by David Wind
“Hello Gabe, I’m glad you could make it.”
The hostess set a menu on the table and left. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“Well, you are a little late.”
“Blame the traffic,” I said as the waitress came over. Lia ordered a dirty martini and I settled for a Tsingtao.
“Have you eaten here before?”
“It’s not my usual spot.”
“No, I wouldn’t think so. I hope I didn’t drag you away from anything important.”
I watched her face as she spoke, thinking of Femalé’s reports. She looked younger than thirty-eight, by several years. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
She gave me a practiced pout. “That depends.”
“Have you ever had any plastic surgery?”
She blinked, twice. “I…I didn’t expect that. Why would you ask?”
“A question isn’t an answer.”
“No it could be looked at as an evasion. But it wasn’t, you just surprised me. And no, I’ve never had plastic surgery. Do I need it?” she asked, her eyes mocking.
“Honestly, no, but I’ve learned that many beautiful women can’t see themselves as they are and use surgery to make them believe they are beautiful.”
“I’m not one of those women.” The steel glint in her eyes matched the tone of her voice. “I don’t believe in plastic surgery.”
“But you’ll admit you look younger than you are.”
“I always have and I hope I stay so for quite a while longer.” This time her voice was more relaxed.
“I hope so as well.”
“Now that you’ve taken care of the plastic surgery issue, is there anything else questing through your mind?”
“Not along those lines.” The lie slid out as the waitress returned with our drinks, placed Lia’s before her and did a perfect pour of my beer.
“Are you ready to order?”
“In a bit,” Lia told her. When she left, Lia raised her martini and held it toward me. I lifted the beer and we touched glasses. “To Scotty,” she whispered.
Her words brought me back to the bank, and to the papers and jewelry. “To Scotty.”
After taking a sip, I leaned forward. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“I do. Let’s decide on lunch so we can talk.”
I flipped through the menu until the waitress appeared. Lia ordered a salad topped with seared Tuna and I settled on blackened chicken on vegetable bread—Femalé would be proud.
Alone again, Lia took another sip and, with the martini glass cradled in her hands the way one would hold a small oil lamp, she moistened her lips with a dart of her tongue. “Have you gotten any more information on the man who tried to kill us?”
My low laugh rumbled out at her anticipation of my answer. “No, but I did learn something important.”
“Yes?”
“The bullet was intended to miss us. It was a warning to me.”
“A warning about what… Scotty?”
“They were warning me to stay away, to stop looking.” I watched her carefully.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and worried at it. “They want you to stop looking for the person who killed him?”
“There’s that.”
This time her expression turned puzzled. “I don’t understand. There’s more?”
“Can I be candid?”
“After your plastic surgery comment I’m sure I can roll with anything else you say.”
I wondered. “You know I’ve checked on your background.”
“You told me so Saturday night.”
“I’ve gone deeper.” She tried to hide the reaction and almost succeeded. I let it slide. “I know your history in New Orleans.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I’ve never hidden it.”
“Sure you have. I doubt anyone in New York knows Jane McPherson, or what you did for a living in the French Quarter.”
She killed half the drink. “You do hit hard. As I said, Gabe, I’ve never hidden it. Jeremy knew all it as well. What does this have to do with the sniper?”
“I’m getting there. How much do you know about abused children?”
The shadow crossing her face turned it to stone. “Enough.”
“I’m sorry, but you asked. What about children who are abducted?”
Her face remained frozen. “Abducted, you mean kidnapped for ransom?”
“No, taken by pedophiles.”
She put the martini glass down and wiped one hand across her eyes. When she lowered it, her face was close to normal. “You’re looking into what Scotty was doing with Save Them. He found something out and was killed because of it?”
“It’s possible.”
“They’d have to know it would be investigated.”
“Maybe they think they’re above the law.”
“I just can’t imagine it.”
“I can. I’ve seen it happen too often. Someone with power uses it like a shield to do or get whatever they want. They believe they can do anything and still continue to live their lives on their own level without regard to others.”
My hands balled into fists. “Some are politicians, some are crooks, and some have so much money they become insulated against having to accept responsibility for what they do. They do things you or I wouldn’t, and believe they can do so with impunity. Once you break the law and get away with it, it’s easy to keep doing it.”
“Not for everyone.” She reached across and covered my hand with hers. The warmth of her skin relaxed my fist.
I drew my hand from beneath hers. “I know you and Scotty talked a lot. Did abducted children come into the conversation?”
“On occasion, he was very passionate on the subject.” She leveled a thoughtful gaze at me. “Did he write everything in this journal?”
“Not the content only that you talked.”
A distant brightness floated in her eyes; and, when she spoke, her voice was thoughtful. “We did a lot of talking, sometimes for hours. I miss him.”
Our food arrived and Lia picked up her fork and toyed with the artistic slices of seared tuna arranged upon a bed of greens.
A moment later, she picked up a sliver of tuna and folded it into her mouth. When she finished chewing, she asked, “Do you have any ideas on how those children tie in to this?”
