Another Word for Murder

by Nero Blanc

  He put his arms around her and held her close. “All I could think when Karen called with the news was how lucky I was to have you waiting for me at home.”

  Belle shut her eyes. “Don’t ever leave me,” is all she said.

  “I was going to make you promise the same thing.”

  “I promise.” When Belle opened her eyes, there were tears in them.

  The ride to Halcyon Estates was spent in near silence. Rosco said very little while Belle only murmured variations on a worried “Poor Karen …” and a quieter but no less anxious “How’s she going to help Lily weather this …?” By the time husband and wife arrived at the Tacete home, two black storm clouds rife with questions and concerns roiled through their unhappy brains.

  “What else did the caller say?” Rosco sat across from Karen as he spoke. The three adults were in the breakfast nook. Easily visible, Lily was scampering around in apparent unconcern on the deck. Bear and Kit and Gabby were with her, and both Rosco and Belle were dividing their time between watching Lily playing with the dogs and gauging the expressions on Karen’s face.

  “Only that he had Dan. And that I couldn’t go to the police or FBI. He said Dan wouldn’t ‘survive’ if I did.”

  “And there was no mention of money?” Rosco prompted.

  Karen shook her head. “He said he’d call back—that I was to ‘sit tight’ because he’d be ‘waiting and watching.’ Those were his exact words.”

  “And then he put your husband on the phone?” Rosco continued. “And all Dan said was, ‘Don’t cooperate’?”

  “That’s all he had time for. They yanked the phone away from him the moment he said that, and I heard a thud and Dan groan.”

  “They?”

  Karen trembled. “‘They.’ ‘He.’ I don’t know. I guess I just assumed it was a ‘they.’ … What I mean is: How could only one person do this? Dan’s not a small man.”

  “And you’re certain it was Dan’s voice.”

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “And did you recognize the kidnapper’s voice?”

  “No.”

  Rosco breathed in deeply. “I’d feel a heck of a lot more comfortable if you’d let me inform the Newcastle police and the FBI. They’re the folks who can best handle—”

  “No!” Karen all but cried out. “The guy was really clear on that issue. ‘No cops, no Feds’; that’s what he said. I can’t let you do that. They’ll kill Dan.”

  “If they’ve taken your husband out of state it’s a federal crime, Karen,” Belle said as gently as she could. “We all have a duty to report it.”

  “I don’t care!” she almost screamed.

  Rosco rubbed at his forehead. “Look, I know Al Lever as well as I know the members of my own family. I’d trust him with my life—or with Belle’s. He can be discreet, and he’ll find people at the federal level who are, as well. They’ve handled these situations before. They can tap your phone and never come anywhere near your house. They can trace calls in a matter of seconds; even cell phones are—”

  “No! I won’t risk it, Rosco. When the guy calls back and tells me what he wants, I’ll give it to him. He can have the entire house and everything in it as far as I’m concerned. I didn’t come from money, and neither did Dan. We don’t need big bucks to survive. I just want to do what I’m told and make this awful situation go away.”

  “But people like this can—”

  “No, Rosco! I’m not bringing the police into this!”

  Rosco studied Karen’s impassioned face. Then he stood. “With your permission, I’d like to, at least, put one of my own recording devices on your phone—”

  “But that’s the same as calling the cops, isn’t it?”

  “No. It’s not a police unit. It transmits nothing. It only records at the source. What I’m suggesting is for my use only. Nothing will be given to the police without your permission. I’ll give you the same confidentiality I would a client.” He continued to hold Karen’s gaze. “I’ll be the only person monitoring the device. Assuming there will be multiple contacts, I’ll need to review each telephone call carefully, listen to the voices, listen for background noises, try to determine a location.”

  “But won’t this guy be able to tell the phone is tapped?”

  “No. You can only detect it if you’re actually using the extension that’s being monitored—which quite clearly isn’t going to happen unless the criminal enters your home.”

  Karen shook her head in anguished ambivalence. “All I want is to give whoever it is what they want and get Dan back.”

