The instant Elizabeth saw it, she felt her breath catch and an electric current of recognition and fear zap through her.
Delaney noticed. “What is it?”
“Um, nothing. He’s a great-looking guy. I mean, he was. I didn’t expect that.”
Angling his head slightly, Delaney watched her. In a heartbeat his demeanor had cooled significantly. “I wouldn’t know. But whoever murdered him did us all a favor.”
She tried to smile. “That’s not like you to wish someone dead.”
His expression hardened. “Elizabeth, from what I’ve learned, Gate Westrum moved in some very dubious company. Everything we discovered after his death pointed to the disappearances of not just him, but several other people as well. It’s a shame we couldn’t nail him with that information before his killer got to him. If you know anyone that has the slightest association with Gate Westrum, give them a very wide berth. I mean it.”
“Absolutely.” No conviction in her tone. Again, he seemed to notice. She could feel his gaze boring into her. She was never a good liar. Her cheeks had already flashed hot. No doubt he could see every mistruth bubbling under the surface of the thin façade.
“May I keep these?”
“Sure.”
Folding the two photographs, she rose from her seat—deliberately avoiding his gaze.
“Wait.”
She looked up.
He faltered for a second. “Elizabeth, is there something you’re not telling me? Something you’ve seen? Something—”
“No—”
“—you think I should know?”
“No, no. Nothing.” The fake smile she turned on didn’t fool him, either. She could tell by the way his manner was closing up. “When you had Gate Westrum’s body identified, you took fingerprints, right?”
“And dental records,” he said.
“And?”
“Let’s just say, he was tortured in such a way that he was never going to be identified by his prints.”
“And yet they left a bunch of photographs of him?”
“Yep.”
“What about dental records?”
“Nothing that we could find. All we know was that he came into this country five years ago.”
“From where?”
He hesitated. Perhaps wondering how much he should tell her. “Kosovo. His mother was Kosovan, his father American.”
“I see.”
“The people Gate Westrum was working for had links with Albanian organized crime in Boston. We found evidence this girl in the cemetery could have been connected to these people. And I believe Velma Stanford’s death was also somehow connected. If there’s anything more you know that could help us, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course.” She snatched up her purse, eager to get out. “Absolutely. You’d be the first to know. And thank you. I’ll bring these back—”
“No need. They’re yours.”
She hesitated in the doorway, turned back, and lifted her eyes to meet his. “Thank you.”
“For what?” He stepped forward. Watching her. Waiting.
“For trusting me.”
His voice softened with genuine regret. “I wish that cut both ways.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
DAY THREE—1:49 PM—LANEY
Jerko was waiting at the elevator with three muscled-up thugs wearing dress suits and razor-cuts, all standing with their hands behind their backs. At least she had the satisfaction of seeing Jerko’s left eye red and angry from when she’d gouged him. If only she’d done more damage.
“Welcome back,” he said, and gestured toward the open elevator. “I should have advised you that the security in this building is second to none.”
“You won’t get away with this. I have family out looking for me. They’ll call the police,” she said, and bit the inside of her cheek because it came out sounding like every clichéd cop movie she’d ever seen.
He shoved her into the elevator ahead of him. Each thug including Fatso stepped in, two either side of her, two in front, Jerko next to her, all standing with their eyes raised to the lighted-up number panel.
“I only came looking for Katarina. I just wanted to thank her for looking after my sister. That’s all I wanted.”
“So you said.”
The elevator bell dinged at the next floor and all four of the thugs shared a questioning look. When the doors opened, a girl standing outside blinked wide-eyed into the elevator car. Laney knew her immediately.
“Wendy! Wendy O’Dell. I talked to your mother,” Laney shouted as Jerko shoved her aside and pounded the close button. At once, Wendy moved back, still wide-eyed. But recognition of Laney’s words had registered in her expression. Laney had seen it.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Wendy called just as the doors met.
“Her name is Wendy O’Dell,” Laney told Jerko. “Her mother wants her home.”
Nothing. Not the bat of an eye.
“Why are you doing this? These are people. They have parents and people they love who are looking for them.”
The elevator bell went again and the doors slid open. Same hallway with the freezer door. An elegant sign pointing in the direction of The Studio, a second pointing to the roof.
Laney had no idea how she’d ever get out of this. Her steps slowed as they approached the freezer door until someone shoved her in the back and she stumbled forward.
“Will you quit shoving me?” she snarled.
Fatso stepped forward and opened the freezer door, his pudgy face set in a cruel grin. “Inside.”
Surrounded by these four orangutans in dinner suits and Jerko still in his shirtsleeves, she petulantly stepped across the threshold and into the Studio, looking all around. Wondering what kind of monster would use such services, determined not to let her mind wander to the instruments hanging on the wall or the surgical table, she dug deep, scanning every inch of her mind for a plan.
Just as she got to the bottom step and Fatso relocked the door, she turned to Jerko. “Listen, I have a deal I want to make.”
