For The Love Of Laurel

by Patricia Harreld

  “Were you expecting her back after lunch?”

  “Not really. She didn’t have any other clients, so I figured she’d take the rest of the day off. She always calls me and lets me know. But I haven’t heard from her yet. I hope she’s okay.”

  You and me both.

  Laurel put her purse on the cheap table in a motel room that reminded her of the ones in Brisbane, Maryland and Chaber, Pennsylvania. She looked around and wanted to barf. If Steadman was making her pay for the room anyway, she wished he had chosen a luxury hotel. At least there were twin beds. Not that she expected to get any sleep.

  He had told her to drive to a mall in El Cajon and park next to a white Ford pickup at the far end of the parking lot. When she had parked, he took her keys and told her to get in the pickup. She’d inspected it, but there were no outstanding features or dents. It looked recently washed. Just one of a million pickups on the road.

  He got in on the driver’s side. “We’re going to a motel I checked into a week ago, so if anyone starts nosing around, I won’t be suspect.” He didn’t say anything more until they were inside the motel room. “Once they realize you’re missing, they’ll search for your car. Even if they find it, the license plates will throw them off, at least for a time. But we should be okay squirreled away here till Monday.”

  Squirreled away was about the size of it, she mused, as he used the bathroom without closing the door. With a nut. Strangely, she wasn’t afraid. She was in no danger, at least until he had the money. At that time, they’d be in a public place and she figured she’d still be safe.

  The toilet flushed and he came out and sat at the table. “Sit down,” he commanded. “I want to explain why you’re here.”

  “You already did,” she reminded him as she sat down. “I just don’t believe you. My father would never stoop to that.”

  “Yet he did.”

  She sat back and crossed her arms. “You really expect me to buy that?”

  “I don’t care whether you do or not. All I care about is my money.”

  “How do I know you didn’t just see his obituary and make up a ridiculous story as a way to get money?”

  “You don’t, but it doesn’t matter, does it? You’ll give me the money anyway.”

  She stared at him, her lip curled in disgust.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but I earned that money.”

  She said nothing.

  “Don’t believe me? I told you one of your father’s minions made the deal.”

  “Are you back to that crap?”

  Steadman flinched as if she had just slapped him. “Does the name Ben Carruthers mean anything to you?”

  Laurel went still. “Ben?”

  Steadman gave a harsh laugh. “I can see it does. We had a deal and he backed out. Now you are suffering for his mistake.”

  The bank’s air conditioning was in high gear when Dylan went inside. Coming from a ninety-five degree day, it felt almost cold. Three tellers’ windows were open, each with half-a-dozen or so customers in line. Not about to wait, he went to the loan desk and asked to see the manager.

  He forced himself to remain patient as the bespectacled suit behind the desk asked him to wait just a moment and then went toward some inner sanctum where, presumably, the manager would be conjured up.

  It was several minutes before the loan officer came back, followed by a tall, slim man. Early thirties, Dylan guessed. He had a fixed smile on his lips as he walked up to Dylan and held out his hand.

  “Sam Long. How can I help you?”

  Dylan shook his hand. “Dylan Kraft. I need to ask you some questions.” He glanced toward the loan officer, who was back at his desk.

  Long nodded. “Come back to my office.”

  Dylan followed him and when both were seated, Long asked what he could do for Dylan.

  “Do you know who comes into your bank, or are you generally in your office?”

  Long raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

  Dylan tried for a lighter, calmer tone. “Sorry. I’m a little short on time so I’ll cut to the chase. Do you know if Laurel Avidon was in your bank today?”

  He could tell by the look on Long’s face that he did know and wasn’t about to give out any information to a complete stranger. Good for him.

  “I don’t keep track of the comings and goings of our customers.”

  Dylan took out his Photo ID. “Do you now?”

  Long leaned forward to look at it and squinted before taking a pair of glasses out of his pocket and putting them on. “Maybe sometimes,” he allowed. “I don’t believe Laurel is involved in drugs.”

  “You sound like you know her.”

  “We were friends in high school. What’s this about?” He removed his glasses.

  “Not what you think. You presume because I’m DEA, I’m looking at Ms. Avidon for drugs. I’m not. What I need to know is if she came into the bank alone.”

  Long steepled his fingers. “No, she didn’t. And I never would have known she was here were it not for her odd request.”

  “Go on.”

  “She wanted to withdraw half-a-million. Cash. We don’t keep that kind of money in the branch for security reasons.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Told her we would have to requisition it to be delivered the next business day.”

  “Monday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know who was with her? Did she introduce you to him or her?”

  “Him. I’ve never seen him before, and no, she didn’t introduce him.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  “No, but the teller said when Laurel mentioned a cashier’s check, he gave a small shake of his head. She said it was as if he didn’t want her to think he was involved in the transaction. But maybe the teller was just projecting.”

  “Maybe. What did he look like?”

