Best Defense

by Randy Rawls

  “Thanks, Maddy. I’ll be waiting.” I closed my phone, trying to come up with something productive to do. Nothing came to mind, so I leaned against the car. “Let’s take a break and let those tacos digest.”

  My phone rang and when I read the caller ID, a smile jumped onto my face—David. “Hello, Doctor. You’re just what the doctor ordered.”

  “Oh, don’t you ever tire of bad jokes? Leave those to me. I received a lifetime subscription with my medical license.”

  I laughed as I rose and walked away from Dot and Dabba. I didn’t want my words quoted around Bob’s place. David brought out the romantic in me.

  “So, my love, how are the lectures? Learning anything you can use on your patients? And by the way, you’d better not be learning anything you can use on me. It’s more fun to make it up as we go.”

  “As a matter of fact, we did have one session on head injuries. I took lots of notes, figuring I would need them if I keep hanging around with you. How’s your latest injury?”

  “Injury?” I said, wondering if he was psychic. I rubbed my ribs where the thug kicked me, then stopped when I caught myself. “No injuries,” I lied. “Things are peaceful here.”

  “Yeah, I believe that. I also believe I’ll swim home. Let see, hit the Pacific off LA, head south, east through the Panama Canal, then swim north. Shouldn’t take more than a couple of days. Right?”

  “Okay, you clown, I’m still working the kidnap case. Wish I could say everything is coming together, but I haven’t gotten a handle on it. We’ll know a lot more after tonight.”

  “Oh? What does that mean? Are you meeting with kidnappers or something? Stay out of danger. I know you’ll do what you have to do, but your getting injured is what I like least about your job.”

  I chuckled. “Believe it or not, I don’t set out to get hurt. But sometimes … Do you have some special message for me?”

  “You mean like I miss you terribly? Yes, I do. I miss you terribly and can hardly wait to get home. You’ve gotten so damn important to me in such a short period of time. I’m not accustomed to losing control like this. Unfortunately, I’ll be home later than we planned. There’s an opportunity Sunday that I want to take advantage of. It’s a trip to a lab sponsored by the National Football League. They’re studying the impact of concussions and looking for ways to lessen them. Something like this doesn’t come along very often. I can’t afford to miss it. With our no-helmet-required law for motorcycle riders, maybe I’ll pick up a few techniques I can use in Florida. It will most assuredly help with you since you insist on sticking your head in front of hard objects.”

  “So you say,” I said, making sure he heard my sigh. It was obvious he’d never let me forget that we met while he fingered my head where I had a huge lump and a minor concussion. “But, be warned, if you’re not here on Monday, I may go after you.”

  “Monday, for sure. And it can’t get here fast enough. Good luck with the case. I know you’ll find a way. I have faith in you. Gotta run now. Bye, sweetheart.” He sent a kiss along the phone line.

  I kiss-kissed him back and flipped the phone shut, a feeling of loneliness settling over me. There wasn’t any way he could help me recover Ashley, but feeling his arms around my shoulders and his head against mine would go a long way toward making me feel better. I walked back toward where Dot and Dabba sat against the car.

  “Hey, dearie. First, you’re happy as a blue jay, now you’re sadder looking than a manhole cover. What’s up?”

  “Nothing I can control. David’s staying over in Los Angeles for the weekend. That’s all.” I hesitated, but couldn’t keep it back. “I miss him so damn much. I need him here.”

  “I know what you mean,” Dot said. “I still miss my man.”

  Dot’s words jolted me back to reality. I remembered her man, Bridge. He sacrificed his life to rescue me. I had been caught in a no-win situation, staring down the barrel of a pistol in a hostile fist. The holder left no doubt he intended to leave me as one more body in the room. Bridge came charging through the door and took the bullet meant for me. That gave me enough time to grab a gun and gain the upper hand. I lived, but Bridge died. I squeezed Dot’s hand, and she gave me a sad smile.

  I thought of David and Mom, then of Bob, Dot, and all those sticking their necks out for me and for Ashley. Life wasn’t so bad, after all.