Amusement filled his expression. “A deal?” He grinned from one orangutan to the next before coming back to her. “And what is this deal?”
She hadn’t thought this far ahead. So she said the first thing that came to mind. “You let me go, let Katarina and Wendy come with me,” she said, desperate to make it sound compelling, “and I promise I won’t say anything about this place. I swear. Just let us go.”
Jerko half-folded his arms and placed a crooked finger at his lips, narrowing his eyes as though considering the proposition.
Hope leapt in her chest.
“Hm. And what do I get out of this bargain?”
“Well…um.” Her mind went blank.
“You see? I do not see many benefits for me out of this arrangement. You must understand, I am a businessman. I made my name as a negotiator. And when I negotiate, I leave the table with what I want. So, here is your problem, little bird: you have nothing I want.”
He went to turn away. So, in irritation and desperation, she blurted out, “I know something you don’t.”
He hesitated one long moment, then turned to face her again. “And what’s that?”
Right then, his phone rang. For the longest time, he stood with her fixed in his steely gaze. Finally, he huffed, stepped back, and snatched the phone from his pocket. After checking the screen, he handed it to Fatso.
Fatso turned away and answered it. A few hushed words, then he addressed Njerku.
“It’s him.”
“Tell him to call back.”
“He says it’s urgent.”
***
The Associate
This was the third time he’d tried calling. This was the first time the arrogant pig had picked up. Of course he knew who it was. His name was in his directory, wasn’t it?
“What?”
“I’m at the airport. My plane was delayed,” he explained. “Do you still have the girl?�
��
“Why do you need to be here?”
“Keep her at the Studio. I don’t know all the details, but she knows something about a police sting. And I know exactly how to make her talk.”
“I know exactly how to make her talk.”
Frustration needled him in the chest. “But you won’t know the right question to ask. I’ve discovered something she doesn’t know.”
“Then tell me.” The impatience was leeching through.
“Not on the phone. I’m two hours away. And make sure the Studio is free. You won’t be disappointed.”
A long pause, then he said, “I better not be.” And hung up.
At least that had worked. For how long was another question. If he was to rid himself of both of these problems at once, he had to ensure they were in the same place at the same time. Two birds, so to speak. Otherwise, he could never be sure. That bastard had wriggled out of more traps than anyone knew.
The plan wasn’t a great one. If he’d had more time to plan, he could have engaged the aid of a couple of contacts he’d made through his line of work. With the benefit of hindsight, he could see how much easier this could have been. Without it, he’d just have to make do with what he had.
Oh, if only he could see the look on that bastard’s face when he realized who had brought his reign of terror to an end. How much he’d give just to be there and say, “Didn’t I warn you?”
But by then, he’d be halfway back to Cleveland. So he’d just have to be satisfied with his imagination.
He hailed a cab, got in, and gave the driver the Hyde Park address.
First, he had to find where they’d hidden Katarina. And only one person would tell him that.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
DAY THREE—1:49 PM—ELIZABETH
Elizabeth returned to the office and immediately fired up her computer, relaying her visit with Delaney to Penny in snatched sentences as she did so.
Penny’s mouth dropped open. “And you didn’t tell him?”
Elizabeth threw up one hand. “And what was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, you mean that Gate Westrum? The dead one? Yeah, well guess what? I just discovered the guy managed to rise from the dead just to attend my party. Isn’t that a hoot?’ And what do you think would have happened next?”
“He would have quizzed you about why he was there. And who invited him.”
“Exactly.”
“Which we still don’t know.”
“More’s the pity,” Elizabeth muttered. “Although I’m developing a sickening suspicion I could be related to him.”
“And you’re sure it was him? Gate Westrum?”
Elizabeth gave her a deadpan look. “Sweetie, I’m surprised you weren’t glued to his side, drooling over him all night. He was the best-looking guy in the whole room.”
Penny picked up the photograph and gazed mournfully down at it. “And I didn’t even see him. You could have at least pointed him out to me.”
A cynical snort burst from Elizabeth’s lips. “Oh, yeah, I can just see you two making sweet music together. You offering him your heart. Him leaving your dead, battered body down some alley for the cops to find. My apologies for making you miss out on that,” she added sarcastically. “Why didn’t I think to ask who he was? Or what was he doing there? What’s more,” she added soberly, “it’s left me wondering who the dead guy the police found in the dumpster was.”
“He can’t have been there long. Or I would have seen him. Gate Westrum, I mean. From what I read, the guy in the dumpster didn’t have too many looks left.”
At that, Elizabeth stopped typing. “You’re right. He can’t have been there long. So, he must have come especially to see someone. And left early. Call up the local cab companies. Tell them you’ve offered to reimburse a pickup at the address but you need a receipt.”
“You think they’ll buy that?”
“Who knows? But see if you can get the address he was picked up from, and taken to after. Then get ahold of the party venue. See if they have a list of cars they parked that night.”
“Will do.” Penny made a note, then leaned over to see the screen. “What are you doing?”
