“Lose the attitude,” I told him calmly, “or you’re going to make me angry.”
I didn’t let go of his hand, just waited.
“Look,” he forced out between gritted teeth. “I just wanted him to let me into my unit. I got stuff in there. It’s mine.”
“Yeah?” I released his hand. He pulled it to his chest and cradled it there protectively. “Like the cash you embezzled?”
His eyes darted to Chesterfield and back telling me I’d guessed correctly. There was cash somewhere in the apartment. Chesterfield frowned when I asked what he wanted to do with his ex-manager. Most likely, he wanted to press charges but didn’t want the negative publicity just as his book on real estate investment savvy was hitting the nonfiction market.
“Maybe we should check the apartment,” Ox suggested. “Might find something interesting in there.”
“I already went through it,” Chesterfield said. “Nothing there except furniture and clothes. A television. A billiard table. I’ve called the Salvation Army to pick it all up.”
“Let’s take a look anyway,” I said, trusting Ox’s instincts. I cuffed Hertz, just to keep him from being annoying, and drove the three of us to the Bellington Complex. Chesterfield followed in his Lexus.
Looking very much like the keen Indian he was with the commanding presence of the colonel he used to be, Ox stood in the middle of the place and took a cursory look around. He nodded to himself and began a search by checking the cabinets beneath a built-in entertainment center. He tapped on the rear panels, checking for hollow spots in the wall. He removed several videos from their cases and examined them. Then he hit the eject button on the VCR. A tape slid out, and after examining it, Ox pulled a stack of bills from inside the hollow plastic shell. He smiled, slowly and without humor. If I were Hertz, I’d have started praying to whichever god I worshipped.
“Ah, screw you all,” Hertz said with venom. Swiftly, Chesterfield moved in and punched him in the gut. It was a well-placed, solid punch that knocked the breath out of Hertz. He doubled over awkwardly, hands still cuffed behind him.
Ox’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “Nice punch.”
“Thank you,” Chesterfield said, shaking out his hand.
I thumbed through the pile of bills. They were hundreds and there were a lot of them. I passed the stack to Chesterfield. “That’s a piece of what he owes you, anyway.”
After a beat, Chesterfield folded the cash in half and pocketed it.
Ox methodically resumed his exploration of the apartment and ended up in the kitchen. He stood in the center of it for a few minutes, dark-skinned arms folded across his broad chest, eyes closed. If Chesterfield thought it was odd behavior, he didn’t say so. The only noise came from Hertz. He still sucked air in an attempt to regain his breath.
Ox moved to the refrigerator and rummaged through its contents. He did the same with the freezer. Then he squatted and removed a black panel at the bottom of the unit. He slid out a wide tray that was designed to catch dripping condensation and both Chesterfield and I moved forward to look at the contents it held. Two clear plastic Tupperware containers were packed with miniature baggies of white powder, and several baggies of white sparkly rocks the size of small marbles.
“Cocaine, I’d think,” Ox said. “Maybe some speed cut in.”
Hertz slumped to the kitchen floor with realized defeat.
“What do you know about the children?” I demanded, using my foot to lift Hertz’s head and make him look at me.
Confusion wrinkled his forehead. “What?”
“The Chesterfield kids. A boy and a girl,” I said, using the toe of my boot to keep pressure on the nerve just beneath the soft spot in the underside of his chin. I’d included both of Chesterfield’s kids, just in case Hertz had plans for the girl, too.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A fine layer of sweat popped out from his pale skin, but he appeared to be genuinely baffled. “I seen on the news about that Jared kid missing. But I don’t know nothing about it, I swear.”
I pressed harder against the spot between his chin and Adam’s apple, putting my weight into it, and Hertz yelped in pain.
“I’m supposed to be retired and on my boat, but instead I’m here looking at your scrawny ass,” I said. “On top of that, I’ve had a really long morning, and you’re delaying my lunch.”
