Vengeance Is Personal (A Colton James Novel, Book 2)

by Thomas DePrima

  The case was four years old, and the last two reviews had turned up nothing new. It was another abduction case, but this time it involved an adult. A young woman of twenty-two failed to return home after work one day, and a ransom demand was received in the mail the next day with orders not to call the police. The woman's father immediately called the police and they set up shop in the victim's home.

  No further contact from the kidnappers was ever received, and the ransom note, printed on a computer printer using an inexpensive brand of copier paper available everywhere, provided no significant clues. There were no fingerprints on the note or the envelope, except for those of the mail carrier. The woman's home was in Pittsburg, but the note had been mailed in Baltimore.

  When no further contact had been made by the kidnappers in two weeks, the investigation team moved out of the woman's home. The Pittsburg PD and the FBI kept the case open until it was obvious that no further contact from the kidnappers was forthcoming. The last time anyone had seen the woman was when she'd pulled out of the parking lot at the company where she'd worked. But for the note, the case would have been treated as a simple missing persons case.

  I powered up the gizmo and tagged the woman at her home the morning of the abduction. Then I jumped ahead to the present time. The woman was now living in Denver, Colorado. She had changed her hair color and style, and her eyes looked different. I guessed she was wearing colored contacts. But there was little doubt that it was the woman who had allegedly been abducted. It appeared to be another one of those cases where I found it so difficult to explain how I arrived at a solution.

  I let the printer run, but knowing there was really no victim caused me to lose interest in solving it quickly. I was just sitting there, waiting for the printer to finish its task, when a call came through on my business line. I sat back and listened as the prospective client left a message.

  The caller identified himself as Edward Harris, and I was instantly alert. It was a name from my past. Harris ran a bail bond operation downtown, and I had sought work there locating skips after first finding the gizmo. Harris was the first one to use my services, but he had tried to cheat me after I located his skip. When I refused to locate another skip for him, he paid me the full amount we had agreed on initially for the first job. There was no problem with payment for the second.

  "Colt," the answering machine recorded, "I know you're a big, hotshot recovery expert earning million of dollars for every job these days, but I'm desperate. I have a skip that failed to appear in court. His phone has been disconnected and no one has seen him since before the court date. I stand to lose five hundred G's if I can't get him back. I'm begging you. I need your help. If anyone can find my skip in time, it's you. Please call me back."

  Harris had given me my first job and then vouched for me when I went after my first artwork recovery job. Since I wasn't really occupied at present, it couldn't hurt to do this for him. I didn't actually have to pick up the skip since he had guys for the muscle work. I'd only have to find the guy and then run support from home using the gizmo when they grabbed him. I dialed the number Harris had left as I glanced up at the clock. It was one-oh-eight p.m.

  "Ed, Colt James," I said when he answered.

  "Colt buddy, thanks for calling me back. Can you help me out?"

  "I'll see what I can do. Give me the particulars." After Harris had given me the skip's name, description, date and location of his original court appearance, and the crimes he was accused of, I told him I'd get back to him soon.

  I set up the gizmo and located the perp at his arraignment hearing. Then I tagged him and jumped to the present. With a bond of five hundred thousand I expected he'd be in Venezuela or some other remote place where extraditions are difficult at best. Instead, I located him hiding out in Cleveland.

  I debated how long I should wait before calling Harris back. It was like the case with the Ferrari— if I called too soon, he'd expect me to always call within that timeframe. But if I waited too long, he wouldn't have enough time to get his people in place. After putting the gizmo away, I sighed and reached for the business phone to call him, but before I could pick up the receiver, the phone rang. I stopped and then listened to the message as it was recorded. It was Saul Fodor, and he needed to speak with me right away. I picked up the phone before he finished leaving the message.

  "Hi, Saul. It's Colt. I'm at home. What's up?"

  "Hi, Colt. I'm glad I caught you in. One of our clients in Memphis was burglarized overnight. He just got home and discovered it. The police are there now. How quickly can you get to Teterboro? The company jet is being prepped now. Uh, you're not tied up on an active FBI investigation, are you?"

  "No. I just took on a small case for an old friend, but it should only take me a day to wrap up."

  "I hate to pull rank, but you remember our deal. Normally I wouldn't worry about one day, but this is a very important client. I promised him that the best recovery expert in the world would be at his estate before midnight."

  "What was stolen?"

  "Irreplaceable country music awards and memorabilia."

  "What was robbed? Graceland?"

  "No, but in country-music circles he's as recognizable as Elvis. I don't even want to say his name over the telephone because we have to keep this quiet. A car will meet the company jet at the Memphis airport and take you to the estate."

  "Okay, Saul. I'll get ready immediately. I should be at Teterboro in about an hour, or maybe three, depending on traffic. This time of day the tunnels and bridges get really bogged down with outbound traffic."

  "This time of day it will probably take you the three hours to get to Teterboro. Head over to the W 30th Street heliport as soon as you can. I'll arrange to have a chopper hop you over to Teterboro."

  "Okay, Saul. I just have to shave and take a quick shower. Then I'll be on my way."

