Nausea twisted and rolled in her stomach. She remembered being dragged out to the car, regaining a swirling sense of consciousness every now and then, only to have a stinking rag clapped over her mouth and nose, dropping her straight back into that same oblivion. Each time she’d come to, she’d noted a series of images: the guy—the thug that grabbed her at the house, the car—Celtics plates, ditto; being shuffled into the back seat, the drive, watching trees slide by, a green freeway sign: Boston South. Slumped in the back seat between two men, she’d kept slipping in and out of consciousness, every now and then taking in the passing scenery. Nothing she could recognize.
Every conscious moment wondering how she would ever escape.
Next thing, she’d awoken in this stinking cage.
Automatically, she squeezed a hand to her back pocket for her phone—her only hope.
Gone. Of course it was.
Steadying her back against the side of the cage, she raised one foot as far as she could, used all her strength to strike it against the cage door. It sent a metallic vibration throughout the frame, but the door held fast. This time, she twisted around, shifting position slightly. Again, she struck the door. Flats of both feet this time, every bit of her fury charged into the strike. Still the door held.
From somewhere behind her came the distant sound of a door closing. Someone was up there. Coming this way? In desperation, she pounded the cage door again and again. Each time the cage rocked and clanked on the glossy white floor.
The upstairs door opened and a shaft of yellow light sliced into the open space. A click, and blinding white light flickered on from somewhere overhead.
A sound like a freezer door. Then footsteps. Coming down the stairs.
Laney gripped both sides of the cage, drew her legs up as far as she could, and using all her weight landed a powerful strike at the cage door, slamming it so hard the cage lifted at one end.
But still it held.
The click of shoes on the white tiled floor. She didn’t even turn around to see.
She let out a scream of frustration, a guttural cry of determination, and smashed at the cage door again. In her peripheral vision, she could see him standing there.
“You will not break that,” he told her calmly. Foreign accent. Maybe Russian. Or Bulgarian or Albanian. Something like that. Laney could never pick them out.
“Is galvanized iron. Very strong.” He leaned over, put his fat hand down just above her head, fingers through the grille, rattling it as if to prove its strength. “See? No break.”
Furious, she grabbed one fat finger, clinging to it with both hands, and tried to bend it back. He yelped, tugged at it but she clung on, drew her mouth up to it, and sunk her teeth in, tasting the trickle of blood in her mouth.
“Bitch!” He lifted one knee onto the top of the cage, let go a string of obscenities, now using his other hand to extricate his finger. Finally, he whipped his free hand behind his back, came back with a gun, pressed the end of the barrel hard to her cheek.
“Let go, or I blow your brains all over floor.” The instant she released his finger, he snapped it back, holding it cradled with the gun hand while he inspected it.
In a flash of rage, he aimed the gun straight at her head. “You will pay for that. You wait. I make sure you pay.” The tension of the moment broke when the upstairs door opened again and a second guy entered from the top of the stairs. He sauntered across with an elongated handgun pointed at the floor. A silencer on the barrel, from what Laney could see. An authoritative jerk of the head. “Bring her.”
When the second guy retreated back through the doorway, the fat guy grunted, like he didn’t like taking orders. All the same, he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the padlock on the cage door. He grabbed her by both ankles, hauling her out so the ridge below the opening scraped painfully across her butt and then her back as she came out.
Still sickened by the stink of that sharp-smelling liquid they’d used to knock her out, she leaned on one hand, trying to get to her feet. The guy hooked her firmly under one arm and hoisted her up. She winced at the pain in her back and the fug still clouding her brain. When she opened her eyes, he had the gun an inch from her face.
“One move, you die.”
“Who are you? What do you want?”
Ignoring her, he roughly jerked her around, half carrying, half dragging her to the bottom of the stairway. Her feet felt like lead. She stumbled, almost falling, but he yanked her to her feet and shoved her at the stairway.