  “I miss my Linda,” Dabba said and sniffled. “She’s such a delight.”

  I sighed and forced my mind to return to the case where the edge of an idea appeared. “Dot, think you can do your homeless bit in a neighborhood during the day?”

  “Of course I can. I do it all the time. What they gonna do, tell me to get lost? Been told worse, much worse. What you got in mind?”

  “The more I think about Ralph’s idea, the more I’m inclined to agree it’s possible. If I can get the addresses of Mankosky and Simonson, I’d like to swing through their neighborhoods. Both of them died in prison. Maybe one of the wives is seeking revenge.”

  “Let’s do it,” Dot said.

  “I’ll be right there with you,” Dabba said. “We can ask ’em if they got Linda.”

  Oh great, I thought, feeling my eyes roll. Just walk up and ask, “Hey, you been holding Linda for the past forty years?” Simple. Sure. How could I keep Dabba from compromising things even before I had something concrete to compromise?

  I debated whom to call. Sargent and Bannon were with John, working out delivery of the ransom boxes. Then I thought, why not start at the top? I dialed the police station, identified myself, and asked to speak to Chief Elston.

  “Beth, what can I do for you?” he said when we connected. “Are you ready for tonight?”

  “As ready as I can be,” I said. “But for now, I need the addresses of the widows of Herbert Lowery Mankosky and Donald Kenneth Simonson. And I need them in a hurry.”

  “Why? Have you learned something?”

  “No. Just tracing every hunch. Trying to find a key that will unlock this puzzle before we lose Ashley—and Hammonds loses four million bucks. Can you get them for me?”

  “Sure.” The line went quiet, creating an uncomfortable silence. “Why only those two? Why not all five?”

  “We’ve already checked the three survivors. Now, I’m following a gut feeling. Mankosky and Simonson didn’t come home from prison. I’m guessing they have heirs who might blame John Hammonds—blame him enough to think murder and kidnapping are ways to get even. And a million dollars is a powerful argument.”

  More silence. “Fair enough,” Elston said. “Wait while I put you on hold.”

  The phone went quiet, so I laid it in the grass beside me and turned on the speaker. I leaned my head against the car, willing Elston to find the information I sought. Neither Dot nor Dabba interrupted.

  “Beth, you still there?”

  I grabbed the phone and said, “Yes, Chief. Do you have them?”

  “On a fast search, this is what we came up with.” He read off two addresses, both in his jurisdiction, Coral Lakes. “Let me know if you need anything else—anything at all. Either we capture the kidnappers tonight, or we let them make the pickup. There is simply no other alternative. Well, none as long as Hammonds insists the police keep a low profile.”

  “I understand. Trust me, I feel the pressure. I will not consider her loss as an option. We will get her back. Thanks for the info. I’m on the run.”

  I hung up and smiled at Dot and Dabba. “Ladies, it’s time to go to work.”

  _____

  I drove down Witherspoon Street, looking at Simonson’s house. His wife’s status didn’t appear to have taken a hit with his death. Since he died of natural causes, she might have collected big time on life insurance. Either that or he left her well-set when his prison term began.

  The house was on a large lot with a well-maintained front lawn. Not as grand as John Hamm
onds’ place, but nice. It was three stories in classic Florida masonry with a three-car garage and a roof with several elevations. The windows were dark, either from tinting or closed blinds. Not surprising. All the houses along the street had accordion shutters and opaque windows. I was no realtor, but I placed the Simonson place in the several million dollars range. Of course, in South Florida, a million didn’t buy near as much as most places.

  I wasn’t surprised there were no toys on the lawn. If Ashley were in there, no one would be advertising. I looked at Dot who sat in the front passenger seat. “What do you think? Want to knock on doors?”

  “May as well,” she said. “Can’t go through the garbage during daylight. Go around the corner and drop me off.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Dabba said. “We can be a team.”

  “No,” Dot said. “This is a one-person job. If they see two of us at the door, they won’t open it.”