  "Call my secretary when you leave your building. She'll coordinate all your travel arrangements."

  "Okay. Anything else?"

  "Just that anything this client wants, this client gets, okay?"

  "Got it."

  As I hung up the receiver, I knew the decision about Harris had been taken from my hands. I would be too preoccupied to be playing timing games with his guys. I would have to squeeze them in as best I could.

  "Hello, Ed, your guy is in Cleveland," I said as he answered the phone.

  "Cleveland? What the hell is he doing in Cleveland?"

  "Ask him when you see him. Get Vinny and his guys on the road as quickly as possible. Tell him to call me when he gets to Cleveland. If I don't pick up, tell him I'll call him back as soon as I can. I'm heading to the airport now."

  "You're going to spot for him and the other guys?"

  "Yes, just like before."

  "What's the address in Cleveland?"

  "I don't have that yet, but I'm sure your guy is there."

  "You're amazing, Colt. We've been looking for this guy for a month and you find him in less than an hour. I wish you could teach us how you do it."

  "It's magic, Ed. Smoke and mirrors."

  "I don't believe that. You're just the best there ever was."

  "Don't lay it on too thick or I'll have to raise my price."

  "Uh, it's the same as before, right? Ten percent with half going to you and half to be split between Vinny and his pickup team?"

  "Yeah, same as before. I gotta go, Ed. I have a plane to catch."

  "Okay. Thanks, Colt. I appreciate you doing this for me."

  "You're welcome, Ed. Nice talking to you again. I'll call you after the skip is in the van and give you the account number at my bank so you can deposit my half of the recovery fee."

  "Okay, Colt. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

  As soon as I was off the phone, I locked up my office and ran for the shower.

  Mia had gone out shopping, so I called her cell phone. She picked up on the third ring.

  "Darling, are you through working?"

  "No, sw
eetheart. In fact I have to go to Tennessee on a recovery case for Saul Fodor. I'll call you tonight once I know what's what. Have you instructed your bodyguards that Marcus isn't to be allowed anywhere near you?"

  "Yes, dear."

  "Okay. I'll talk with you tomorrow. I love you."

  "And I love you. Have a safe trip."

  ~ ~

  I flagged down a cab as I stepped from the building and gave him the heliport address. As he pulled back into traffic, I called Fodor's secretary. She told me the chopper was already waiting at the pad and the jet was doing its preflight procedures.

  Then I sat back, took a deep breath, and looked out the window as the cab driver wove his way through car, bus, and truck traffic, narrowly missing a bike messenger at one point.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  When the chopper touched down at Teterboro, one of those golf-style carts they use at airports for a variety of purposes was waiting for me. It whisked me to the company's corporate jet, which started to move within seconds of my fastening my seatbelt. It was great getting the deluxe treatment. It beat first-class service on an airline by a city mile and coach class by ten miles.

  After we were in the air, the flight attendant asked me what I'd like to drink and handed me a wine and beverage list. I told her coffee was fine. Then she gave me a small menu and asked what I'd like for lunch. I had a choice between chicken alfredo, teriyaki salmon, or a vegetable plate. The meals were naturally pre-prepared and refrigerated, and would be heated in a microwave when I chose which dish I preferred. I selected the teriyaki salmon and endless coffee during the eighty-minute trip.

  ~ ~

  The jet touched down at Memphis International on schedule and taxied to a parking ramp area at the north end where a limousine was waiting. The driver took my suitcase and placed it in the trunk, then held the rear door so I could get in. I was loving the star treatment. It probably wouldn't have impressed Mia, who had grown up with wealth and privilege, but it was unique treatment for me.

  When we reached the estate, the gate was open and the guard waved us through without even checking to see who the occupants were. Perhaps he knew the driver. Or perhaps the driver had phoned as we neared the estate. The darkened window between the front of the limo and the rear seats was closed, so I wouldn't have heard the conversation. Perhaps the driver was even part of the estate staff. I had assumed the transportation connections were all legit and had been made by Fodor's secretary, so I hadn't bothered to check any credentials.

  As we neared the front portico, I saw why it wasn't necessary to check the identity of the limo's occupants. There were six police cars parked in the driveway and an officer standing in front of the main door. What surprised me was that there were no media people in evidence. I surmised that news of the robbery had been totally suppressed. That was unusual where high-profile folks were involved. I'd expected to find paparazzi trying to storm the front gate while helicopters and drones with mounted cameras buzzed overhead.

  The limo driver jumped out after parking behind the line of police cars and opened the left-side door for me because the other door was blocked by bushes. As I walked to the main entrance, the officer held up his hand and said, "The family isn't receiving any visitors today, sir."

  I reached into my jacket and pulled out my FBI credentials, flipping open the wallet as I said, "I have a special invitation."

  The officer looked at the ID, lowered his hand, and stepped out of the way. "Of course, Special Agent James. You're expected."

  Even though I was expected, I didn't want to barge in, so I rang the bell. The door was answered by a young woman wearing an apron but not a maid's uniform; however, I assumed her to be part of the housekeeping staff. She opened the door wide before asking who I was, then stepped aside to allow me to enter when I identified myself.