His eyes were squeezed shut and he mumbled something incoherent. When he heard the slide action from my Glock as a round slid into the chamber, a wet spot appeared on the front of his jeans and urine slowly spread to make a puddle on the kitchen floor. Luckily for Chesterfield, his ex-manager’s kitchen floor was ceramic tile and would be easy to clean.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hertz repeated, crying.
I looked at Ox. Ox said with surety, “He doesn’t.”
They were two pieces of street scum, but the Hertz couple wasn’t involved with the kidnapping. I called Dirk and he arrived fifteen minutes later with some boys from narcotics in tow. Satisfied that Gary Hertz was going to jail on drug-trafficking charges, Chesterfield kept the matter of the embezzlement to himself. A judge was called to issue a warrant for the arrest of Melinda Hertz.
Chesterfield thanked us, shook Ox’s hand with unconcealed awe, and offered him a wad of cash as payment for his help. Ox declined. Anyone else would have taken the money and justified it as a finder’s fee. Heck, I’d have taken it. After pumping his hand a second time, Chesterfield headed up to his penthouse.
Ox and I returned to the Block and ate an early dinner of fried catfish with homemade slaw that was sweetened with chunks of fresh pineapple, and chased the meal down with a couple of Yuengling lagers.
“You’ve got to find the kid soon, Jersey.” He said exactly what I was already thinking. “July first is only eleven days away. SIPA transfer day.”
I wasn’t yet sure how it all tied in together, but I agreed with him. I had to figure out where Jared was being held and why. Were the abductors motivated by greed, revenge, or something else altogether? And would I get to Chesterfield’s son in time?
Studying Ox’s profile, soaking up his nearness, breathing in his masculine scent … something like gratitude—but more—washed through me.
Ox turned to look into my eyes. “What’s on your mind, Barnes?”
“I’m glad we’re working together one more time. I haven’t changed my mind about retiring, but it makes me sad to think that we won’t have any more adventures together.”
Thumb at my temple, his hand caressed my face in a move that ended before I had a chance to fully enjoy it. “I have a feeling that there will be many more adventures in your life,” he said.
I thought about that, unsure exactly what he meant. “Well anyway, I know I’ve told you several times before, but I really missed you all those years since basic training. I’m glad you’re back in my life.”
After a beat he said softly, “I’m glad, too.”
“We’re very good together,” I thought aloud.
He turned my hand over, traced his fingers lightly against my palm. “Yes.”
We drank another beer and watched a bevy of boats glide effortlessly up the Cape Fear River.
Ten
A week had passed since Jared’s disappearance and, like a spent hurricane-force storm, the initial media buzz had weakened to lingering gale-force gusts of wind.
The “coordinated effort” of authorities hadn’t produced any solid leads and Lolly told me that having an agent in her home twenty-four hours a day was beginning to get old. When I suggested that she play the good wife and keep the uniforms supplied with sandwiches and soft drinks, she rolled her enormous eyes with what may have been defeat or acceptance. It struck me that she seemed more concerned about the disruption in her life than her missing stepson, but I chalked it up to selfishness. She hadn’t been ready to become a stepmother when she married Chesterfield and the children were just part of the package. For that matter, bot
h his children were adults so he obviously hadn’t chosen Lolly for her maternal instincts.
A grand-opening celebration for Chesterfield Financial’s newest branch office had been scheduled for months and was going to happen as planned, tonight. Under the circumstances, Chesterfield wanted to cancel or postpone the bash, but the Feds counseled him not to. The evening might produce a lead, they said, and he should publicly continue his normal routine to show he wasn’t intimidated. One criminal profiler, a psychologist by trade, convinced some of the higher-ups that the kidnappers might make an appearance. I wasn’t so sure, but Ox and I decided to go anyway, with our dates in tow. Bill said he wouldn’t have missed the opportunity to schmooze with celebs for anything, and Ox’s date, Mindy, was simply along to stargaze. It was common for Ox to produce a date for special events, but strangely, a woman was rarely seen on his arm more than once. He immensely enjoyed female company, he’d told me once, but had zero desire for a relationship. A perfect complement to Ox, Mindy was longish and beautiful and thrilled to be out with him. But like the rest of his dates, I imagined that I probably wouldn’t see her again. Still, a prick of jealousy flash-fired through my head when I saw them laughing together. I shook it off, thinking that retirement was messing with my head.
