“Can’t remember.”
She knew I was lying. “If the kid is in danger …”
“Telling the police might put him in more danger. If he’s still alive.”
I waited a minute while Bobbi thought. I stuck a toe in the middle of a cluster of egrets near my chair and stirred. Not even a feather moved as they stared at me.
“Talk to your brother,” she finally said.
That wasn’t what I expected. “Which one?”
“Charlie.” Again, not what I expected. I’d been meaning to call Frank because of his work against traffickers. Charlie was in the FBI.
“Okay.”
She heard the reservation in my voice. “Do it, Pam.”
“I said okay.” I felt aggrieved. How come no one believed me?
“How’s Ivy?”
“Has a funeral this week. I think she’s sweet on a lawyer.” I hadn’t meant to say that last part. I regretted it when I heard Bobbi’s voice catch.
“Want me to do a background check on the guy?” See what I mean? Bobbi’d do anything for Ivy. Doing a favor for me? Like extracting teeth.
“Already checked him out.” I didn’t tell her that he’d arranged my adoption. Or had been at the top of my suspect list in making Tyler disappear. “You and Wesley going over to Ivy’s tomorrow night?”
“You betcha. Wesley will want to check him out.”
I figured her dermatologist husband couldn’t care less about Ivy’s love life, but he did soften Bobbi’s toughness and lighten her dour view of life. Okay, her dour view of me.
After I signed off, I galloped upstairs to see if Medy Soto was in the bedroom. She wasn’t.
I went slower downstairs, still not caring if I trampled the egrets. On the steps, they’d multiplied, standing shoulder to shoulder from the first floor to the second. On the landing, they milled in circles.
I considered calling Charlie but could drum up no enthusiasm. He and Frank were twins, both in college when our parents died. Eight years older than me, it felt as if they’d grown up in a different family. They had a complete childhood with our parents and mainly without me.
Although different in temperament, they remained best friends. Charlie had served in the FBI since graduating from law school. His wife was also an agent and they had a truckload of kids. Frank had never married, finished his degree at the third university he attended, and worked at a string of NGOs and rescue organizations over the past thirty years. I spent more time at Charlie’s place, but was closer to Frank. Charlie treated me like one of his kids. Frank talked to me like a peer.
Setting aside Bobbi’s command to call Charlie, I called Frank first. No answer, no surprise. I left a message.
After finishing the coffee, I called Charlie and told him about the Hinshaw case and the two babies kidnapped from games. I mentioned Brett Gunnison. Silence, then…
“Why are you calling, Pam?” He had that tone in his voice. Parenting me again.
“Are you investigating Gunnison in the kidnappings?” It was a shot in the dark, but I added, “Is he involved in selling kids?”
“Pam.” His voice was laden with all the warnings and lectures he’d read over me my entire life. The content hadn’t changed much over the years. Since the brain damage, the frequency had.
Trying to avoid the homily, I summed up for him. “Stay out of it. Mind my own business. Lay low.”
“In a nutshell, yeah. And what are you going to do?”
“Close my case. These are kids, Charlie. Someone’s gotta look out for them.”
“Leave it to the FBI. This is what we’re trained to do.”
“Tyler Hinshaw vanished two years ago. He went missing when baby Micah Soto did. And the lacrosse baby’s been missing even longer. Maybe you professionals should step aside for me.”
“Don’t make me send someone to detain you. You’re gonna get yourself killed.”
Whoa. This was the first time he’d threatened to detain me. I let that go for a minute. The second part was more interesting. “Killed? Did Gunnison kill someone?” Then the awful truth hit me. “Did he murder Tyler?”
“Pam …”
“Are you covering up that kid’s death to protect Gunnison?”
“Pam!”
After shouting my name, he said nothing but breathed hard. Knowing him, he’d be counting to ten, waiting till he calmed enough to talk to me in his infuriating, condescending voice. Frank would have kept yelling and I’d be at the same volume till we resolved it. A much more satisfying way to fight.