  “I promise Karen. I won’t jeopardize the situation—or Dan’s safety in any way.” Sensing she was in no condition to make rational decisions, Rosco opted to push forward. “Now, I’m guessing the kitchen extension is a logical choice … or maybe upstairs in your bedroom?” He removed a small digital voice recorder from the wicker basket. “This will only monitor one unit, as the receiver must be off the hook before it begins recording.”

  “The bedroom’s best, I suppose, because Lily’s room is right next door…. ” Karen’s words trailed off. At length, she stood wearily and led the way upstairs while Belle remained below to watch the little girl.

  When Rosco and Karen returned, she huddled back into her chair, then drew her feet up to the chair’s seat and hugged her bent legs. She looked as though she were trying to keep warm. “I just can’t imagine what Dan’s going through right now … how frightened he must be …”

  Neither Rosco nor Belle said anything. They simply let Karen speak.

  “Dan saved my life, you know…. Well, not literally, but, well, almost…. ” The words trailed off. “What am I going to do? What am I supposed to do?” She looked beseechingly at Belle, who reached out her hand in comfort.

  But Rosco knew he had important questions that wouldn’t wait any longer. He walked to the door leading to the deck, then turned and faced Karen, crossing his arms in a compassionate but urgent manner. “Has Dan exhibited any unusual behavior in the last few months?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Except for growing that mustache, which I like and Lily doesn’t.” She giggled suddenly. “I think it’s sexy, but—”

  “No, I mean, has he changed his schedule in some way? Did he have time periods that were unaccounted for, or had he seemed edgy for no reason?”

  Again, she shook her head, but didn’t otherwise reply.

  Rosco continued to gaze down at her. He didn’t speak for several moments. “If we’re going to play it your way, Karen, we’ll have nothing but a waiting game on our hands. I’d be less than honest if I said you were making the right decision. And if the kidnapper is watching this house, he won’t make a move as long as Belle’s car is parked out front—picnic basket and dogs or not. Which means we’re going to have to leave.”

  “I know,” Karen said softly. “I thought of that. I’ll be all right.”

  “These types of crimes take a lot of planning, and the people who commit them follow their own set of rules…. What I’m trying to say is that no matter what you’ll be told in the next hours or days, you have no guarantees Dan will be returned unharmed. I’m sorry, but those are the realities. So, before we leave, let me ask you again: Has Dan mentioned anything odd? New people in his life? Or was he quarreling with anyone? Does anyone hold a grudge against him?”

  Karen didn’t reply for a long moment. When she did, her voice dragged uncertainly. “No … nothing that I can think of.”

  “Everything fine at work?”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay…. Well, no … it’s not that great. Not always.”

  “‘Not that great’? Can you be more specific?”

  Karen forced a laugh. “Jack would never kidnap his partner, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

  Rosco continued to regard her, but it seemed that no further information was forthcoming. “The reason I ask is this: Often a kidnapping is an inside job. The perpetrators know the victim and feel certain they can j
udge how the mark—which is you—is going to respond. Do you have any domestic employees?”

  “A cleaning woman and a gardener. But they’re both very nice people. They wouldn’t dream of—”

  “I’m sure they’re very nice,” Rosco interrupted. “But can you give me their phone numbers? It wouldn’t hurt to have a talk with them. Maybe they’ve noticed something unusual.”

  Karen wiped the tears from her cheeks once more. Her voice remained distracted and unfocused. “Dan put the numbers on the auto-dial. I don’t remember them. I’ll look around and see if I can find them in his address book.”

  Rosco nodded to Belle and stood. “Okay. We’re going to leave now, but you have my cell phone number. You can reach me at any moment—day or night. Call me as soon as you locate your help’s contact numbers…. and if you think of anything else that might be important. And until this is resolved, use only your bedroom telephone; or be sure it’s off the hook if you’re on one of the extensions. That’s the only way the device will pick anything up. I want every call that comes in or out of your house to be recorded. That’s imperative.”

  There was no response from Karen, so Rosco added, “Karen? Do you understand what I’m asking you?”