The party would be power-packed with politicians and Fortune 500 executives, and giant decorated tents were strategically positioned around gourmet food and open bars to accommodate them. To promote an image of hip sophistication, Chesterfield’s PR people ensured that some prominent actors and musicians were in attendance to offset the predictably dull suits. The asphalt parking lot and surrounding areas had been transformed into a glitzy show-place and live entertainment was already gearing up in advance of people’s arrival. There were even horse-drawn carriages waiting on standby for those who desired a historic downtown tour.
When I quizzed him about the party, Chesterfield explained that the expense of his trademark grand openings was well worth the media exposure and additional business from an upper class of investors. When people had millions to invest, they used Chesterfield Financial.
It was not quite seven o’clock, but the energy level was already palpable. Although only a few guests had arrived, hired security roamed the perimeter and federal and state agents were methodically spread out like sprinkler heads on a golf course, covering the entire area and ready to spring into action. Surrounding everyone, like ants searching for a grain of sugar, media swarmed purposefully through the tents and the office building, armed with cameras and digital recorders. Chesterfield had welcomed them to the party, despite the fact that half were probably there to rehash the kidnapping on the eleven o’clock news. The other half came with hopes of snatching celebrity photographs and interviews. I figured the latter half was way too early since the fashionably late wouldn’t dare be seen before eight or nine o’clock.
In honor of the occasion, I did a full makeup application and wore one of my favorite Argentovivo satin bodices beneath a royal-blue cocktail dress and finished the look with a pair of spiky Italian heels. The knee-length dress had a sunburst of tiny rhinestones, which began at my waist and radiated upward to a scooped neckline. Upon seeing me, Bill said he had a desire to swing from a jungle vine and let out a Tarzan yell. The only bad part about my outfit was the Sig Sauer strapped to the inside of my left thigh. Although the calfskin holster was silky smooth, its buckle rubbed my other leg with each step and was irritating. I’d have preferred the Glock, but then I’d be itchy and walking bowlegged.
“What say we go find a copy room inside the building and rendezvous on top of the Xerox?” Bill said.
“Sorry, no hanky-panky right now because I’m working a case. Sort of. But hypothetically, would we make single or double-sided copies?”
“The possibilities are endless.”
“Hmmm,” I said. “Let’s wait awhile and see where the night leads. Anyway, didn’t you want to meet Jennifer Lopez? She’s in town filming a movie and rumor has it she’ll be here.”
“I hope she shows,” Bill said, “but I’ll bet she won’t consider joining me in the copy room.” His fingertips brushed the length of my exposed back, sending shock waves all the way to my toes. “You, on the other hand, might decide to give it a try.”
A guest who must have been somebody arrived, because a swarm of media encircled her. As I stared into the mesmerizing show of camera flashes, an epiphany forced its way into my consciousness. Bill and I never talked about anything that really mattered. And then it hit me that I didn’t want to share thoughts and dreams with him. Regardless of how wonderful he was, I’d be crazy to marry the other half of such a shallow relationship. On the other hand, maybe that’s what marriage was all about. Progressing from the exuberantly sexual and carefree phase of the relationship to the intimate and trustworthy phase. It sounded a lot like work.
“What?” he said, staring at me.
Recovering, I smiled. “Nothing. Let’s circulate and enjoy the party. Isn’t that Lolly over there?”
Following the direction of my gaze, Bill strode off to mingle, saying that we’d have to make sure the automatic stapling device didn’t puncture anything important should we go through with the Xerox plan. I watched his butt with appreciation as he disappeared, wondering how long it would take before Bill demanded more from me, such as an answer to his pesky proposal.