She stumbled, grabbed the metal rail, leaned heavily on it. She’d never felt so awful. He shoved her in the back.
“Move.”
She took one step up. “I’m moving. Where are you taking me?”
“Shut up and go. You will find out.”
She lifted her head, straightened as well as she could, and turned side on to him. “Listen—” she began in a reasonable tone.
But he whipped his hand around, backhanding her across the face so fast it sent her sprawling. Lying face down on the stairway, she tried to get up. But he grabbed her by the back of the shirt, hoisting her until she regained her footing. He shoved her.
“I’m moving, dammit.” Now she could taste her own blood in her mouth. Her face throbbed from the blow and her forehead smarted from where it had hit the edge of the step.
When the door above her opened again, a wedge of yellow light hit her eyes, made her blink.
The second guy in the doorway. “What are you doing? I said bring her.”
The one holding her responded angrily. “I am bringing her.” Then muttered something in his own language.
There was only one way she’d get out of this now. And that was to go along with whatever they had planned, then look for an escape wherever she could. She gripped the rail and clambered up towards the second guy, who waited on the top step, glaring down at his compatriot in disgust until she passed in front of him. Then he pointed down at the first guy.
“You get your attitude straightened out. Boss coming. Wants to question her.”
Fatso replied sourly as he stomped up behind her. “When do I get money?”
The response was an angry outburst from the second guy. Laney didn’t have to know the language to know what he’d said. It was a string of insults, if the response was anything to go by. Second guy came down the stairs, grabbed her arm, yanked her up the last step and out the door. They took her one on each side, and dragged her to a waiting car. Same car as the one she’d seen out at the house with the Celtics plates. She was sure of it.
While the first guy held her arms behind her back, muttering bitterly, the second guy opened the back door and swiped up a roll of clear tape from the back seat. He peeled off a length, bit through the edge, and tore it from the roll. Then went to stick it across Laney’s mouth. She twisted this way and that, fighting the grasp Fatso had on her.
Second guy barked something. Fatso huffed, gripped both her hands firmly in one of his, fingers digging painfully into her flesh, and used his injured hand to grab a handful of her hair. While she was held motionless, the second guy slapped the tape over her mouth, sealing it down each side with his thumbs. Then he turned her around and wound a length around her hands before drawing her back, then pushing her head-first into the rear seat of the car. She twisted around to a sitting position, scowling out at them as they blabbered in their own language.
Who was this boss they were talking about? What could he want with her? And how had they found her?
Didn’t matter. Right now she had to get out. Her gut told her if she didn’t, she wouldn’t see the end of the day. She was searching the car for anything she could use as a weapon when the second guy’s phone rang.
She watched them through the open car door as he answered, turned to face away from the car a moment, nodding as he listened. After a few brief words, he hung up and stuck it in his pocket and turned back, speaking to Fatso.
“Njerku is coming here,” he said.
> Fatso huffed.
“Put her back.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
DAY THREE—9:24 AM—ELIZABETH
“Well, that’s very nice,” Penny told Elizabeth, indignation souring her tone. “Jennifer Reels doesn’t want to get knocked off, but she doesn’t care if we are.”
“She’s scared. Something about Gate Westrum scared her.”
“Why? The guy’s dead. What’s he gonna do? Come back and haunt her?”
“I don’t know. Reporters have died defending the identity of their sources. The fact that she’s given me Velma’s name tells me she’s even more frightened than she lets on.”
Penny snorted. “Frankly, I can’t see her dying for anyone else. More likely, she’d use them as a human shield.”
Elizabeth was listening with only half an ear. In her mind, she was still trying to piece together what seemed an impossible puzzle. She tore the top sheet from her blotter, pinned it over the budgetary plans on her whiteboard, and grabbed a Sharpie.
“So, this is the timeline of events, starting from the beginning.” She drew a single line from left to right, bisected it with several vertical strokes, then started with the first one. “Gate Westrum turns up here four years ago. He’s a young property developer who came to Cleveland to secure construction deals.”