  “Early forties, premature gray hair and beard, sunglasses, baseball cap. Not to sound snobbish, but he didn’t seem like the type Laurel would be with.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  Long gazed at a painting of daises on the wall. “I don’t know exactly.” He returned his full attention to Dylan. “As I said, I know her pretty well. Her body language was all wrong. When she comes in, she is usually laid back. This time she seemed like she was trying to broadcast business as usual, but not quite succeeding to tamp down the tenseness. Another thing. She was, if not downright rude, at the very least verging on it. She didn’t smile, her sentences were clipped and slightly snooty and annoyed. One of the tellers even mentioned she must be having a bad hair day.” He gave a half-smile. “Now I can’t help but wonder if she was trying to send us a message.”

  “Did she say why she wanted the money?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t expect her to. She’s in danger, isn’t she? The guy with her was an unsavory character.”

  If not for the circumstances, Dylan would have laughed. Unsavory character? Nice way to word it.

  “Please alert your staff. I’ll be around, but just in case they’ve changed cars or wear disguises call me as soon as they walk through the door on Monday.” He handed Long his card. As he left the bank to pay a visit to the mall in El Cajon, he could hear Long speaking to the security guard in a low tone.

  Steadman was fidgety. He was still holding the gun, though it wasn’t pointed at Laurel. She watched him, wondering if the safety was on. He glanced at his watch.

  “You hungry?” he said.

  She shrugged.

  “Well, I am.”

  “Order a pizza.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, you’d like that. Pizza dude comes to the door and you do one of your karate moves. Nice try.” He took a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and dangled them in front of her. “Into the bathroom.” He gave her a push and she stumbled slightly before entering the small room with no windows.

  “Would you mind if I use it before you handcuff me?”<
br />
  He hesitated. “Okay. I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” He chortled.

  She closed the door and scoped the area. No way out. And no place to put the handcuffs except the exposed drainpipe leading from the washbasin. She used the facilities. Who knew when her next chance would be? She washed and dried her hands.

  “You done in there?”

  “Yes.”

  He opened the door. “Sit on the floor by the wash basin and put your arms up, one on each side of the pipe.”

  She did as he said and the cuffs clicked around her wrists. She could move them up and down the length of the pipe, so at least she wouldn’t have to stay in one position.

  “Chicken all right?”

  “What?” She looked up at him.

  “Chicken. I saw a take-out chicken place a couple of miles down the road.”

  “Oh. Sure. That’s fine.”

  “I’ll borrow some money from you if that’s okay.” He snickered.

  “Be my guest.” She couldn’t keep the nasty irony out of her tone.

  He appeared not to notice. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t bother to scream for help. If I come back and see the cops here, your secretary and maid are toast. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  She waited until she heard the door close, and then began to pull on the pipe as hard as she could. All she did was succeed in hurting her wrists.

  This is going to be the longest weekend of my life.

  Chapter 25

  Dylan drove through a crowded parking lot at the mall in El Cajon. He spotted Laurel’s car parked far enough away from the stores that there were no other vehicles around it.

  He parked two rows away and eased out of his SUV, hand on his gun. The car looked empty. As he got closer, he could see that, indeed, no one was in it. He took out the spare key, which he had taken when she bought the car.

  Donning gloves, he unlocked the driver’s side and stuck his head inside. Nothing seemed amiss. He went to the passenger side and opened the glove compartment, which contained her registration and insurance information, a map of San Diego, a couple of fast food coupons, and a half-empty pack of wintergreen Tic Tacs. Nothing else.

  He inspected the floor looking for anything she or the unsub might have dropped. Next he checked the back seat and the floor. Finally, he opened the trunk—empty except for the spare tire and a jack.

  He closed everything back up and locked the car, and then took a stroll around the perimeter of the vehicle just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. As he walked back toward his SUV, something bothered him. He turned to look at her car again. What was it? He stood there, staring at the car, letting his mind wander.

  Then he saw it. He’d been so intent on the interior, he hadn’t noticed the slight change to the exterior.

  The license plate. It wasn’t hers, but the key worked, so the car was.

  The unsub must have switched plates with another car, and probably too recently for the victim to have noticed. Or he had switched them with his own plates. Is anybody that stupid? Either way, it was now officially a kidnapping. For ransom. A ransom the guy expected her to pay herself on Monday. Laurel would be his prisoner at least for the weekend. What might she have to suffer?

  Dylan called the El Cajon police and was put through to Lieutenant Len Boswell. He knew Boswell, having worked with him on a drug bust several years ago. After explaining the situation, he asked Boswell to run the plate. Within a few minutes, he had his answer.

  William Steadman. Who the hell is he?

  Boswell said he didn’t have a record. “Probably doesn’t know his plates were stolen. We’ll talk to him.”

  “I’d consider it a favor if you’d let me call him. I promise to keep you in the loop. Meantime, will you get an APB out on Ms. Avidon’s plates? I can’t be sure the perp used them, but I want to cover that base. What kind of car does Steadman have?”

  “A white, ‘ninety Ford pickup.”

  “It might be his truck or not. I don’t know what kind of car we’re looking for, or where they might be.”

  “They could be anywhere,” Boswell pointed out.

