Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay

by Cynthia Hamilton

  Teresa wouldn’t be wearing a glum expression. That she had landed in the middle of tabloid heaven was beyond her wildest dreams. But she never would’ve been happy working at the Alexander estate if not for Vivian. Madeline could tell by the way Teresa spoke of the aging actress she clearly adored her. And Madeline’s instinct also told her that if Teresa had taken Vivian’s jewelry, she’d probably been put up to it by somebody else.

  “Which way on San Andres?” Madeline interrupted herself as she approached the intersection.

  “Oh, right,” Teresa said nervously, looking at the bumper to bumper traffic in the lane next to her.

  “Shoot, I don’t think I can get over,” Madeline said, stretching her arm across the back of Teresa’s seat as she tried to get the attention of the driver behind her to the right. Realizing the futility of begging, Madeline said, “It’s okay. When the light changes, I’ll just go up and turn around…”

  “No, it is no problem. I can get out here,” Teresa said, undoing her seatbelt while she checked the side mirror.

  “No, Teresa…let me pull over up ahead…the light should be changing soon…” Madeline said as the girl opened the door and slipped out.

  “Thank you for the ride. See you tomorrow!” Teresa called out, waving heartily before she weaved her way through the idle cars.

  As soon as Teresa was safely on the sidewalk, Madeline called Mike. She had seen his vintage brown Mercedes glide through the yellow light about five cars behind her as she exited the freeway. She scanned the vehicles around her and spotted the soft top of his convertible.

  “She just turned right on San Andres, on foot,” Madeline said when he answered the call.

  “I’ll find her,” Mike said as the light changed and traffic began to cross the intersection. “Where are you headed?”

  “Home.”

  “Go slow. I’ll catch up with you.”

  Madeline watched her rearview mirror until she saw Mike’s Mercedes turn right. She continued up the hill, where it became Meigs Road, then descended the snaky course that gave way to a spectacular view of the ocean. She turned right on Cliff Drive and took the long way to her house, all the while keeping watch on every vehicle close to her. She took the further precaution of driving past her street, then executed three right turns. When she was certain no one was trailing her, she turned left and headed back to her street. Brian’s car was still out front when she pulled onto her driveway.

  She let out a deep sigh, relieved that it was still daylight and that she wouldn’t have to walk into an empty house alone.

  “Brian?” she called out from the front steps after she had opened the door wide enough to be heard. “Brian?” she said, more loudly this time.

  “Hey, there you are!” Brian said as he yanked the door wide open, almost giving Madeline a coronary. “Are you all right?” he asked, steadying her by the arm as she wobbled.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” Madeline said. It suddenly occurred to her she might never feel comfortable walking into her own home again, unless Usherwood was out of the picture permanently.

  “Maybe you’re not used to the furniture arranged like this yet,” Brian suggested. “It threw me off when I got here,” he said with a chuckle. Madeline walked cautiously to where her sofa now sat.

  “This is the way I found the place when I got home last night.”

  Brian turned away from what he was working on. “You didn’t do this…?” he asked, motioning with his eyes. Madeline’s deadpan expression said it all. “Oh, crap… That is some spooky shit,” Brian said, abandoning his work. “And the wires to the alarm hadn’t been tampered with.” Madeline shook her head. “I checked them myself, just to be sure. That means he’s got some pretty sophisticated tools.”

  Brian went to the front door and inspected the lock. He saw no marks that weren’t consistent with normal use. He crossed through the living room and checked the back door. Madeline didn’t have it in her to tell him the police and FBI had already beat him to it.

  “Okay…well, not to worry. We’ve got a couple new layers of protection that are very well concealed. So far, everything is operating perfectly.” Brian became silent, his gaze focused on an abstraction.

  “You know, it might not be a bad idea to go with a much more advanced entry system. I’m thinking a keypad that will only operate when your fingertips are pressed on it. We could have a secondary control panel inside. That way if someone forced you into the house and you didn’t manually disarm the second keypad, a silent arm would sound. That would get the police over here immediately.” Madeline nodded as she kicked off her heels and began rubbing her sore feet.

  “Whatever you think is best, Brian. I trust your judgment. Just do it.” Madeline headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water.

  “I may have to drive to L.A. to get what I need,” Brian called out. The front door opened, causing him to jump.

  “Hey, Mike. Just ‘creep-proofing’ Madeline,” he said.

  “Good. Hopefully it’ll work this time.” Madeline watched from the kitchen doorway, too beat to play referee.

  “I’m going to change my clothes. Then maybe you can help me put everything back where it belongs,” she said to Mike.

  “Let me clear your room first,” he answered, his sweep in hand. Madeline threw out her arm as an invitation to be her guest. She watched Brian collect his things and put them back in his case.

  “I’ll get an early start tomorrow and hopefully get back here by noon. I’ll probably need a couple hours to get it all set up. And you’ll need to be here when I program it.”

  “Okay, as long as I can be out of here by three-thirty,” Madeline said as she walked him to the front door.

  “Got it. Hope you sleep well tonight. With the new deadbolts and the sensors, as long as you’re inside, you should be safe.”

  “Thanks, Brian. See you tomorrow.”