  “Humph. Well, you look good for Linda. Watch for pink. That’s her favorite color.”

  I breathed a soft sigh of relief. Dot had gotten me off the hook with Dabba. I turned the corner and pulled over.

  Dot said, “Give me forty-five minutes. I’ll work the whole street so it don’t look like I’m pickin’ on that one. Meet you back here.”

  “Okay. Dabba and I will make ourselves scarce. My car doesn’t live up to this neighborhood. See you in forty-five. Be careful.” My real reason for leaving the area was to prevent Dabba from getting any ideas about pounding on the Simonson’s door, and demanding her Linda.

  When I returned, Dot stood under a shade tree, sipping a cola. I pulled over, and she got in. “Any luck?” I asked.

  “Got a free soda and a couple of bucks, but that’s about it.” She frowned, then continued, “Simonson has a long hallway that leads to the front door so I couldn’t really see into the house. A maid opened the door and said madame wasn’t home. There weren’t no evidence of a child in the hall.”

  “A maid?” I said. “I hadn’t considered it, but wouldn’t that work against Simonson being the kidnapper? I mean, she’d have to come up with some reason for Ashley being there, some cover story for the maid.”

  “Don’t you reckon she got all that worked out before she stole Ashley? She might be as good a liar as she is a kidnapper.”

  “That’s what I’d say,” Dabba threw in from the back seat. “Can’t expect no kidnapper to tell the truth.”

  All I could do was agree.

  “If you want, I can check her garbage after everybody goes to bed,” Dot said.

  “We’ll see,” I said. “But first we have another address to check. It’s on Magnolia.”

  “I know that street,” Dabba said. “Ain’t a bit like this one.”

  Dabba was right. Apparently, Ms. Mankosky hadn’t survived as well as Ms. Simonson. The neighborhood had a lower middleclass look about it. Several of the houses needed a fresh coat of paint. The yards were green, but there was a lack of quality shrubs. Most of them needed trimming and shaping. The Mankosky house was one-story, with a zero-lot line. I figured no more than three bedrooms. Again, the windows were dark, and again, I couldn’t tell why. Since there were no hurricane shutters, I didn’t figure it to be tinting, though. If you couldn’t afford shutters in South Florida, why waste money on tinting? My guess was someone pulled the blinds, and that someone could be hiding something—like Ashley.

  “What do you think?” I asked Dot.

  “I can give it a try, but, neighborhoods like this, folks don’t like to open the door.”

  “Any other ideas?”

  “Swing around the corner and lemme see if there’s an alley. Maybe that’s where the garbage truck makes its run. If so, I can check a few cans.”

  I did as recommended, but there was no rear access. Apparently, garbage stayed in the garage and only appeared on trash day.

  “Okay,” Dot said. “Let me out, and I’ll bang on the front door. Give me thirty minutes.”

  “I can do this neighborhood,” Dabba said. “Let me take it.”

  “No, let’s stick with the plan,” I said. “You stay with me.” She didn’t appear to like it, but she complied.

  I stopped, and Dot climbed out.

  Thirty minutes later, Dot was back. “No one answered the door. I thought I heard someone inside, but can’t be sure. I walked around the house, but couldn’t see a thing. The blinds on all the windows is closed.”

  “Did you check any other houses?”

  She cut her eyes at me. “Of course. You think I’m some kind of rookie at this? Nobody answered on either side.”

  “Humph,” Dabba said. “Anybody could have done that. I’m hungry. Let’s find a McDonalds.”

  thirty

  An hour later, we sat in a fast food joint, Dot and I watching Dabba eat. Dot had a soda and large fries. I kept it down to a soda, but Dabba went for the biggest combination on the menu. It had only been about three hours since our Mexican feast, but Dabba went at it like it was her last meal. I smiled at her gluttony, assuming the life she lived taught her to eat when she could because there might not be more for a while. No way I could argue with her.

  My phone rang. The caller ID showed an area code I didn’t recognize at first, then it clicked—New York—Maddy.