She turned a blank look on Penny, then dropped her shoulders. “Dear Lord, I am so stupid. Gate Westrum was the one who secured all the property deals for Charles. He’s the one who brokered all the property deals between Aden Falls and Charles McClaine Construction. How dumb could I be?”
“Given you were lobbying against the old-fashioned state-run facilities for the disabled, I’m surprised you missed that,” Penny mused.
A defensive knot formed in Elizabeth’s chest. “Four years ago, I was still trying to get this trust fund off the ground. I was lobbying politicians, government departments, trying to—”
“I know, I know,” Penny said, patting the air.
“—set up charity events, sucking up to whoever I could to bring governmental departments on board,” Elizabeth continued, using the end of the Sharpie to count the items on her fingers until she did a double-take at Penny, then stopped. “Yes, I know you know. I’m sorry.”
“This is not your fault. You were doing your job. The one Charles McClaine asked you to.”
Folding her arms across her chest, Elizabeth dropped her head and sighed. “So, why do I feel responsible?”
“I’m sorry if it sounded like an accusation. It wasn’t.”
“I know you weren’t accusing me.”
“I’m just saying they must have played their cards pretty close to the chest for you to have not even noticed.”
“At the time, Charles had me running in circles, demanding I get this done, and that done. I remember crashing a meeting he was in. I was mortified. He was so furious, I backed out of his office like a scolded kid.”
“But if Charles has already fessed up that his company did the construction for Aden Falls, why would he lie about dealing with Gate Westrum?”
“Keep the company name clean?” Elizabeth suggested. While it was possible, it didn’t gel.
Penny made a face. “I guess if it’s a multi-million-dollar deal, he’s gonna protect himself, right?”
Still not convinced, Elizabeth said, “I guess so. Or maybe he dealt with someone else.”
“That’s also possible.”
Feeling they’d come to a dead end, Elizabeth said, “So, let’s move on. Next thing that happens is Laney Donohue comes out of prison and takes her sister from Sunny Springs.”
“Who’s been beaten.” Noting the possible confusion, Penny added. “Kimmy, that is—not Laney.”
“Right.” Elizabeth drew an arrow pointing upwards where she wrote Kimmy and Laney.
“As a result, Laney goes looking for the nurse aid who left that day.” Another line pointing to the words Nurse Aid.
Penny nodded. “Correct. Though who knows why?”
“What do you mean, ‘who knows why’?”
“Well, you don’t just take off hunting for someone without good reason. Maybe this girl had something of hers. Maybe she was the one who left the bruises on Kimmy.”
Blinking at the revelation, Elizabeth said, “You’re right. After all, that’s where this began. And that means Laney knows something we don’t. I need you to call Janelle. Ask her if she’s heard from Laney since she dropped Kimmy there, and get Lanie’s cell number. I need to ask her a few questions.”
Penny made a note. “Will do.”
Again, Elizabeth turned to the timeline. “So, what happens next is that Laney breaks into Sunny Springs. Velma Stanford catches her. In light of what’s happened, I doubt it was David Whitcliff who was worried about those files like we originally thought. It was Velma. She thought Laney had inadvertently picked up something that’ll incriminate whoever she’s been hiding a secret for.”
“A big enough secret that the concerned party would cough up for her husband’s medical care.”
“Which…” Elizabeth turned to Penny with pointedly lifted brows. “…may not be that big of a deal if you owned, or even just ran, the place he was put into.”
Penny clutched a hand to her heart. “Oh, not Ryan Halverston. Please tell me it’s not Ryan Halverston.”
“Eye on the ball, Penny, eye on the ball,” Elizabeth said, and turned to look over the notes. “What the hell are they hiding?”