“I’m searching for flights to Boston. If Gate Westrum really is still alive—which looks almost indisputable—and Laney’s gone off chasing the nurse aid who seems to be connected with him, I need to find her before she gets herself into any trouble. Did you get her cell phone number?”
Penny plucked a note from her desk and handed it over. “Janelle gave me this one. But she said no one’s answering and she didn’t get any reply to text messages.”
“Are you kidding? A millennial who doesn’t answer her phone or reply to texts? Never happens. I have a bad feeling about this. Here’s one,” she said, pausing on the details for a flight on the screen and highlighting it. “It’s showing a delay. If I catch it, I should get there at around…” A quick calculation. “Three, if I hurry.”
“And where exactly are you going?”
“The last place we heard of was that casino. What was it? The Hyde Park Luxry Rest Stop?”
“That’s the one. But why you? Why not call the police? Get them to go.”
“Because Delaney has no jurisdiction there, and you said it yourself; if the local police have been trying to shut this place down, the owners could have someone on the payroll.”
“What about the FBI? Why can’t they go?”
“Why would they? Because Laney hasn’t been seen in the last twelve hours? Because she’s looking for a girl who left her place of employment of her own free will? And besides, Charles wouldn’t exactly relish the FBI sniffing around, would he?”
“Right. And if you mention Gate Westrum, they could start making connections with Sunny Springs and Aden Falls. And that’ll lead them straight to McClaine Construction.”
“Correct.”
“And they’ll discover that the McClaines have invested in some very dubious shell companies that are also connected to Gate Westrum.”
Elizabeth blinked up at her. “I doubt I’m going to like the answer to this, but what shell companies?”
“The ones I found when you asked me to trace back all the shareholders of Aden Falls.” Penny puffed out her cheeks and blew. “Wow, forget needle in a haystack. This was locating every straw and trying to figure out where it stood in the field.”
A sense of dread settled in Elizabeth’s stomach. But she had to ask. Clenching both hands in her lap, she said, “And…?”
“McClaine Investments came up as a stakeholder or shareholder in four cases.”
“But they may not have known the connection with Gate Westrum, right?”
“If that explanation makes you feel better, then yes. They would have had no idea of his connection. None. Zilch. Nada,” Penny said, cutting the air with her hand.
“Because if that information suddenly comes to light after all this time, Charles will immediately think it came from me.”
“Which it would have,” Penny added.
Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped. “I’m stuck between a rock and a hard place.”
“Why not just tell Delaney? He’s not going to jeopardize your position, is he?”
“If he thinks the McClaines are up to their eyeballs in a bunch of dubious deals with organized crime syndicates that are linked with Gate Westrum, he may not have a choice. My foundation has already been implicated in insider trading—”
“You said it wasn’t.”
“Kyle said it wasn’t. But maybe he was just telling me what I want to hear.”
“How likely do you think that is?”
Elizabeth said nothing—just gave her PA a look that insinuated the worst.
“Right. And I guess there’s no point in poking the hornet’s nest.”
“If we only knew who invited Gate Westrum to my party. With all the deals he’d been doing, surely you’d think someone else would have recognized him?”
Penny drew back one side of her mouth and shook her h
ead. “Checked and rechecked. The guy seems to have appeared out of thin air, then vanished back into it. Oo, that reminds me, though. For a while, there was a photographer taking group photos for some kind of Cleveland high society magazine. Let me see if I can find him.”
Elizabeth’s phone buzzed—confirmation of her flight. “Great idea. In the meantime, my flight leaves in twenty-two minutes. If I get my butt moving, I’ll just make it.”
“What about Delaney?” Penny asked. “What if he asks me where you are?”
With her purse tucked under her arm, Elizabeth paused at the door. “Take a message and tell him I’ll call.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
DAY THREE—2:38 PM—LANEY
Jerko had paced the floor for all of three minutes before turning on Fatso and gesturing impatiently. “Where is he? He said he’d be here.”
As if Fatso would know. “Boss, he said two hours. It’s only been a few minutes.” He tapped the face of his wristwatch, as if to prove it.
Njerku’s expression soured. He walked over to the cage Laney was curled up in and crouched to look her in the eye.
“What is it you know, little bird? What is it you’ll tell him, but you won’t tell me?”
A tough question. If she told him nothing, he would have no reason to keep her alive. If she told him she did know something—which she’d already done—he could decide to beat it out of her. Doomed whichever way she answered.
“Do I need to loosen your tongue a little?” he’d asked with a sly glance across at the surgical table.
“Boss, he said she doesn’t know until he asks the right questions,” Fatso told him.
Infuriated, Njerku had straightened, and sneered at Fatso.
Almost at once, his phone rang again.
He snatched it from his pocket. “What now?”
After listening for a few seconds, his expression grew serious. “Are you sure it’s her?” A nod. “I’ll be right there,” he said and hung up. “Call me when our visitor arrives,” he told Fatso, then left with the three orangutans, who followed him in a line, still pretending to be deaf.
[Elizabeth McClaine 03.0] A Stolen Woman Page 22