  “Something tells me he won’t go far until Monday. If he’s the guy who took her, he may even have taken her to his place.”

  “Okay, I’ll take care of things from this end. If you reach him, you’ll need backup. Don’t forget to call me.” Dylan could hear a warning note in his voice. He gave Dylan Steadman’s last known address and phone number before hanging up.

  The phone was not in service. Not encouraging, but these days people were opting to use only mobile phones and canceling their landlines. Hardly a reason to be concerned. He made the short drive to La Mesa and parked across the street from a small apartment complex.

  There were eight apartments. He glanced at the mailboxes just inside the door. Steadman was in apartment number three.

  He knocked on the door and waited. There was no answer. He put on his gloves and picked the lock. Opening the door slowly, he pulled out his gun. He closed the door and went through the rooms, gun drawn. When he was satisfied he was alone, he holstered the weapon and began a systematic search.

  The place was untidy but not filthy.

  He opened the refrigerator, which contained two six packs of Coors. The freezer was half-full of frozen dinners. “The bane of bachelors,” he muttered, thinking how similar it was to his own fridge.

  In the bedroom, he checked the dresser. There were six drawers. The first five contained neatly folded underwear, socks, and jeans. The last drawer at the bottom held a bunch of papers.

  He sat on the floor and took the papers out one at a time. Mostly they were rent receipts and bank statements. He scanned the bank statements. Though they covered several years, many were missing. Dylan wondered why he only kept certain ones. They all had a few notations written by hand, but none of them made any sense to him.

  Then he found one with a familiar name. Steadman had deposited a check for five-thousand dollars several years before. After it was the handwritten notation Carruthers, first pmt.

  Dylan cocked his head to one side and drew his brows together. Carruthers? As in Ben? What the hell is this all about? Laurel’s disappearance was starting to make sense. He perused the other statements, but there were no more entries like that. Had Ben contracted Steadman for a job and never paid him for it? What kind of job? Did it involve Laurel or Gerald?

  He returned all the papers to the drawer and let himself out of the apartment. As he walked to his SUV, he dialed a number and asked for Carruther’s phone number.

  When Ben answered, Dylan identified himself, and then said, “What the fuck did you do?”

  Chapter 26

  Laurel glanced at her watch. Steadman had only been gone for ten minutes, but it seemed like hours. Her rear end was beginning to hurt from sitting on the bathroom tile. She tried to shift her position and finally managed to get her body prone, balancing her weight evenly on the hard floor.

  She knew she would have to change positions again before long. As she lay there, she wondered what Dylan was doing. Did he know she was missing? Her mind ran through all the possible ways she might contact him, which added up to zero. A sudden thought made her shudder. What if Steadman got in a fatal accident? How long would it be before somebody found her? At least until maid service, assuming the motel even had that. Don’t be such a pessimist, Laurel. He’ll be back.

  She passed the time trying to think of anything she could do to get out of her present situation. It wasn’t likely he’d let her get close enough to bring him down with a well-placed kick. She finally decided her only option was to find a way to get hold of Dylan. Her captor didn’t seem like a Mensa candidate. There had to be a way.

  At last, she heard the front door open. Never had she imagined she’d be so glad to see him again.

  She could smell the chicken and realized she was hungry. She heard him put something on the table. Dinner, she hoped.

  He c
ame into the bathroom and looked at her, supine on the floor. He hurried to open the cuffs.

  “Sorry to be gone so long. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” He didn’t sound sorry at all.

  She got up and made a big deal out of massaging her wrists. “Maybe if you have to leave again, you could find someplace better to cuff me to.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, there’s food and beer.” He walked out of the bathroom to the small table and sat down. She followed and sat opposite him.

  “So tell me again why I’m here,” she said after swallowing a bite of chicken.

  “I told you.”

  “My father had Ben Carruthers hire you to threaten to rape me so I would stop my slutty behavior. That about right?”

  “That’s exactly right.” He tipped his head back and chugged his beer.

  “Why’d he pick you?”

  “I’ve asked myself that a hundred . . . hundred times. I don’t have a clue how he even knew I existed, but men like your daddy have resources most of us peons lack.”

  “Um-hm.” She thought about that as she picked up a piece of chicken. “Do you think you’re being fair, upping the ante so much?”

  “Who gives a shit? I figure I deserve compensation for the unexpected injury I got when you made that karate move in the alley that night.”

  “Tae Kwon Do. Where’d I get you? In the balls?”

  He made a sudden move toward her and she jumped. “Jes’ shut up. If it wasn’t that you’re the key to my payoff, I might just off you for the fun of it, you and yer big mouth.”

  But you won’t, you dumb ape. You might hold the gun, but I hold all the cards.

  She looked at her watch. “Uh-oh. We have another problem.”

  “What’s that?” He had relaxed enough to concentrate on his mashed potatoes and gravy.

  “My housekeeper.”

  “What about her?” He took another spoonful of potatoes and gravy.

  “I was having company for dinner. If I don’t call her to cancel, she’ll know something is wrong. She’s a mother hen and most likely will call the cops. Wouldn’t be the first time.”