COPS SPIES & PI'S: The Four Novel Box Set

by David Wind

  No, Charles wasn’t Scotty’s killer, but he would know who was.

  Chapter 43

  I made it to work by ten, locked the entrance and went into my private office; pleased Femalé had listened to me and slept in. But when she did get here, there would be a lot to do.

  After spending the time between getting home and leaving for the office, on my computer, I was no closer to finding Charles than when I’d left the hotel. Determination is good, but the ability to reach the goal was needed as well and, while I was good on a computer, there were better and I would make use of them.

  My first task was to check my email and while it downloaded, I went to the pantry and put up a pot of coffee. When there was enough in the carafe, I poured a cup and slid it back in without, for a change, having any of the coffee splatter on the burner.

  Back at my desk, I found, two emails from Amanda Bolt, one from Arnie Steeplechase, and a dozen spam emails

  There wasn’t much in Arnie’s email, just a note telling me he’d begun the process of side stepping security on two of the three names. He added he’d been unable to find anything on Santucchi. He’d report in as soon as he found something.

  Two out of three ain’t bad, to quote rocker Meatloaf. I opened Amanda’s emails next. The first one was a reminder of Anna’s birthday, next month. The other referenced Lia Thornton. Amanda wanted to know if there was more that I could tell her so she could go deeper into what Scotty had written.

  I forwarded the email to Femalé and told her to send Amanda a synopsis of what she’d found in New Orleans and then sat back to think on how to find Charles.

  At home, I’d looked through every politician’s web site in New York and New Jersey, but hadn’t been able to learn anything about the senate security staffs on a half dozen web sites.

  The phone rang, jerking me out of my trance. “Storm Investigations”

  “Good morning. How did last night go?” Gina’s voice had a tired edge to it.

  “I came out with something, but not much.’

  “Anything I should know?”

  “Not right now. How are you?”

  “Still pissed.”

  There was nothing do at this point, but my saying so wouldn’t help either. “When I learn who took the shots at me at the club, it will solve your problem.”

  “You know what they call him?”

  “Who?”

  “Cartweil, the Assistant Director. They call him Mr. Kevlar, because nothing stops him. He’s bulletproof.”

  “Don’t bet on it, kiddo. I’m starting to get a feeling that there are people in high places who will fall hard. If he’s playing games, his Kevlar’s going to turn into cotton.”

  “You did get something!”

  “Nothing solid yet,” I admitted.

  “You have plans for tonight?”

  “Depends on how the day goes. I’ll call you later.”

  “I’ll be around. You be careful.”

  “Always.” We said our goodbyes, but the feeling of anger because I had brought this onto her lingered. Gina was being pushed around and I could nothing do to stop it.

  Standing, I grabbed the mug, hit the conference room and looked at the white-board. Femalé had added another column with the names and the dates of the missing kids. Another part of a pattern had formed—they were all girls.

  The girls had been abducted in upstate New York, and all had been around eight years old. All were blonde haired, or close to it. There were five listed, the first girl, Elizabeth and here others, the last happened nine years after Elizabeth Granger had disappeared.

  It would be nice to get into a national database of abducted kids and run similarity searches, but other than the FBI’s database, which they wouldn’t let me into, I had no idea where to look.

  Or did I? There was a place I could start looking. Samantha Collins at Save Them might be able to help. I used the phone on the conference table.

  “How are you Gabriel? How is the investigation coming?”

  “I’m fine and it isn’t coming fast enough,” I said.

  I launched into my request, which she listened to without speaking. When I fell silent, she asked, “You want a search of all blonde haired female children ages seven through nine who were abducted over the last twenty-five years?”

  “Is it possible?”

  “From our records, of course: from a national database? Probably. I’ll make some calls.”

  “It would be appreciated.”

  “I went through the files you sent over. Most were copies we already had, but nine weren’t.”

  “Any idea why he would have those?”

  She paused for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was thoughtful. “Scotty would make files of some of the newer children to look deeper into them, but the ones we didn’t have, no, I have no idea what he was doing.”

  “Were they all abducted girls between seven and nine?”

  “Most were when they were abducted, but not all.”

  “Would you email or fax their names, ages, and where they were abducted from to me at the office?”

  “I’ll make sure it’s done today.”

  I thanked her and, before she hung up, she promised to find a way to get the information I was looking for from the databases around the country.

  I returned to the white board as Femalé waltzed into the room wearing a beige suit and a smile. “Morning, Gabe.”

  “You get rest?”

  “Plenty, you dig up anything on the name?”

  “Not yet. Do you have any thoughts on how to find out who this Charles is?”

  She gave an eloquent shrug. “First we need to find out if he’s private security or with an agency.”

  “Then you have your work cut out for you. I forwarded an email from Amanda Bolt. Take care of that first.”

  “You need anything?”

  I shook my head and she went to the front office. Picking up the phone, I called Chris. “You get your man?”

  “You ever watch television?

  “Only when I know I’ll be on. What happened?”

