Abducted

by David R Lewis

  “Not recently. I’ve been on vacation, traveling in a motor home. Lately I’ve been at Watkins Resort on Truman Lake. The people there will support my story.”

  “Who would have reason to abduct the victim, Ms. LaCost?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Have you been contacted?”

  “Like for ransom demands or something?”

  “Yes.”

  “No. No calls. Nothing. Ruby’s not wealthy, she has no family. Ransom couldn’t be the reason.”

  “So there is no motive.”

  “Of course there’s a fucking motive! There’s a motive as big as a goddamn billboard. When we finally figure out what it is, it’ll make perfect sense. Right now we…” Crockett’s mini tirade ground to a halt. “Shit. Sorry. None of this is your fault.”

  “Hell with it,” Kleffner said. “Lemme know if you get anything.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Crockett went back over a year before he fell asleep at the keyboard. He got nothing.

  Crockett felt some better the next morning, even after a restless night. He was back in Ruby’s files and on his second cup of coffee when Ness walked in.

  “Morning,” Crockett said. “That tie doesn’t go with that shirt.”

  “You in secret communication with my wife?”

  Crockett smiled. “For weeks now,” he said. “I hear I owe you an alibi.”

  “That’s okay. I got it from your sidekick. Who is that guy, anyway?”

  “Who, Clete?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What makes you ask?”

  “You know damn well what makes me ask. He a spook?”

  Crockett stifled a smile. “A spook?”

  “Yes, a spook.”

  “Why would you think something like that?”

  Ness looked past Crockett at the wall for a moment before he spoke. “See, the thing is,” he said, “I ask questions and you answer them with relevant information, not more questions.”

  “Who was your favorite Beachboy?”

  Ness nodded. “Okay. Fine. I have thumb screws, y’know.”

  Crockett grinned. “You like gladiator movies?”

  “You’re a regular wise guy aren’t you?”

  “Only one of my faults.”

  “I hear you pretty much shut Kleffner down last night.”

  “We reached an understanding.”

  “Good for you. He’s an asshole. Hell, they all are. Fucking Feebies.”

  “Cletus Marshal is very well connected in many levels of the law enforcement network,” Crockett said. “There is very little he cannot accomplish. His resources, public and private, are extensive.”

  “No shit?”

  “Yep. Anything more specific than that you’ll have to get from him.”

  “How ‘bout you, Crockett?”

  “I’m just an ex street cop.”

  “That’s all, huh?”

  “What makes you ask?”

  Ness chuckled. “You know what I think?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think that you and Marshal are just waiting for the rest of us to get out of your way so you can proceed with this investigation,” Ness replied, as he turned for the door. “And that is what I intend to do. It’s a wise man that knows when to let the dog hunt. I would ask you to share any information you feel is relevant, but you probably won’t. You need anything from us, holler.”

  Crockett watched him leave and smiled. Nice to have a cop around.

  It was late morning before the FBI arrived. Kleffner called a meeting. They assembled in Crockett’s kitchen.

  “Since all of us here are, or were, involved in law enforcement in one way or another, it seems appropriate to keep everyone aware of our progress, or lack of it. A canvas of the neighborhood came up with an individual who lives in the next block and works at a bakery. He noticed an old pickup truck in the rear parking area behind this building at around three AM two nights ago. He said it might have been a Chevy, and it might have been white over red, but with the streetlights he can’t be sure. No license number. It stuck in his memory because all he had observed in the area before were late model luxury vehicles.”

  “We have established two different blood types from evidence taken from the living room floor, as well as partial prints from what would be a size nine to ten work shoe or boot. The blood types are O positive and AB negative. Mister Crockett, do you know the vic’s, uh, Ruby’s blood type?”

  “No. I’ll give you her doctor’s name. He’ll have it.”