He could have counted to ten three times over and still hadn’t said anything. I repeated in an even tone, “Is the FBI covering up a murder?”
“No.”
I waited. I could be the adult here.
“A beating so bad, the victim should have died. But there’s no evidence Gunnison did it. Just the word of an unreliable witness.”
I waited too long to respond, stunned that Charlie had said so much.
“Was the victim Ty…? Why do you …?”
“I’ve said more than I should.” Drat. His brakes were on again. “I mean it, Pam. Stay out of this.”
“I …”
“I really will send someone to make sure you don’t leave your place. And I’m telling Ivy.”
That was low. “She already knows.” I heard the angry whine to my voice. Somehow I always reverted to acting twelve-years-old again around Charlie.
Before he stripped any more years off me, I said, “Do what you like, because I’m going to do what it takes.” I nearly put my thumb through my phone ending the call.
I grabbed my backpack, stuffed it with the paper copies I’d made earlier, and ran from my condo. I slammed the door hard enough that the lights went on in Haney’s place. I panted. I needed altitude, and I needed it fast.
And I couldn’t drive. I hesitated a few precious seconds outside the garage where my car gathered dust, and then I sprinted till the pain in my bad leg overwhelmed me. After that I walked as fast as I dared, hating to be on the main streets outside the complex in full view of anyone heading to my place.
How fast could Charlie get someone to my condo? He always followed up on his threats.
My cell buzzed as I turned up the street to the closest commercial area. I checked the screen. Ivy. Figuring Charlie had called her, I didn’t answer.
I crossed the parking lot and ducked into Pita Olympus, a small Greek restaurant. After placing my order, I went upstairs to their rooftop patio. I took a table near the railings so I could see everyone coming and going. I let the altitude and a perfect iced tea settle me.
Fifteen minutes later, I figured it was safe to drag my attention away from the street. Catching my breath every time I saw a black sedan was going to give me a heart attack. I ordered pita and cilantro hummus, and set my cell to silent. It had buzzed nine times since I’d arrived at the restaurant. Charlie was storming the fortress today.
Now that I’d appeased my need for height and hummus, I considered why I felt unglued. I mean, even more unglued than usual. Maybe I should use one of Psychiatrist Jo’s techniques for “delving into my feelings.” Forget that. A bunch of hooey.
It didn’t take a PHD to recognize what was wrong. While I knew from the beginning that Tyler Hinshaw might be dead, I now believed he was. Charlie accomplished his mission. I was scared. Or at least as scared as my damaged emotional centers allowed. Not scared for myself. Scared for those stolen babies. I also dreaded telling my good looking client and Tyler’s parents that someone had killed the boy with the hero complex.
Had Chris really seen him? Maybe the kid hadn’t been living in Santa Ana. Maybe Chris lied because that’s what he thought I wanted to hear. Had Tyler survived his encounter with Gunnison? Charlie said he’d been beaten, not killed. Egged on by the caffeine, my brain churned with answers, most of which I didn’t like.
I checked the street again. Amazing how many dark sedans were out there. I pulled out my research. Time to learn
more about Micah Soto’s kidnapping and Brett Gunnison.
Thirty minutes later, I’d eaten all the hummus except for the part topped by olive, paprika, and oil. I saved that for last. I’d read the articles about Micah Soto’s kidnapping. I did learn that a local Filipino club had offered a reward for information leading to the infant’s return. I’d call later to find out if they’d gathered anything, viable or not.
I had to filter the information about Gunnison. Almost all of it was public relations propaganda and some celebrity news. He had custody of three sons from two ex-wives and was currently unwed, but loads of photos showed him with models and actresses. He looked tall and virile with those young females at his side, but even with a charming smile, his face was empty of human warmth.
He had a strong education platform, including a specific agenda for more science and math funding, which should have made me like him better. It didn’t. His mother had died of breast cancer ten years ago, and he often attended pink ribbon charity dinners. That didn’t spark admiration from me either.