“Not yet,” I admitted. “I know you had problems growing up. Can we discuss them?”
The fork hung above the salad. She lowered it and speared some green stuff. “I don’t remember a lot.”
“Your father abused you, I saw the reports. Was it frequent?”
She set the fork down, the food on it untouched. “What’s frequent? I don’t remember anything before twelve or so. Just some fleeting memories of school and an old doll I had. But he hit me a lot if I didn’t do everything I was told to do.”
I gave her space: Her face was shifting with whatever memories I had stirred. “I said hit, but it was more than that, he would beat me. He hated me, and I hated him.” Her eyes flared with angry green fire.
“Your mother, was she involved as well?”
Lia blinked several times. “I never knew her, or at least I don’t remember her.”
Knowing it was time to take a break on the subject, I picked up my sandwich with both hands. “Let’s shelve this for now. I know it’s hard to go over the bad times.”
The rigid planes of her face softened. “I’m sure you do. But Gabe, that’s in the past for me. What happened happened, and I did what I had to do to get away and to survive. I have no regrets. I used whatever means I had to put together enough money to get out of New Orleans and find a life.” Then she picked up her fork and began to eat in earnest.
Chapter 39
After lunch, I found myself on Lexington Avenue walking through a snake pit. A virtual snake pit, not a real one, but no less hairy: people were everywhere, twisting and dodging in a rhythm both familiar and hostile.
Pausing on the corner of Forty-eig
hth and Lexington, I worked out my next steps while ignoring the zoo slithering around me. Lunch had gone well enough, but I’d gotten no workable information from Lia Thornton. She’d been uncomfortable with the subject of abuse, and pushing her would have made it harder to try again in the future.
Right now, my biggest problem was the need for what seemed to be inaccessible information. Chris could only be asked for so much, and Gina even less. But, there was another way. I crossed the street and stepped into the lobby of a brick faced narrow twelve-story building squeezed between two tall modern chrome and glass towers.
The building was the oldest on the block and looked it. Inside, I took the elevator to the fourth floor and went to a door bearing a blue plastic sign with white letters spelling, InfoTech Consultants.
The business was owned by Arnold Steeplechase, a former client who’d been arrested for the computer theft of fifteen million dollars. The case had been interesting in that the money had been stolen by hacking into the bank accounts of several of his clients’ companies. As computer consultants and networking specialists, Steeplechase has access to all his clients’ computers and security information because his company had programmed them all.
The difference between what the police determined and what I did was they believed he was responsible while, after spending fifteen minutes with him, I knew the opposite was true. It took me under a week to find out what happened, clean it up and get Steeplechase out of jail.
Until a year ago, the company had been called Roberts & Steeplechase Associates. Mr. Roberts was now doing eighteen years in a Federal pen, along with the president of one of those embezzled companies who had talked Roberts into joining him in the scheme.
It wasn’t that Steeplechase couldn’t have done the work; he wouldn’t, which Roberts had known. Roberts had also known how to use his partner’s computer to play his slick game. Steeplechase’s computer tracks had brought the cops down on him—aided by the false bank account Roberts had set up under Steeplechase’s name which he then used to funnel the funds to other accounts.
After I’d gotten Steeplechase cleared, he’d told me if I ever needed anything, all I had to do was ask. Well, here I was.
I pressed the buzzer on the door. A half-minute later, it barked back and I stepped into organized chaos. Steeplechase’s clients didn’t come up often. If they did, they might reconsider. The office was open space: worktables were everywhere with computers, monitors and printers in various stages of dress and undress.
Three technicians were hard at work and the fourth, Steeplechase, was on the phone. When he looked up and saw me, he waved me to him and ended the call. Arnie Steeplechase looked just as you would picture the prodigal computer nerd: Tall and skinny with unkempt and straggly straw hair, wire rimmed glasses pushed high onto a thin nose and his button down short sleeve shirt’s pocket complete with two pens and couple of small screwdrivers. A Blackberry and a Nextel hung from his belt.
“Long time, Gabe!” He met me half way with a hearty handshake. “How are you?”
“Working hard, Arnie, are you?”
“Look around. We can’t move here. I’m a week behind and fading fast.” He snickered the last word laugh-like. “You need something at the office?”
“Yeah, I need a favor, Arnie.”
It was either the tone or my words that wiped his smile away, but his eyes never wavered from mine. “Whatever you need, Gabe” The words sounded simple, but they carried strong emotion.
“You have to think it through. It’s not quite above board.”
He shook his head quickly. “If you’re helping someone and not stealing or hurting, I’ll get behind it. What do you need?”
“Information.”
“Come with me.” He guided me to a door, the other side of which was a small, neat private office. “Contrary to popular belief, I do have clients come up every once in a while, so I need to have a place to meet with them. Sit,” he offered, motioning to a chair.
When I sat, he did as well. “Go ahead.”