  "Wait here, please," was all she said before disappearing towards the rear of the house.

  About thirty seconds later the owner of the estate came out to greet me personally. Although I'm not a country music fan, I recognized him instantly. "What, no deerstalker cap?" was all he said at first, then smiled wide enough to light up the room. "Betcha never heard that one before," he said jokingly as he extended his hand.

  "Maybe once or twice," I said as I smiled and shook his hand.

  "That's the problem with being identified with the most famous detective in literature. And Saul says you're even better than old Sherlock on his best day. He says you have a one hundred percent recovery record."

  "So far, that's true. But the odds in favor of a failure get larger with every case. However, that's not going to happen on this investigation."

  "That's what I like to hear."

  "Have the police concluded their investigation, Mist..."

  I stopped talking when he held up his hand. "Just Georgie to my friends. No Mister."

  I smiled and said, "I'm Colt to my friends."

  "Welcome to my home, Colt. Let's go into the front room."

  Georgie led the way to the front room and gestured towards a couple of comfortable-looking chairs. "Have a seat, Colt, and we can talk. Normally I take guests into my study when I want to talk, but the police have temporarily taken over that room."

  After we sat, he continued, "The cops are still here in force, but they can't seem to find much to go on from what I've overheard. Don't let the cop in charge, a lieutenant named Danners, annoy you. His shorts are in a twist because Saul called you in so soon. The insurance policy allows the police and insurance company investigators a full year to recover the stolen items before the payout is required, but in a year's time my stuff could be spread across the globe, making it impossible to recover.

  "Music fans are like sports fans. They want so bad to own something that once belonged to an idol that they'll pay exorbitant prices to get it even knowing they can never show it to anyone else. The actual value of the items from a materials standpoint is low. They can't be melted down and sold in a different form. It's like an old baseball. By itself, it's probably not worth much, but with Babe Ruth's autograph on it, it can be worth plenty. And if you have a provenance that proves it was the winning homerun in an important game, the value can skyrocket. Without the celebrity status associated with it, it's just a dirty old baseball."

  "Since you believe the lead cop may not be cooperative, perhaps you can tell me what you know, Georgie."

  "I was at a party up in Nashville and arrived home this morning. We found the gate wide open and the security guard asleep in the booth. At least I thought he was sleeping. But my bodyguard shook him and couldn't wake him up, so I had my driver call an ambulance and then stay with the guard while my bodyguard and I walked up to the house. The front door was wide open and the lights were all on.

  "I called out, but no one answered. There should have been a second security guard, the one who patrols the grounds, but he was nowhere in sight. My bodyguard told me to wait outside while he looked around inside. A few minutes later he returned. He had found the missing guard and the house staff— my cook and a housekeeper— in the kitchen. All appeared to be asleep, but like the gate guard we couldn't wake them. I immediately called the police and told them what we'd found. And I told them we were probably going to need more medical people. There wasn't much to do then except wait for them to arrive. I didn't want to touch anything and possibly ruin fingerprints, but I looked around. The crooks really cleaned me out. Every award I ever received and had here at the house is missing, along with autographed photos of me with other famous people and a ton of memorabilia."

  "What's the value of the missing items?"

  "To me, they're priceless. It's difficult to put a price on a lifetime of memories, ya know. I still have my personal memories, of course, but looking at the things that were stolen never failed to help me remember little details I might otherwise not have thought about. The policy with Saul's company is for thirty million, assuming all of the insured items were stolen. I looked around,
and that appears to be the case, but I'll have to get a copy of the list from my attorney before I can say for sure. I called his office, but he's in court today. His secretary said she'd messenger it over as soon as she could."

  Georgie must have seen my eyes open a little wider when he said the policy amount because he immediately defended it by saying, "It's a reflection of my life's work, Colt. Hell, it is my life. It's actually beyond any monetary value. And the premiums aren't that bad. I still bring in a lot of money."

  "I understand, Georgie. I was just a little surprised given what you said about the material's value. What about your family, Georgie? Are they okay?"

  "My wife and daughter are in Paris for a brief shopping trip, and my son is on a concert tour in Colorado. I haven't told any of them yet. My wife might be happy some of it's gone. She's complained more than once that I attach too much significance to some old trophies."

  "Any ideas on who might be responsible for the theft?"

  "No. None. After the medical people arrived, we learned that the gate guard was tasered, then drugged. Last time I checked, he was still out, as are the others, but they're all expected to fully recover. Perhaps they can shed some light on this when they wake up. The people who did this knew what they were doing because they found the secret security room where the recording devices are located. They took the DVDs with the day's recordings and then shut the equipment off."

  "You don't send a feed to an external monitoring site?"

  "No way. I'm just a country boy who got lucky and made it big. I like to walk around the house in my tee-shirt and boxers when I don't have company. My cook and housekeeper are okay with that, and I trust them to keep that information private, but I certainly don't want some unknown person at a remote monitoring site to see me. The pictures would be all over the news and internet in a day. For privacy's sake, I mostly use the indoor pool and spa to avoid the planes, helicopters, and now drones that are always flying around. Whenever I appear outside the house, I'm fully clothed."