“Stapling device?” Ox said, standing beside me. I hadn’t known he was there, and smiled at his stealthiness. He wore solid black jeans, a black silk T-shirt, black blazer, and black ostrich-skin boots. The few women in our immediate area openly stared at him and a guy with a camera did a double take before consulting a list to determine whether or not he should be snapping shots of Ox. Walking up behind him, Mindy possessively took his arm.
“On the copier,” I answered, smiling pleasantly at Mindy.
“This one is adventurous,” Ox mused. “I’ll give him that.”
I looked at Ox, into deep mahogany eyes that danced with specks of green, and sighed heavily. “I’m not sure I can marry him, though.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Bill asked you to marry him?” Mindy said, squeezing Ox’s arm.
I nodded. “Several times,” Ox answered for me.
“Oooh, how exciting,” she bubbled before her attention was caught by Kenny Rogers strolling through the tent. “I’ll be right back!” She stretched on her toes to give Ox a cheek kiss and disappeared.
Ox turned the cheek to me so I could get a better look. “Lipstick?”
“Yeah,” I said, wiping it off with a cocktail napkin.
“Why are you worried about Bill all of a sudden?” Ox said. “Didn’t he first propose to you several months ago?”
“I don’t know why,” I said miserably. “Maybe because now that I’m retired—sort of—I’m supposed to do something more with my personal life. Bill is great but the wedding bliss thing sounds like an oxymoron. Why didn’t I break it off the second he brought up the ‘M’ word?”
Ox reached out to untangle an errant strand of windblown hair that had tangled in my diamond stud earring. The brief touch of his fingers on my earlobe felt electric. “Because you convinced yourself that the formula might work once you retired. And because you were too busy to bother with finding another boy toy.”
I punched him in the arm, harder than necessary to make my point.
“You want a quart bottle of beer to go with that clingy little dress and right hook?”
I would have punched him again but realized it wasn’t the proper thing to do at such a social event. “Thanks, no. I’ll stick with liquor tonight.”
“You’re gorgeous, Jersey Barnes, even though you want to punch me again,” he near-whispered.
More guests began to filter in, their bodies draped in everything from cowboy hats and blue jeans to long designer gowns. While our dates socialized with the beautiful and famous, Ox and I surveyed the gathering, which now numbered around two hundred. Nothing and no one appe
ared out of place. On stage, an upbeat jazz band pumped out the type of horn music that made bodies subconsciously sway to the beat. On the ground, servers circulated with trays of epicurean finger foods. I sipped bourbon and Ox drank a glass of white burgundy. He emptied it and placed the glass on a nearby table.
“Nice,” he said. “Very creamy with some citrus flavors and a toasty finish.”
“I didn’t know Lumbees drank wine. It could be bad for your image.”
He left to retrieve fresh drinks and returned carrying a bourbon for me and a full bottle of wine for him.
“What if I slam it down straight from the bottle instead of using this puny glass? Would that help the image?”
The stemware did look inadequate in his huge hand. Like it might shatter between the strength of his thumb and forefinger if he weren’t careful. “Yeah, but then you might get sloshed and I’ll have to fireman-carry you to the car.”
Ox laughed a deep rich sound that made people turn to see what they were missing.
Looking like a cop trying to fit in, Dirk approached us carrying a tiny napkin and a tiny plate covered with miniature hors d’oeuvres.
“I hate these social things,” he said.
“Better than eating doughnuts,” Ox told him.
“Can’t argue with that. The smells coming from the catering trucks are making me drool. Just wish the damn plates were bigger.”
The three of us found an unoccupied table and occupied it.
“Jersey,” Dirk began, “we’re all coming up dry on Chesterfield’s boy. It might be a big help if you’d share what you’ve learned. Besides, I’ll be up for captain in another couple of years. Helping break this case would look good on my record.”
“Why are you so sure I know something you don’t?”
T. Lynn Ocean - Jersey Barnes 01 - Southern Fatality Page 10