  “Very well. As of now, we cannot differentiate between the victim and the suspect. That will change shortly. As soon as the DNA processing of the blood and hair sample is complete, a matter of another day or two, the results will be sent to CODIS to determine if the perp’s DNA is on file anywhere. How the spiders fit into all this has yet to be determined. Mister Crockett has contacted an expert in such matters, have you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “If you would be kind enough to prepare me a short report on your findings and submit it by the end of the day please?”

  “Sure.”

  “Very well. That’s all I have, gentlemen. Thank you.”

  He walked out.

  Ness shook his head, waived at Clete and Crockett, and left.

  Crockett looked at Clete. “Code what?” he asked.

  “C-O-D-I-S. Combined DNA Index System. Computerized records of any bad people who have ever had DNA tested. If our boy shows up there, we’ll know exactly who he is.”

  “What’s the chance of that?”

  “Who knows? He will or he won’t. The boot print won’t help unless we find him either. Smooth sole, no distinguishing marks, no idea what brand. The description of the truck isn’t worth a shit. The only thing we have is the place of origin on the spiders. That narrows things down to about a jillion square miles. Fuck. How you doin’ with Ruby’s patients?”

  “Soap opera bullshit. Nothing to go on at all. Another day and I’ll have gone back three years or so. Christ! If she’d been dealing with a potentially dangerous individual or situation during that time, Clete, I would have known it.”

  “You think she would have told ya?”

  “Wouldn’t have made any difference. I would have known it anyway. I would have felt it, Goddammit!”

  “Man, this is a bitch. Talk about a dry hole. Where the hell do we go from here?”

  “Ivy’s,” Crockett said.

  “Yeah. She’ll wanna know what’s going on. God. This is gonna be rough on her.”

  “I’m gonna work on Ruby’s records for the rest of today. Do me a favor. Call Stitch. Get him and the helo at the downtown airport at around nine in the morning.”

  “Okay.”

  “Oh, yeah. Ask him to bring Nudge. Then call Ivy and tell her and Goody we’ll be up tomorrow around lunchtime.”

  “You got it.”

  Crockett smiled. “Ask Ivy to have Marta drop by, too, will ya?”

  “Marta?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The fortune teller?”

  “The psychic.”

  “Aw, man! Here we go with all that goddamn spooky crap. Jesus, Crockett.”

  “Any port in a storm, Texican.”

  “Shit.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Crockett’s ears were ringing when he stepped out of the Bell helo on Ivy’s front lawn the following afternoon. In spite of having his ears swathed in overly-loud headphones blaring golden oldies from both The Doobie Brothers and The Eagles all the way from Kansas City to help combat the soaring feline operatic accomplishments of a motion stimulated Nudge, he was tired enough that he still managed to doze a bit. Nights were the worst. He worried more about Ruby then than at any other time. Goody greeted them in the foyer and walked them down the hall.

  “Well then, lads. As much as the reason vexes me, it’s grand to see the three of ye together again in one spot. Ivolee awaits in the atrium. Lunch will be light, but w
e shall supported by beverages of your choice. The Lady Marta is also afoot. What a charming lass.”

  Greetings, hugs, and empathies were exchanged in a reunion shadowed by situation under the vast glass of Ivy’s Atrium. Stitch was introduced to Marta.

  “Nice to meetcha. You’re Ivy’s bud, that psychic chick, huh?”

  Marta smiled. “I am frequently called psychic,” the tiny woman said, taking Stitch’s offered hand, “but the term chick, to my knowledge, has not been applied to me for some time.”

  “But it used to be, didn’t it?”

  Marta reddened. “As I recall, yes,” she said.

  Stitch returned her smile as he released her hand. “It never leaves the eyes, dude.”

  Marta fixed her gaze on him for a moment. “You are a very perceptive man,” she said.

  “When I’m takin’ my meds.”

  “A very proud man, bound by duty and commitment. You carry great pain and great hope, you place value on honor, and you are quite brave. Other than Stitch, what is your name?”

  “Uh, Martin Carroll Winkler.”

  “Martin Carroll Winkler, it is my good fortune to know you. I enjoy being in the company of dragonslayers.”