His chiseled, inhuman face wouldn’t convict him, and I’d not found a hint of unethical behavior anywhere. Not a clue that he’d been involved in the kidnappings.
I checked my voicemail. Multiple messages from Charlie. Just the one from Ivy. A message from Bobbi. And one from Dante.
Dante probably wanted to talk about the magic act. Compulsion made me want to talk to him first, but I called Bobbi instead.
She answered with, “You owe me, girl.”
“Would a six pack of Dr. Pepper cover it? And hello, by the way.”
“I got a name. You got a pen?”
I scrabbled in my backpack and came up with three. “Go.”
“Four years ago on April 4th, a six-month-old girl was taken at a lacrosse game. Baby’s name was Kylie Jewett. Never recovered.”
When she didn’t continue, I asked, “Why’d you stop?”
“That’s all I got. Before you ask, the answer is no. I’m not requesting any more case files so you can hack into my machine and steal them. Do your own research, call in your own favors, because I’m not doing it for you. Not this time. Nor ever again.”
“Okay.”
She must have fainted, because I couldn’t even hear her breathing. “Bobbi, you still there?”
“Yeah. What do you mean okay?”
“Thanks. I appreciate this. Charlie says it’s dangerous, so you stay out of it.”
“Did Charlie say why?” Her voice dropped to a hush.
“Someone got beat up bad. I’m thinking it was Tyler Hinshaw. I don’t want to put you in any danger, so stop working on it.”
She harrumphed. “Don’t be telling me what to do, girl. You’re not the boss of me. I’ll find out more about that baby if I’ve a mind to do so.”
“You said …”
“Don’t tell me what I said. I know what I said. I’ll call you back when I’ve got more intel.”
It occurred to that Charlie had the resources to track my cell phone. I’d been an idiot …
“I gotta go, Bobbi.” With a pita triangle, I scooped up the last of the hummus topping. “Don’t call me. I’ll call you. And be careful.”
“Don’t tell me …”
I ended the call in the middle of her umbrage. As I wolfed down the last of the food, I stuffed the stack of papers into the backpack. Fortunately I’d told the waiter to put the iced tea in a to-go cup. I stuck the phone behind a seat cushion, left a wad of cash under my plate, and sprinted down the stairs.
“Money’s on the table!” I yelled at the owner as I headed for the door. He raised a languid hand without turning, his gaze glued to the soccer game on the bar’s television.
I spotted a mobile telephone store in the strip mall between a dentist office and a frozen yogurt place. No surprise—they were more plentiful on the cityscape than cat dander. I purchased a burner phone, then planted myself at Yogurt Time behind the napkin and plastic spoon counter with a micro cup of cherry yogurt salted with pralines.
I had a good view of the parking lot. As I finished leaving a message for Ivy, a black mid-sized Buick parked in front of Olympus Pita. Three spoonfuls later, two disgruntled men in business suits returned to the car, and one of them slipped something into his pocket.
I wondered if it was my phone.
Feeling smug, I watched them leave and finished my yogurt. Then I called Dante.
“Who’s this?” Dante asked.
“Does no one say Hi, this is me, and how are you anymore?” I groused.
“Ms. Graff? You got a new phone?”
“Yeah. Why’d you call?”
“One of my boys seen the kid.”
My mind was still on the baby girl stolen at the lacrosse game so it took a few seconds. Then I bolted from my plastic chair, which startled the tattooed man behind the register.
“Tyler? You saw Tyler?”
Not dead. Our hero was alive.
CHAPTER TEN
An unexpected reaction
“Did he look injured?
“One of my boys seen him—not me,” Dante said with infinite patience. “At that shed behind the Salvadoran restaurant. I don’t know about injuries. Someone messing with him?”
My heart rate went from 60 to 150 miles per hour. “How long ago?”
“’Bout an hour. He’s gone again, but one of my boys is tailing him.”
“Can you pick me up?”
“I’m a busy man, Ms. Graff. Never mind, I could use a break. Where are you?”
After giving him my location, I told him to watch out for signs of the FBI in the area. I thought that might deter him, but it seemed to liven him up some.