  Madeline closed the door and slid the bolt into the doorjamb. She couldn’t say she was thrilled with the aesthetics, but she did appreciate the peace of mind. She drew the drapes in the living room and checked the bolt on the backdoor. She unzipped her dress as she headed down the hallway to her bedroom.

  “Everything’s clear back here,” Mike said coming out of the bathroom as she passed by.

  “Good. Thanks. Do you feel like an early dinner? I’m craving Thai food.”

  “Your wish is my command,” Mike said, earning a weak laugh out of her.

  He watched as her shadows played on the walls of her bedroom as she slipped out of her dress. She was the great love of his life, but they would never be a couple again. Those days were long gone, never to be repeated. But they were still occasional lovers, when it suited her. He would take whatever he could get, even if it meant being solely business partners. What he couldn’t take was a world without her.

  FOURTEEN

  “Damn, this thing is heavy,” Mike complained as they struggled to put the sofa table back in the center of the room.

  “Tell me about it. That’s why I knew Carmen couldn’t have moved it, as you suggested.” They let go of the mesquite table and stood up. Madeline stretched her back and staggered over to the kitchen table to get her vodka tonic. She killed what was left of it and fixed herself another.

  “Do you want any more of this pad Thai?” she asked as she picked up a glob of noodles with her fingers and dangled them into her mouth. This may have been the most uncouth moment of her life and she didn’t give a damn, which on the face of it seemed like a good thing to her. She had spent too many years trying to be Ms. Perfect and where had it gotten her? She flopped down next to Mike on the sofa and propped her feet on the table.

  “So, while you were at Cherie’s, I did a little research,” Mike said, reaching forward to grab a file folder off the table.

  “On what?” Madeline asked. She was so exhausted, she could barely k
eep her eyes open.

  “Not what, who,” Mike said. He pulled the sheaf of papers out of the manila folder and tossed it back on the table.

  Madeline leaned her head over Mike’s shoulder to look at what he was talking about. It took about three seconds for the face and name to register in her overworked brain. She stiffened and reared back, wide awake now. Mike put his hand on her arm to reassure her.

  “Just when I had finally gotten that bastard out of my head,” Madeline said, getting to her feet, ready for a good fight. “Did you really have to spring that on me now?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Mike said, meeting her aggression with some of his own. Madeline turned away in a huff, incensed that the man she trusted the most would try to provoke her during the first moment’s peace she’d had all day.

  “Look, as of tomorrow you’re going to be at Cherie’s for three solid days. This is the last time we can huddle and study our opponent. So, come sit back down and I’ll fill you in on what I’ve found out about Usherwood’s past.” Madeline glared at her partner for a moment before grasping the wisdom of what he was saying.

  “All right. This better not keep me awake all night,” she warned, sitting tentatively on the edge of the sofa.

  “Okay, first thing I did was check his military records. From that I was able to learn when and where he served, which then allowed me to check other members of his unit.” Madeline watched as Mike laid out photocopies of military photos.

  “By searching each record of everyone in Usherwood’s immediate company, I was able to find links that overlapped in the years after his discharge from the service. We already know about Rick Yeoman, Terry Linbald and Lance Rombach. One down, two behind bars. That leaves Usherwood and these four men—Stewart Mitchell, who you remember from SBPD,” he said, pausing a beat to check Madeline’s reaction. He wasn’t surprised by the look of revulsion on her face. Mike cleared his throat and continued “…Frank Salazar, George Graff, and Justin Oaks. These were the men who were in Usherwood’s squad, who later followed him into the ‘military for hire’ business. That seems to really appeal to guys who can’t get enough sanctioned killing. I guess another euphemism would be soldiers of fortune.”

  “Mercenaries,” Madeline preferred to call them.

  “Yep. But after that period ended, the group split up. Mitchell worked his way up to detective with the Santa Barbara police force in short order, which came in very handy for Usherwood. It was his tip-off that led to your abduction,” Mike said, though the recap wasn’t necessary. Madeline would never forget that chain of events.

  “So, what did the others get up to?”

  “Salazar became an advocate for veterans’ rights. He spearheaded one of the most successful fundraising machines for veterans’ health issues. The nonprofit, Healing Our Veterans, has raised over ten million dollars for prostheses alone. As a former fundraiser yourself, I’m sure you can appreciate that.” Madeline raised her eyebrows in tribute to such a noble cause.

  “Chances are he wouldn’t be Usherwood’s go-to guy when an execution is called for,” she surmised.

  “I think we can put him at the bottom of the pile,” Mike said.

  “So that brings us to Graff.”

  “Right. After three years of providing ‘protection’ in Iraq, Mr. Graff returned to his native Wisconsin, where he took over management of the family farm. With the money he made working for Usherwood, he was able to modernize it and turn it into a growing concern—excuse the pun. Patriot Farms employs hundreds of locals and gives back to the community through food donation programs.”

  Mike took another glance at Madeline.

  “It’s comforting to know not everyone who worked under Lionel Usherwood became permanently warped,” she said. “Okay, what about Oaks?”

  “I ran into a dead end on Oaks. He seems to have vanished off the planet.”