  Stitch grinned and replied the only way he could.

  “Far out,” he said.

  The honesty and intimacy of the moment swept through the entire group, and the ensuing silence engulfed the room for a time. They took seats at the table around trays of melon, finger foods and the like. Crockett finally spoke up.

  “I’d like a reading on Ruby, Marta. Maybe after lunch?”

  Marta smiled. “How about now? You’re not eating anyway.”

  Crockett nodded his agreement. “Now would be fine.”

  “Good,” Marta replied, standing up and pointing to the opposite side of the room. “My cards are on that far table near the glass wall. Shall we?”

  Crockett followed her and sank heavily into a chair. Marta shook her head.

  “You are existing on less than half the food and sleep to which you are accustomed. Consider yourself chastised.”

  Crockett didn’t reply and watched her remove her cards from a leather case and begin to shuffle them. Her movements were quick and precise, nearly birdlike.

  “I assume you want me to use the Cartouche cards.”

  “Whatever is best for you,” Crockett replied. “They worked before.”

  Marta stopped her shuffle and looked at him. Her voice was quiet and warm.

  “She’s alive, Crockett. She is not comfortable and she has suffered some injury, but she is alive.”

  “You sure?”

  Marta shrugged. “It’s what I feel.”

  Crocket couldn’t stop it. Relief ripped through him like a blade and he sagged back in his chair, tears rolling down his face. Marta handed him a small box of tissues from a neighboring end table and continued her shuffle to allow Crockett to regain his composure. After some time he leaned forward and blew his nose.

  “Sorry.”

  “In situations like this,” Marta said, “each tear removes a burden a thousand times its size. You must feel considerably lighter.”

  “I do. You’re right. She’s alive.”

  “Of course she is, David. You would know if she wasn’t. You would feel it if she passed. Now then, the cards.”

  Marta cut the deck into three piles and turned to Crockett. “Choose one,” she said, “but don’t touch it.”

  Crockett pointed to the center pile. Marta restacked the deck with the indicated cards on top, dealt five on the table, and studied them for a moment. She turned to Crockett.

  “The first card is air, David. It councils you to lighten up a bit or you are going to make yourself ill. In no way does it trivialize the situation or remove the urgency, but it does temper the desperation you feel.”

  “What about Ruby? This reading is about her.”

  “This reading,” Marta said, “is about and concerning whatever it is about and concerns. The cards do what the cards do. Remember, you chose the pile I’m using. The second card is the scarab. This would indicate a major redirecting in life. A radical shift or change. It is, I believe, safe to assume that Ruby is in a situation totally unique to her, living in a manner unlike anything she has known. This is, of course, applicable to emotional situations, but I feel in this case it is equally physical. Her environment is foreign, alien to her. At this moment, you would not find her in any surroundings familiar to the two of you.”

  “Like someplace we’ve actually been together?”

  “I mean dissimilar to anywhere you’ve been.”

  “Oh.”

  “The third card is our old friend, Anubis. Protection from harm. That is another reason that I don’t feel someone is waiting for the right time to murder her. I do not sense immediate terminal danger. Our fourth card, crook and flail, would lead me to stress how important it is that you stay as balanced as you can. You are a Taurus. It is in your nature to be deliberate, to be plodding, to conduct yourself with consistency. Regard the bull. Only when he becomes overly excited does he waste himself. Only when he becomes frantic does he fail to function efficiently. You have great determination and power as long as you stay centered. Use your strengths.

  “This is reinforced by our fifth card, sphinx. I tell you now, David, that if you are patient, things will come to you. What you need to settle this matter will be made available. This does not mean that you should go home and sit on your hands. It does mean that you must give the Spirit time to get some ducks in a row and keep yourself accessible.”

  Marta looked at the cards on the table, swept them up, and began to square the deck. “We don’t need these,” she said. “Not you and I. Ruby is in no immediate danger. I know that and so do you. For whatever reason she has been abducted, it is not to be killed. She is being held someplace. You are as aware of that as I. You were shown alternatives to this reality when you dealt with the, what did you call her? The Amazing Disappearing Woman?”