  “We got him. When we braced him, he folded like a pretzel. A half hour into the interrogation he copped to the rapes. Sick bastard—he was proud of it.”

  “I wonder how proud he’ll be when he steps into prison.” He wouldn’t be. Most rapists are cowards. They make themselves feel powerful when they brutalize a woman. Rape isn’t about sex: it’s about power. Most of the time, men who rape do so because they feel powerless in the real world. Once inside the prison walls, he’ll be given unending lessons on power and learn exactly what his victims felt. That was justice.

  “What’s up with you, amigo?”

  “I need some advice.”

  “You want advice? That’s a new one. Go ahead.”

  I pictured him sitting at his desk, a lopsided grin on his face. “I have the name of the guy who took the shots at me at the Looker’s Club.”

  “And you’re sitting in your office and talking to me. Wow! That’s unusual. What brought about this new found restraint?”

  I let his sarcasm roll off me. “He’s involved politically.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Charles. Word is he’s on the security staff of someone high up in Washington.”

  “Charles what?”

  “That’s all I have.”

  “And here I thought you were showing remarkable self-control by not charging off to beat the crap out of him.”

  “Give it a break, Chris”

  “How the hell does one find a guy named Charles, who may be on some politician’s staff without having his full name? I mean, Gabe, Charles is not what I would call a unique name.”

  “You finished having fun yet?”

  “Why not try and bring me up to date. What do you have and how did you get it?”

  I gave him the rundown, from my thoughts on the abducted girls, to what had happened to Gina, followed by a watered down version of how I’d g
otten the name.

  Chris spent a minute mulling over my words. “You keep going from one haystack to another, looking for a needle. I’ve got to be honest, amigo; I have no idea how to start looking for this guy. If you know someone who knows someone at NSA or Secret Service, maybe, but other than that….”

  While I hadn’t held much hope he would be of help, I hadn’t wanted to let it slide. “Thanks anyway. If you think of anything let me know.”

  “You’re pretty sure it has to do with the child abductions?” His words were slow and thoughtful.

  “It all seems to fit.”

  “And you’re not looking at the people in the play any longer.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  He exhaled sharply. “Call Sonny Marks and give him some of your ideas. He’s unhappy without leads. Maybe you can push him.”

  Would Sonny Marks would be open to it? “We’ll see.”

  “He wants this, Gabe. He’s being carved up by the press. He’ll listen to you.”

  “Thanks Chris.”

  “What’re friends for. Later, amigo.”

  “Later.” I hit the intercom button and waited for Femalé.

  “You need?”

  “What happened to yes, sir, how can I help you?”

  “I thought we were equals now, given last night.”

  “Think on, and while you’re thinking, see if you can run down Sonny Marks.”

  “The cop?”

  “How many Sonny Marks do you know?” I closed the connection. I was feeling movement. Things were starting to gel. I glanced at the board. Why was I still bothered by Lia Thornton?

  I went to the board, grabbed the red marker and scrawled ‘Charles?’ across the bottom. I wanted this man. Oh, I wanted him bad.

  Chapter 44

  The intercom buzzed. I hit the speaker, thinking Femalé had gotten through to Marks. “Yes?”

  “There’s a Don Mancuso on line two.”

  I picked up the receiver, but before I could speak, he said, “I need a first-class reason to be doing what Gina asked.”

  “Murder isn’t enough?”

  “From what I heard, you might have murdered her career.”

  Neither his tone, or words or attitude bothered me. He wasn’t wrong. And, I liked the fact he didn’t bother to work it up, he just laid it out the way he saw it. “She knew what she was doing, but what happened to her was wrong.”

  “You bet your ass it was. Give me a reason to help you.”

  “Find a killer, find a predator who’s been abducting eight year old girls for more than a quarter century, and to kick your A.D.’s ass so bad he’ll never step on anyone the way he did to Gina.”

  “I can accept that,” he said. “Right now I don’t want any details—not yet. And we aren’t and never have traded favors, understand?”

  “Loud and clear—what do you have?”

  “Streeter, Sammy Warez—real name Santiago Juarez—is in Miami. Where, I don’t know yet, but one of my people saw him. What do you need?”

  “Streeter, alone in a room for starters would be nice.”

  “Revenge for the dead hooker?”

  “Later, maybe, but I need information. He deals in little girls. I want the people he works with.”

  “How soon are you available to come here?”

  “I’ll be on the first flight after I get your call.”

  “When you’re finished I want all the details.”

  “When my case is done, you’ll have everything I get.” The promise was easy to make, and if things worked out, just as easy to keep.

  “How will this effect Gina? Will it hurt her or help her?”

  A subtle shift in his inflection hinted there had been something between them once. “I won’t let it hurt her.”

  “I’ve done some checking on you after Gina called. I know your background, and I know your army records. You play hard, but you get the job done. I’ll take you at your word, brother.”

  He wasn’t using the term ‘brother’ as street slang: it was information. If he’d been able to check my records, he had a higher security clearance than most field agents, Which told me he’d been there too—perhaps as a Ranger or in one of the other special ops units.