I spelled out what was needed, and gave him Albright, Thornton and Santucchi’s names, then explained my reasons for going into the bank records of Thornton’s company. When I finished, he sat back and stared at me.
“This could be dicey, Gabe.”
“I know. But I also know you’re good enough to do the job without being caught. And you’re not taking anything, just looking for something. Arnie, if what I need is there, I will eventually get the information, but with your help, I’ll get it quicker and find a killer in the process.”
“A killer…” he paused, his eyes jumping off to some point on the ceiling. “You mean the playwright—the guy who was killed last week? I saw your name mentioned in an article. That’s your case?”
“He was my friend. We grew up together.”
“Wow.” His head bobbed a quick up and down. “Consider it done. I’ll start later today.” He paused in thought, his eyes distant. “It may take some time.”
“Thanks, Arnie. Call me at any time. You have my mobile?”
His head did its bobbing thing again. “I’ll dig out whatever’s there.”
“I appreciate it Arnie.”
“Take care Gabe, I’ll be in contact.”
<><><>
Returning to my office, I found Femalé’s desk deserted and went on a search for her. She was in the conference room, standing by the white board. Her right hand held the dry marker, but instead of writing, she was absently tapping it against a name.
After a short pause, I said, “Anything interesting?”
She turned slowly, which told me she’d been aware of my presence. “You bet something’s interesting. Take a look.”
I joined her at the board, read the four names of the missing children aloud, and saw she had added something. The dates they went missing. “You found connections.”
“You bet I did. Look close.”
It didn’t take long to figure it out. “They went missing in three year increments. First this one,” I said, recalling the picture of the blonde headed girl from the file, “then three years later Scotty’s sister is taken. Three years after she’s abducted this one is taken and then, again, three years later this one is gone. Jesus!”
“There’s more. The first one was taken from Buffalo, the second, Scotty’s sister, from Rochester, the third from Ithaca, and then the fourth, from Buffalo again. Some pattern, eh? All are in upstate New York, and all in the same geographic region and all in Scotty’s folders.”
“It is a pattern. You get the information on each?”
“Not much: the initial police reports, some FBI stuff, but all of them, and dig this, averaged eight years old. Some were a little over seven and the oldest just turned ten. But I’m also checking it out to see if the same pattern is still going on.”
“This is a lot more than coincidence.”
“You bet your ass it is. There’s one really twisted guy out there taking these little girls and….”
She didn’t need to finish because I knew what she would have said and it was better to leave it for now. “And the FBI never put it together!”
“They may have, but they’re not telling us. Maybe you could have Gina check?”
“I will. You find anything else on Lia Thornton’s early years?”
“Not yet. And while we’re on the subject, how went lunch?”
“Nothing earthshaking happened. I let her know we did some more background. She took it in stride, when I pushed, it shook her up, so I let it drop for now.”
“How is it possible?”
The question threw me. “How is what possible?”
“For so many kids to be abducted, or talked into running away. I saw your notes, fifty-eight thousand last year. That’s… obscene.”
“It is,” I agreed.
“But how is it possible that so many people are doing this? It’s like some big underground conspiracy. These people are beyond sick.”
“It’s
both, Femalé. There are the predators and the pedophiles, they have a similar sickness but work in different ways. There are networks of them out there, whole networks trading, selling, and brutalizing these kids. And then there are the ones who sell children out of the country. They take young children and they take teenage girls. It’s a big market. Not all of them are taken. Some are runaways, but I have a feeling they all end up in the same place.”
I eased back on my anger, which seemed to build harder and faster each time I remembered the children. “And they are being caught, but not fast enough to thin out their ranks.”
“Scotty stepped into the middle of one of these networks, didn’t he?” The words shot from her like the spray of bullets from a machine gun.
“It’s starting to look that way.”
“Then why are we still looking at Thornton and Albright?”
“Because I can’t shake the feeling: Somewhere along the line they’re connected to what happened. Albright losing the money he doesn’t have is a strong motive, and as far as Lia, the connection is thin, but she and Scotty had something going on and….”
“And when you get that kind of a feeling you don’t let it go. I know, boss, you taught me well.” Her smile was a bright flash of white against coffee skin.
“I need you to keep digging out the stuff on these kids.” I tapped the white board with a knuckle. “The more we know, the clearer it will get.”
My cell phone rang. The readout was Gina’s cell number. “Hey, how’s your day?”
“Bad, Gabe, real bad.”
I stiffened at the sound of her voice. “What happened?”
“I’m on the Metroliner, headed back. I got called to Washington. They… I’ve been pulled from active and put behind a desk.”
“What the hell for?” The sharpness of my voice spun Femalé around.
“It seems I was seen with you at the Looker’s Club, going in to meet with Santucchi.”
“So?”
“So they wanted to know why I stepped outside of the case boundaries. I explained, but I got dressed down and was told I had violated my responsibilities by being there with you and talking to Santucchi during an ongoing investigation.”