  Crockett smiled. “Yeah.”

  “Those alternatives are still there. As long as you stay open to possibilities, there is ample reason for hope. Try to do this all by yourself…well, if I were you, I wouldn’t.”

  Crockett blinked at her rather owlishly. “Okay,” he said.

  “You badly need rest. Go upstairs and take a nap. You won’t miss anything.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  Marta stood up. “That was not a suggestion, sir. That was an order. I’ll say your goodbyes to the others. Go.”

  Halfway up the stairs Crockett wished he had taken the elevator. God, his legs were heavy. He lurched into his usual room, the surroundings opulent and foreboding, weighty and grave. As he turned to shut the door, Nudge walked in and jumped up on the bed. Crockett joined him and Nudge curled against his side, his purr vibrating the mattress. In only a few moments Crockett was gone, the stress of the last few days demanding rest. When Crockett began to tremble in his sleep, Nudge got up and moved to recline on the far side of the bed. He groomed himself for a moment, then began lashing his tail and squinting at things only cats can see.

  Nudge yammering to get out of the room woke Crockett up. He was surprised to find that it was nearly five o’clock. He let the cat out and grinched into the bathroom to remove his leg and powder the stump. By the time he’d replaced the leg he felt awake enough to go back downstairs. This time he took the elevator. When he walked into the kitchen he found Goody making sandwiches.

  “Ah, lad! Returned to the mundane plane I see. Coffee?”

  Crockett dropped into a chair. “Thanks.”

  “How are ya holdin’ up then?”

  “I don’t know, Goody. I’m angry, scared, worried, whatever. This is all just so bizarre. I can’t see a reason for it.”

  “Clete gave Ivy and me a bit of a rundown while you were napping. The use of spiders. Ah, the lad that did that is working off a grudge, ya know. He feels Ruby has wronged him in some way. To release a wea
ve of spiders like that is punishment for something.”

  “A weave?”

  “Aye. That’s what ya call a gaggle of the beasties.”

  Ivy walked into the kitchen. “Or a cluster,” she said. “At least that’s what my mother would have called them.”

  “Hello, Lass,” Goody said. “Checking up on me?”

  Ivy smiled and turned to Crockett. “We are without staff today. When we are without staff, Sir Thoroughgood takes it upon himself to prepare the evening repast. I cautioned him that sandwiches would be sufficient but, knowing him as I do, I felt it necessary to make sure he wasn’t preparing some five course extravaganza as only he can.”

  “Don’t ya think it”s grand how this lovely young woman can make chastisement sound like a compliment?”

  “She’s an artist at it,” Clete said, walking into the room. “Throw you off a bridge and, on the way down, you’d be writing her a thank you note.”

  “I’d be grateful if all of you would vacate my kitchen,” Goody said. “I have potato salad to prepare and you are in my way. Begone.”

  Ivy went to her rooms to change for dinner, Crockett picked up his coffee and he and Clete wandered into the atrium. Clete went to the bar and poured them each a scotch. They took chairs near the glass wall.

  “Where’s Stitch?” Crockett asked.

  “I don’t know. ’Bout a hour before you came down, he and Marta went for a walk. They’d been jawin’ all afternoon, anyway.”

  Crockett smiled. “No kidding?”

  “Man, those two hit it off. Like minds, I guess. Cute as hell. Got Ivy grinnin’.”

  Crockett sipped his drink and stared outside for a moment before he spoke.

  “Home tomorrow, I guess,” he said. “You coming?”

  “You betcha,” Clete said. “I’m in this ‘til we set it straight. Speakin’ of settin’ things straight, we got a problem because a me and Ruby?”

  “That’s not what you’re asking, Texican. You’re asking if I have a problem because of you and Ruby.”

  “Do ya?”

  “I think I do,” Crockett said. “I think I do. And yet, I understand and I’m not all pissed off about anything.”