning service,” he said, indignant at her hasty dismissal.

  What’s with all the “we” business, Madeline thought, halfway amused by his assumptions. She supposed she could do a lot worse than to have a loyal friend by her side as she ventured into unchartered territory.

  “Besides, you’ve got to admit I was rather resourceful at finding your cell phone yesterday.” Madeline smiled, despite herself.

  “Too bad you didn’t find me, or my bag,” she said, trying to provoke him for no good reason. She hoped her personality wasn’t irreparably warped after all she’d been through. She regretted her words as they wiped the smug look off Mike’s face.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t find you,” he said, looking like he had just lost his best friend, which he almost had. Madeline gave him a rueful smile meant to absolve him of his guilt.

  “And don’t give up on the bag,” Mike said, his former enthusiasm returning. “I think someone’s going to read my ad and want to get the ‘BIG REWARD!’” Madeline shook her head at his indomitable optimism.

  “Anyway, I still think it would be a hoot going into the P.I. business. I think you’ve got a remarkable aptitude for it, and well…I’m a quick learner…”

  “In order to become a licensed private investigator in the state of California, you must have three years’ experience as an apprentice—2,000 hours, to be exact,” Madeline said, confident that would burst his bubble.

  “That wouldn’t be so bad,” Mike said as he examined the miniature GPS tracking device. “How do you know that?” he asked belatedly.

  “Through the online private investigator course I signed up for after Burt died. Besides, unlike you, I’m going to need to generate some income. Anyway, who would hire us?”

  After mentioning her dead P.I., Madeline’s mood became somber again. Though things had turned in her favor, she still couldn’t shake the sense of melancholy and loss that had replaced her former feelings of satisfaction and contentment. In an effort to organize her thoughts, she grabbed a pen and a notepad and started a list.

  Call Barry Houstein

  Now that they wouldn’t have any difficulty proving coercion, the divorce agreement she signed could be voided outright, along with the prenup. This time, she’d be the one suing for divorce, with cause. Lawsuits were guaranteed to spring up from all sides: swindled investors, borrowers, and her. By the time those suits made their way through the courts, there might not be anything left. She’d have to let Barry worry about that.

  Go see Hughes

  Hire website designer

  Have business cards made

  File fictitious business name

  Madeline’s gaze wandered away from her list. Maybe if she’d witnessed Steven’s arrest, along with three of the four thugs he used to bend people to his will, she’d feel lighter inside. But there had been casualties along the way. Though Hughes was released from the hospital with a mild concussion, she would never really shed the guilt of having knocked that gentle man unconscious. She knew if she had to do it over again, she’d do it the same way, and that troubled her too.

  Maybe someday she could convince herself that Burt’s death wasn’t a direct result of her decision to go after Steven, knowing full well they were treading on hazardous turf. Intellectually, she knew Lionel and his underlings were ultimately responsible for his plunge over the cliff. But emotionally, she felt just as culpable for putting him in harm’s way.

  That was his profession, one he had taken on willingly, she tried to convince herself for the umpteenth time. He could’ve always refused…

  Madeline got up from Burt’s chair and went to the window. There was something more troubling her than just feelings of remorse. Now that she finally felt she was out of imminent danger, her brain was able to sift through all the layers of intrigue and search for the niggling doubts and suspicions still remaining. She let her mind go blank as she stared at the parking lot with unseeing eyes.

  Moments from the last three weeks replayed themselves across her mind’s eye. Suddenly, there it was. Madeline stopped the slideshow and turned the incongruity over, looking at it from the dispassionate distance of time.

  Russell Barnett. Burt knew from their first meeting the name of the detective Steven had paid off while she watched, unseen, from her car. He knew the man personally, and knew he was trailing Madeline like a piece of toilet paper stuck to her shoe. Yet Burt had never confronted him, even though he surely could’ve shed light on the events of the night she’d been raped.

  Why? Why didn’t Burt mine that valuable source of information? Madeline opened the window and let the cool breeze wash over her. She never doubted that Burt was one-hundred-percent dedicated to her case. So, what gives?

  “Your sign’s finished, if you want to come and take a look,” Mike said from the doorway.

  A smile spread across Madeline’s face as she gazed at the name of her first ever business venture.

  “That turned out really nicely,” she said to the sign painter.

  “Thanks. I like the name—‘Current Affairs.’ It has a good ring to it.”

  “Thank you. Hopefully, others will think so too,” she said as she went to get her checkbook.

  “It’s not too late to add Mad Dog, Private Investigators,” Mike said, shooting her a look of longing. Madeline wrote out the check and handed it to Mike, who gave it to the sign painter.

  “So, what now, boss?” Mike asked from the doorway. Madeline had to admit she liked the sound of that.

  “Grab your jacket. We’re going to see a man about a job.”

  SIXTY-TWO

  Madeline let Mike out on the corner of Anacapa and Sola. From there, he took a right and proceeded to the office of Russell Barnett, Private Investigator. Madeline drove past Mike as he went up the front steps. She pulled the rental car into the detective’s small parking area, stopping directly behind Barnett’s familiar silver Accord, effectively boxing him in.

  As she walked up the steps, she saw Russell’s expression change from guardedly optimistic to uncomfortably cagey as he realized Mike was not there to engage his professional services. When he caught sight of Madeline, he froze, his mind busily calculating his odds of disarming them versus fleeing the scene.

  “What is it you want?” Russell asked offhandedly,
as Madeline came in and stood next to Mike’s imposing figure.

  “Just some answers,” Madeline said. She could tell by his forced nonchalance how nervous her presence made him. “Might as well sit down—this could take a while.” Mike stood until Russell lowered himself into his chair before taking a seat across from him, closest to the door.

  “I imagine you’ve heard the news about your client,” Madeline said, her eyes never leaving her former shadow.

  “Ex-client,” Russell said, his voice not carrying the sense of detachment he was shooting for.

  “Now that the tables have been turned on Steven Ridley—my soon-to-be-ex-husband—I think you need to tell me what exactly Steven hired you to do for him, besides following me around town.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” Russell asked, levitating up from his chair.

  “No, and neither would you,” Mike said. Russell let out a breathy snort and sat back down, an ironic smirk on his face.

  “I’m not required or even permitted to discuss my cases with anyone other than my clients,” Russell said, leaning back in his chair.

  “That privilege doesn’t exclude the D.A.’s office,” Madeline reminded him. Russell tried to retain a stony expression, but Madeline didn’t miss the lump of nervousness he attempted to swallow. “I spent two hours with Conrad Adams yesterday, putting all the jigsaw pieces together for him. As you can imagine, he’s got a lot on his plate with all the charges against Steven. I didn’t even get around to telling him about your involvement.”

  “I—”

  “At this point, you would surely be considered an accessory to my rape, seeing as how you set up the camera, didn’t report the incident and did nothing to stop it,” Madeline said matter-of-factly.

  “But—”

  “Personally, I’d prefer to hear the unvarnished truth about your involvement from you, instead of having to tell the authorities about your role in the drama. I mean, you’d lose your license, reputation, the ability to earn a living, on top of facing criminal charges, if Adams gets wind of the part you played. A part that not only ended in my rape and public humiliation, but also the murder of Burt Latham and the attempted murder of me. So…given the choices, wouldn’t you rather tell us everything you know that can help put Steven Ridley and his crew away for as long as possible?”