  “Yes,” she said weakly as Lily came charging back inside followed by the three dogs.

  “When’s Daddy coming home? When’s Daddy coming home?”

  CHAPTER 12

  When Bonnie O’Connell returned to her apartment at six that evening she could already feel the soreness in her muscles. She’d spent nearly three hours at the gym, doubling her normal exercise routine in the hopes that the strenuous workout would take her mind off the problems that seemed to be spinning quickly out of control. But in the end she was just plain worn out, and her anxiety hadn’t been relieved in the slightest.

  She tossed her gym bag onto her couch and flopped down on the cushion next to it, putting her feet up on the armrest. Then she hugged one of the pillows, burying her face in its soft and comforting depths. She could feel tears welling in her eyes. As she reached for a tissue from the box on the coffee table, her telephone rang out. The noise startled her, causing her to sit bolt upright and drop the pillow; her heart was beating faster than it had during her entire workout session. Then she forced herself to stand and walk into the kitchen to answer it, although she squinted her eyes in fear as she did so. “Yes? Hello?”

  “Hey, Bonnie, what’s up? It’s Carlos.” Carlos Quintero was the lead singer for The Ravens. He was Bonnie’s age, a little younger than the rest of the band, and a real nice guy—at least as far as Bonnie was concerned. She’d dated him when they were in high school together; he was one of the reasons The Ravens had taken on her brother Frank as a drummer.

  “Oh, hi …” Bonnie made no effort to disguise the fact that she was both emotionally and physically drained.

  “You okay? You sound like you’re stoned.”

  “I’m not. It’s just been one of those weeks.”

  “Tell me about it,” was Carlos’s dramatic reply. He was clearly more concerned with his own problems than Bonnie’s. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I’ve been trying to get a hold of Frank all day. He’s not answering his phone, or it ain’t paid up; I don’t know which. I’ve been trying since nine o’clock this morning. Know where he is?”

  “I thought you guys fired him.”

  “Well … yeah … we sorta did…. Sorry, Bonnie, but you know he’s got a problem with the Oxy-C, as well as some other junk he’s been getting into lately. I know I’m not tellin’ you anything you don’t already know, but I mean, we couldn’t have him showin’ up to rehearsals and floatin’ higher than the trees. We weren’t gettin’ anything done. I mean, like, he couldn’t even hold a beat.”

  Bonnie sighed into the phone. “So what do you need him for now?”

  “Turns out this dude we snagged last week couldn’t keep up with us. Needed more breaks than my granny. We had to tell him to take a hike, too…. But we’ve got a gig at Oasis tonight, so now we’re up a creek without a drummer. Frank’s the only guy around who knows our stuff. I was hoping he might be at your place.”

  “I haven’t seen Frank in weeks,” Bonnie lied, although she wasn’t certain why.

  “Ahh, man, that’s a bummer…. I don’t suppose you feel like doin’ me a favor and drivin’ over to his place and lookin’ for him?”

  Bonnie sat heavily on a kitchen stool; her shoulders sagged and her head dropped in worry. “Don’t ask me to do that, Carlos. You guys have to work this out on your own.”

  “Ah, come on, Bonnie. It’ll take you ten minutes. We’re all down at Oasis setting up. We can’t go. They’ve got a drum set here, so Frank doesn’t even have to load his stuff up or nothing. Just get him here, with his sticks, in an hour so’s we can go over a few things. Come on, Bonnie, for me? For old time’s sake? I’ll love ya forever, ya do this for me.”

  Despite her own worries, she found herself smiling wanly. Carlos Quintero could charm anybody. She groaned and said, “I could just kill you, you know that?”

  “Thanks, babe, I owe you one…. Look, if Frank’s high, pump some java into him, will you? And call me at Oasis if you can’t find him. We’ll have to move onto plan B.”