  I gave him my cell number as backup. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”

  I hit the intercom again. “I need the airline schedule to Miami for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “Of course you do. I got through to Sonny Marks. He’s on the street but said to meet him at the coffee shop on Eighty-Forth and Madison at one o’clock. He said you know the place.”

  “I know it. Thanks.”

  I stretched and left the conference room. My office clock said it was eleven-thirty. I checked my email, found four more spams, and made myself the same promise I always did. One day I would set aside an entire month and hunt down every one of those shits who sent the emails and break their fingers, one by one, very slowly.

  But not today. I pulled the Sig from its holster, popped the clip and checked it. It hadn’t been fired since the fracas at the Looker’s Club, but I was a creature of habit when it came to important things, and making sure the Sig was ready to work was one of my habits.

  Holstering it, I went out front and told Femalé I was going to the theatre and then to meet Marks. She was to call me with anything. “And I mean anything,” then added, “Samantha Collins is sending a list of abducted girls from Scotty’s files. See if any of them fit your pattern. It’ll be on my email.”

  “Will do,” she said, looking at the computer screen as she spoke. “I have your airline schedule.”

  “I’ll call when I know so you can book the flight—or if Don Mancuso calls with a go ahead, book the flight and get hold of me.”

  She saluted with a crisp hard edge hand above her right eyebrow. “Yes Sir!”

  “Don’t forget that.”

  <><><>

  My first stop was the theatre. Using the stage entrance off Forty-fifth Street brought up a cavalry charge of memories, but I buried them as fast as they rose—dredging up the past wouldn’t do.

  Inside the theatre, organized chaos reigned. The stage crew was working on the set; the actors were gathered in two groups. One was on the far corner of the stage, the other at the front row. I wasn’t sure why they were here instead of at the rehearsal hall.

  The Production Manager was working with the group onstage. The second AD was talking with the larger group on the floor. Director Mal Linnet, was in the first row, going over drawings with a woman I assumed to be the TD, the Technical Director for the show.

  I walked toward the two and saw Tarz split from the group at the stage and angle toward me. “Tarz.”

  “Teach, how we doing?”

  “It’s slow but I’m getting there.”

  He pursed his lips. “I’ve been asking around, quiet-like, but haven’t called because I haven’t heard anything.”

  “I figured. Just be careful, I don’t want you to have a problem at this point.”

  “I’m being careful.”

  “Are things going well here?”

  “Yeah, everything’s going smooth. It’ll be better when they have the set done. Give us all a nice feel to be here now.”

  “Then you’d better get back to work.”

  His face carved into thoughtful lines. “Yeah, I’ll do that. Teach, you let me know if you need me for anything else, okay?”

  “What I need is for you to be good on that stage. It’s a big opportunity.”

  “I know, and I–”

  Not wanting to be thanked again, I gave him a light shove. “Go.”

  He left and I went to the front row. The Director glanced up, raised a finger to stall me and said, “This is good, Kara, put it through.”

  The TD took the hint, gathered her sketchpad and left. I slipped into the vacated seat. “Tarz says things are going well.”

  “Mondale? Yes, they are. Everyone’s got a full head of steam up. We could open
ahead of schedule, if we wanted to.”

  “That sounds like Albright talking.”

  He gave me a knowing smile. “I said ‘if’. Myself, I like to take all the time I can to run the actors through their paces. We’re not doing an out of town run, so our shakedowns consist of rehearsals and previews. And I hate previews.”

  “I can dig that. I won’t push you to open sooner. Are the Angels leaving you alone for a change?”

  “They’ve backed off after we got the new scene. Albright shows up every other day. Stays for an hour or so and leaves.”

  “How often does Lia Thornton show up?”

  “She comes in on a regular basis. Talks a lot with Kara and made a couple of suggestions Kara implemented in the set design. She seems okay. Have you had any luck yet?”

  “I’m getting there. You need anything from me?”

  “We’re good for now. Mr. Gottleib hasn’t balked at any money requests so far, so I haven’t had to cry to you. They had a water pipe break at the hall two days ago, so I moved everyone here. It was fortunate the theatre came open.”

  It’s always nice to have an unasked question answered. I glanced at the stage where Rebecca Thayer’s resilient voice vibrated through the theatre as she went over her lines with her co-star. “Did Scotty leave any personal papers—anything?”

  “I didn’t come across any when we moved here.”

  It had been worth the chance. “When Albright comes, is he always alone?”

  His eyes went out of focus for a moment. “Yes … no, he came in once with his wife.”

  “Thanks. I’ll get out of your way now. Call if you need anything.”

  “I will.” He put out his hand and I shook it and, as I released his hand, he added, “Do you miss it…the theatre, the directing?

  I held his eyes and knew I couldn’t shrug it off. “Every day.”

  I stayed for a few extra minutes, allowing myself to enjoy Rebecca working her lines before leaving the theatre.