Penny threw up both hands and dropped them. “Exactly. We already know Gate Westrum made some deals with Charles and wound up dead. Maybe he was stiffing the property seller. Maybe he was…I don’t know, fixing the price so he got a bigger commission.”
Elizabeth snorted into the air. “Yeah. Because that would never happen.” Narrowing her eyes back at the timeline, she said, “No, it’s something else. Something we’re missing. Okay, Gate Westrum cuts a deal with Charles, ends up dead; nurse aid leaves Sunny Springs, Laney breaks in and steals something, someone thinks she’s got something important and kills Velma.”
“Yeah, that makes no sense,” Penny said flatly. “Unless they’re worried about some kind of illegal employment practices coming to light. And frankly, killing Velma is a little drastic, don’t you think?”
“Maybe we’re looking at this from the wrong angle. Maybe we should start with the girl Laney is looking for. What was her name?”
“O’Dell, Wendy O’Dell.”
“Get David Whitcliff on the phone. Tell him I’m coming to see him again. I want to know why she left. I want to know what went on that day. And while we’re at it, I want to know why he neglected to tell me he was at my party.”
While Penny made the call, Elizabeth lifted her own phone and dialed.
It rang twice and she felt the coquettish smile tweak at her lips as he picked up.
“Lance, how are you?”
“I’m doing okay. But you don’t often call to see how I am.”
She smiled down at her desk, feeling a little foolish. “Caught,” she admitted. “I’m actually calling to see how you’ve gotten on with the girl in the cemetery.”
“Still looking.”
“Okaaay. Am I allowed to ask if you’re working on the Velma Stanford murder?”
“If you mean the alleged murder of Velma Stanford, then yes.” She could hear the smile in his voice, indicating he was fully aware she was digging for information.
“What I’m wondering is how you IDed Velma so quickly. How could you be sure it was her?”
“She was in her car, with her driver’s license, credit cards, and her work files. She had just left the office, and one of the officers knew her. There’s no point in running a DNA match when the evidence is so compelling.”
“Uh-huh. Is there anything else you might be able to tell me?”
That smile again. “I can tell you that the investigation is ongoing.”
“Well, I guess that’s telling me. So, what do you know about the d
isappearance of a girl named Wendy O’Dell?”
A pause while he made the connection. “The girl in the cemetery is not Wendy O’Dell, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She was taken aback, but tried not to convey it. “I’m not suggesting it is. I’m asking what you know about her.”
A long breath while he racked his memory. “Mother called us last year, said her daughter had disappeared and hadn’t been seen since.”
Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up. “And that was it? You didn’t try to find her?”
“We called her cell phone. She told us she was fine, that she’d secured a good job in Boston, and that she’d had some kind of disagreement with her mother.”
“And you’re sure it was her?”
“Positive ID made. Her mother identified her voice on the recording. Plus, she gave us her social security number, and sent a photograph.”
“And again, you didn’t follow up because the evidence was compelling.”
He tipped his head. “Out of our jurisdiction. We filed the case with the FBI, left it with them. We don’t have time to chase every single case where we’ve exhausted all efforts and come to a satisfactory conclusion. That’s not to say everybody’s happy. But that’s police work.”
“Okay, thanks. Can I get a copy of that photograph of Wendy O’Dell?”
A suspicious pause. “I’m not sure. Why?”
“I don’t know. I just want to know how she could be working at Sunny Springs only a half hour away, and her mother had no idea.”
“Sometimes, that’s what happens,” he said. “People lose touch. I’ll send you the photograph used when she went missing. Hold on.”
“I’m holding.” After a moment, her phone beeped. She opened it to find a headshot of a sweet-looking blue-eyed, strawberry-blonde girl gazing out at her. Freckles dotting her nose and cheeks. Not classically beautiful, but pretty.
“Got it. Thank you.”
“That was taken a couple of years ago.” In the background, she heard someone speak to him. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth, I have to go.”
[Elizabeth McClaine 03.0] A Stolen Woman Page 19