  Although Frank’s apartment was only a few minutes by car from Bonnie’s, the neighborhoods were like night and day. Unlike her own self-contained complex, the buildings in this section of Newcastle had been constructed as large and comfortable middle-class homes during the early 1900s. In the intervening years the owners had come to view their spacious habitats as albatrosses: dormer windows that never stopped leaking, wide verandas replete with rotting floorboards, vast expanses of shingles that seemed to require continuous repair and paint—to say nothing of the ever-escalating cost of heating such huge living spaces. The single-family tenants decamped to the suburbs, and the houses were split into rental apartments whose landlords either took minimal care of the units or abandoned them altogether. Trash littered the barren front lawns and sidewalks, and the street lighting ranged from poor to nonexistent. Bonnie was thankful that the sun hadn’t yet set.

  She parked in front of her brother’s building behind a rusted-out Camaro and stepped from her car. Frank’s truck was nowhere in sight, and she found herself thinking there was little point in climbing the porch steps and ringing the bell. But when three large, tough-looking teenage boys rounded the corner and sauntered toward her, she marched up the stairs and stood by the front door. The boys stopped at the foot of the steps, where one whistled at her while the other two made off-color comments.

  Bonnie pressed Frank’s buzzer. She realized it was a futile effort, but she now felt trapped by the boys as they stood between her and her car. Again, she pushed the buzzer, but as she did so she spotted her brother’s pickup truck rolling down the street. She waved to him, and he tapped his horn twice. The exchange was enough to get the teenagers to move off. Bonnie walked down to the curb and waited as Frank parked his truck.

  “What’s up, babe?” he said as he stepped from the cab. “You look like you just lost a wrestling match.” He was surprisingly lucid and sober.

  “Carlos called me. The new drummer didn’t work out. They want you to play their set at Oasis tonight.”

  “Cool.” Frank began to walk toward the house.

  “You don’t need your drums, just your sticks.”

  He turned to face her. “Yeah, but I gotta change my clothes.” He studied his sister for a long moment. “You all right? You’re shaking.”

  “Where have you been? Carlos said he couldn’t reach you; your answering machine isn’t hooked up. He’s been trying to get in touch with you all day. And so have I.”

  “So? I’ve been out. Maybe I was lookin’ for a job?”

  “Oh, please …”

  “Look, where I’ve been ain’t nobody’s business but my own, okay? I had things to do, people to see.”

  Bonnie’s response was to fold her arms across her c
hest and turn away from him.

  “What? What’s that mean? I can’t have a private life around here without my kid sister stickin’ her nose into it?”

  She gazed at the sidewalk, then raised her head and stared hard at her brother, “Dan Tacete has disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” He laughed. “You mean like gone up in smoke?”

  “No one’s seen him since he left the office at noon on Thursday. Yesterday, a PI named Rosco something came to the office to talk to Jack.” She paused, although she continued to eye her brother, who avoided her glance, instead looking up the street toward the corner. The lighted Pepsi sign from a convenience store was just blinking on.

  “We could be in big trouble here, Frank. We could go to jail—”

  “Hey. Hey. Hold it right there. No one’s going to jail.” Frank lit a cigarette and took a minute to ponder the situation. “Are the cops lookin’ for him—or just the private dick?”

  “There’s a missing persons report out, that’s all I know. Didn’t you see it on the news?”

  “My TV’s busted. Besides, I never watch the news,” Frank said in answer. Then he inhaled deeply from his cigarette. “So, that’s it, huh? Just a missing person?”

  Bonnie nodded, but didn’t speak.

  Frank flipped what was left of his cigarette out into the street. “I’m going down to Oasis and make like nothing’s goin’ on. I suggest you do the same thing. Just play it cool.”

  Bonnie repeated the words in a barely audible voice. “Play it cool…. ”

  “No one’s goin’ to jail, sis, okay? No way, José. You and me, we’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna be okay.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water …,” Lily recited. Her voice was a sing-song chant, and her blonde head bobbed from side to side in rhythmic unison as she continued the nursery rhyme. “… Jack fell down and broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after …” She drew a breath, hummed tonelessly, then began her invented melody all over again. This time she added a skipping motion as she circled the foyer, then continued in a rambling loop into the kitchen where Karen was preparing their lunch.