  After my hello, she said, “Call Chief Elston. They pulled a print off the cigarette pack. He wants to talk to you about it.”

  “Couldn’t he tell you who it is?”

  “He said it’s more complicated than a simple ID. He’s still uncovering information on the man. Give him a call at his office.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thanks for hounding him.”

  “Before I let you go, I have to ask. Where did you find those friends I dropped off for you? I swear, we have homeless in New York that dress better than they do. And they sure didn’t major in communication. When I tried to talk to them, all they did was grunt.”

  I wanted to laugh, but held it. “Yeah, they’re pretty special. But you’d be amazed at the skill set they bring to the game.” No lie in that. The homeless know things normal citizens never consider.

  “Call if there’s anything else I can do,” Maddy said. “I’ll be at the house.” She hesitated. “Even pick up those people.” Her distaste dripped off each word.

  I killed the call, then punched in Chief Elston’s number. “What’s up?” I asked when he answered.

  “We ID’d the guy who assaulted you. His name is Larry Lawrence.” He chuckled. “Actually, it’s Lawrence Lawrence. Guess his parents had a sense of humor.”

  “Yeah, sick one,” I said.

  “We got a solid match from the cigarette pack. This guy’s a big, mean SOB who has spent more time in stir than on the street since he turned eighteen.”

  My ribs must have heard what he said because they slapped me with a pain to say they agreed.

  “But that’s not the interesting part.” He paused, then finished with a flourish. “He was Mankosky’s cellmate for two years. Rumor has it he was either Mankosky’s boyfriend or his bodyguard. Either way, nobody messed with Mankosky when Lawrence was around.”

  “What happened? Mankosky took a knife, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah. I wondered the same thing. Took me a couple of hours to make contact with the warden. Turns out Lawrence was in the infirmary with the flu when Mankosky bought it. Of further interest, though, is Mankosky’s killer hanged himself in his cell. The warden said they classified it as suicide since he was all alone, and they couldn’t prove anything different.”

  “You’re thinking Lawrence evened the score?”

  “It’s one possibility. Most of his crimes had to do with assault—sometimes during commission of another crime, but more often, because he felt like it. Be careful, Beth. As I said, he’s a mean SOB with no qualms about hurting people.”

  I remembered his att
ack the previous night. “I believe you. But bear in mind, I’m not a piece of pink fluff, either. Now, where is he? Where does he live?”

  “That’s a problem. He got out of prison about a year ago. For six months, he checked in with his parole officer like clockwork. Then he quit. The P.O. went to the address Lawrence had given, and it was a blind. He called the phone number and—”

  “Dummy number, right?”

  “You’re right again. The natural thing is to jump all over the P.O., but these people have so many parolees to keep up with I’m surprised they do as well as they do.”

  “I’m guessing your bottom line is the department has no idea where Lawrence is.”

  “Sorry, but that’s it.”

  I looked at Dot and thought of closed windows with drawn blinds. I thought of a widow whose living status had dropped since her husband went to prison, never to return. I thought of a lower middleclass neighborhood on Magnolia Street, where she lived. I thought of an alliance that might appear ordinary on the surface—the grieving widow and the best friend of her husband. Then I remembered the ranking of suspects Hammonds put together at my urging. Number one on that list was Herbert Lowery Mankosky. Maybe his wife was filling in for him after his death. An image of the house re-formed. I pictured Ashley in one of those rooms, waiting for her parents to come after her.

  “I know where he is,” I said. “And tonight, your people will capture him.” I paused, my mind racing, looking for a plan to end this thing without Ashley being hurt. “I’ll get back to you, Chief. I gotta do some hard thinking.”

  “Oh no you don’t. Where is he? Is he the kidnapper? Talk to me, Beth. You’re still just a PI. I’m still Chief of Police.”

  “Sorry, Chief. I have to sort this out. You’ve dropped a load on me, and I need to get everything in order. Hang tight. I promise to get back to you.”

  “Okay. Just don’t go vigilante on me. This is still a criminal matter. Don’t make me arrest you.”