“You do know how to show a guy a good time, Ms. Graff. See you in a few.”
Twenty minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot near the hookah lounge, three doors down. I scrutinized his technique as he leaned against his car and fiddled with his phone. He wasn’t playing his gangster persona, but looked like a college student waiting for a study date. On the hood, he set a stack of composition books and what appeared to be, from my 50 feet away, the text I’d used in my Intro to Physics class.
He’d stolen his text book? For all the scams I’d done with him, this seemed especially low.
He casually watched a few dark cars cruise by before he waved in my direction. He lifted his text book and pointed to it.
I could recognize a signal when I saw it. My left leg complaining, I trotted to his car and slid into the passenger seat as he opened the door.
My heart hammered. “Drive.” But he was already shifting gears and peeling from the parking lot.
In the ten minutes it took to get on and then off the freeway, our heads never stopped moving as we watched for possible tails. Score a couple of points for me. None for Charlie and the FBI.
The sun dropped low in the west. It was almost six and the temperature had dropped too. I pulled my thin sweater tighter over me and wondered if Tyler was somewhere warm.
Dante squinted against the glare. “You want me to grab the kid and take him somewhere so you can question him?”
“Drop a bag over his head or knock it him out first?” I shot him a sardonic look. The student mode had dropped from Dante, but he still didn’t look like a hoodlum. Not like when I questioned Lance Dolan. For a moment, he looked as young as he had in my Physics class, his eyes gleaming in anticipation of fun.
Did that mean that I was slipping into another delusion? I saw no sparkling egrets painted on his shirt or perched in the backseat. Still something seemed hazy about my vision. As we approached a park, I thought I saw a dragon flying in the baseball field.
“You okay?”
Instead of answering, I pointed at the park. “You see a dragon?”
“Yeah. It’s one of them kites. A good one, too.” He flicked me another look. “You sure you’re okay?”
I wondered what he saw that he’d ask me twice. “Good enough.”
I took a few deep b
reaths and checked the side mirror again. No government tails trying to pass as innocent black sedans. And did Charlie really have the pull at the FBI to waste manpower on me?
Although reality wasn’t always my friend, I did have two science degrees and years of practicing its methods. Time to set aside delusions (or at least ignore them) and apply some logic.
Problem: The FBI may or may not be looking for me. Solution: I’d rid myself of my cell and bought a burner phone. Dante removed me from my last known location. Charlie knew nothing about Dante. Problem solved.
Problem: Tyler Hinshaw had been sighted and was now on the move. Solution: Dante had him tailed. We should be meeting him soon. I’d take him to my office and keep him safe till Gunnison was arrested. I wouldn’t know if this was resolved till I had Tyler safe, but at least this was a plan.
Problem: Gunnison was a high profile politician and might have law enforcement in his pocket. Solution: I had my own skills and some law connections and criminal enforcement in my pocket. But I didn’t have a plan.
I turned to Dante, my criminal enforcement. There was no way around it. I’d have to say the four words I hated the most.
As if sensing something coming, Dante glanced at me.
“I need your help.”
After I sketched out Tyler’s hero issues, the two kidnappings, and Gunnison’s probable involvement, Dante’s genius brain went into gear. He offered several scenarios that I never had the chance to discard as he went into some sort of trance assessing probabilities of success with each idea. It should have worried me that he was driving under the influence of his own thought experiments, but he continued to operate the car with his usual panache.
He finally decided on a sting operation similar to the magic show con we’d discussed yesterday. Without the magic.
“You okay there?” I finally inquired. “You need any input from me?”
“Not really.” I noticed his gangster repartee nearly disappeared while concentrating on a problem. He sounded like the son of a poet and a university professor. Now he slipped back into his usual parlance.
“You’d just mess with it anyways. You got any objections? I’m just being polite asking like I am, ‘cause you can’t see anything wrong with what I’m saying.”
Egrets, I've Had a Few (Deluded Detective Book 2) Page 7