  “Did he leave Iraq when the others did?”

  Mike nodded. “Yeah. I was able to trace him to Florida. He had family there when he got back. There doesn’t seem to be anyone left now. His father died while he was in the army, his mother died three years ago—both due to health-related issues. His sister was killed in a car crash eighteen months ago. After that, his trail just stops.”

  Madeline took a look at the four photos. She put the ones of Salazar and Graff aside and concentrated on Oaks and Mitchell. Looking at Mitchell’s face made chills run down her arms. She knew all too well what he was capable of. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine him having a hand in her stalking. After all, he had lost his job and his pension when his role in her kidnapping came to light.

  “Mitchell has his own security firm now,” Madeline said, looking to Mike for confirmation.

  “Yep. It’s located in San Jose.”

  “So, he’s in a perfect position to keep tabs on everyone associated with the fall of his pal Usherwood,” Madeline said, leaning back, wrapping her arms around her knees. “To me, he’s the most logical player. The question that remains is how is he involved? Would he kill Yeoman and play head trips on me, or would he put one of his own goons on it? Or would he just be the conduit through which information flowed…?”

  “You mean notifying Usherwood that Yeoman cut a deal and was being released in Santa Maria?”

  Madeline nodded as he spoke. “All he did last time was make a phone call, and look at the consequences he had to face. Would he really risk his livelihood a second time to do Usherwood’s dirty work?”

  “Good point,” Mike said. “But he’s his own boss now, and it may be impossible to link him to any involvement, if he is involved. On the other hand, wouldn’t any debt to Usherwood have already been paid?”

  After regarding each other for a moment, Mike said what they were both thinking. “Mitchell earned his freedom the first go-round. Anything beyond an untraceable phone call is probably unlikely.”

  “So, Mitchell may be the intel source, but probably not the muscle,” Madeline concluded. “That leaves us with two candidates to choose from—that we’re aware of.” She got up and began to wander around her living room as she considered other possibilities.

  “Was Oaks employed prior to vanishing?”

  “Off and on. It looks like he’d take on almost any kind of work, but he wouldn’t stay with it long,” Mike said.

  “Substance abuse?”

  “He had several visits to the VA hospital for drug and alcohol related issues. Two were overdoses.” Madeline sat down on the mesquite table.

  “Sounds like a pretty sad return to reality,” she said. “The next question is whether he turned to his former leader for help after falling into the abyss.” They mulled over this scenario for a moment.

  “Yeah, that’s a good question,” Mike said. “It’s really hard to know the odds on that because we don’t know where Usherwood’s been the last three years. It seems a little implausible that he’d stay in the country all that time and just happen to be around Oaks when he went missing.”

  “When you say ‘missing’…”

  “After his sister’s death, the neighbors never saw him again. He just walked away from the house that would’ve gone to him as the only surviving next of kin.”

  “When was that, exactly?” Madeline asked. Mike looked at the printout.

  “October of 2011.”

  Madeline started pacing again. “You got all this information today, between shepherding me to and from work?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I hired a P.I. in Florida,” Mike confessed. “I was able to get pretty far just with the military records alone, but once Oaks fell off the radar, I figured I needed to bring a local in on it.”

  Madeline smiled. “Good call, P.I. Delaney,” she said.

  Mike tried to hide his pleasure. “You’re not the only crackerjack at M. D. Private Investigators.”

  “I know that. So, the que
stion remains—did Usherwood hire out for Yeoman’s murder? I would venture that whoever whacked him, did the spook number here,” Madeline said, looking around her home with renewed trepidation.

  After pondering this conundrum for a while, they looked at each other and shrugged.

  “That is the big question, for sure,” Mike said.

  “With all you’ve uncovered so far, what’s your gut-level feeling?”

  Mike’s gaze strayed to the ceiling as he pondered the question. “I guess I’d go back to what you said last night—about being able to ‘smell’ him. If you had an olfactory memory hit you when you entered the house, that’s where I’d put my money.”

  “Then that’s our operating assumption, unless we learn differently,” Madeline said. Though it was hardly a comforting thought, she was proud of their ability to put personal opinions aside in order to sift through the data for clues. She patted Mike on the knee as she stepped in front of him to retrieve her handbag.

  “Going somewhere?” Mike asked.

  “I need to sync my phone to my computer so I can print the photo I took of Teresa and Vivian.” Madeline stopped in her tracks. “I totally forgot to ask if you got her address,” she said, her mouth hanging slack in embarrassment. Mike suddenly didn’t appear so cocky.

  “Don’t tell me you lost her…”

  “She just vanished.” Madeline’s handbag landed with a thud on the floor as her arms were called in to wild gesticulating.

  “What do you mean, vanished? She was right there on San Andres Street. I saw her with my own eyes.”

  Mike held his tongue and let Madeline rant; the pressure she felt from everything had to be vented somehow. It certainly wasn’t the first time in their long acquaintance that she’d unleashed on him, though it was one of a handful of fits when he didn’t lash back. It had taken eight years of sobriety to earn him is Dalai Lama-like calm in the face of an irate woman. That Mike wouldn’t fire back took most of the steam out of Madeline’s fury.