Call Of The Witch

by Dana Donovan

  “She doesn’t.”

  “What do you call Brian?”

  “He’s not her friend. He’s a schoolmate. He lives a couple of streets over. They share books now and then.”

  “Kelly’s not allowed to have friends, Detective.” This from Amanda Brewbaker, who until now seemed content with her cigarettes and bourbon. “Especially if they’re boys.”

  “That’s enough, Mandy.”

  “Come on, Lionel, tell them. If it were up to you, Kelly would be locked up in a tower away from all her friends until she turned twenty-one.”

  “Kelly doesn’t have any friends.”

  “Sure she does. She has friends at school, at the riding academy, the dance studio. She’s a very popular girl. She just doesn’t tell you about them because she knows you won’t approve.”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “No, Lionel, nonsense is not allowing the girl to watch TV. Have you noticed, Detectives, there are no televisions in this house?”

  “Kelly doesn’t need TV. She has her studies.”

  “Her studies. See, this is the prison sentence one gets when one has an IQ of 140.”

  “That’s enough, Mandy.”

  “For crying out loud, Lionel, let your hair down once in a while.”

  “Stop it!” I said, inserting myself between the two. “This isn’t helping Kelly at all. Mr. Brewbaker, Please. We’re going to need some information about Kelly for the Amber Alert.”

  “Amber Alert? Won’t that tip off the kidnappers that we called the police?”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’m sorry, but we’ve already lost valuable time. If the kidnapper is traveling with Kelly, they could be leaving the area at a rate of a mile a minute. Every second counts. Now then, we’ll need a good description of her; height, weight, eyes, hair color, distinguishing birthmarks, scars. Anything like that.”

  “All right,” said Brewbaker. “Let’s see. She’s about 43” tall, 50 lbs. blond hair, blue eyes, no birthmarks….” He trailed off then, and I could see him choking up some as he recalled this next feature. “She’s got a little scar right here.” He pointed to his upper chin. “Below her lip where she fell and cut herself on the coffee table when she was five.”

  Carlos said, “43” tall, 50 pounds?” That’s kind of small for a nine-year-old, isn’t it? Sounds more like your average seven-year-old.”

  “That’s why I call her Peanut, Detective. She was barely a pumpkin seed when she was born.” His eyes were pooling now. “But like I said, what she lacks in stature, she more than makes up for in IQ. She speaks four languages you know: Spanish, Italian, French and of course, English. She’s the smartest kid I know.”

  The tears found life now. Lionel Brewbaker excused himself to find a tissue. I turned to Amanda Brewbaker. “Do you have a current photo of Kelly that we can use for the Amber Alert?”

  “Of course,” she said, and she went off to get it.

  I asked Carlos if he would email Kelly’s stats to Dominic. He held his phone up so that I might see the read out on the screen. “Uploading as fast as I can.”

  “Okay, I wasn’t rushing you.”

  He shook his head and snickered.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just that a year ago, you didn’t even know what email was.”

  “I did so.”

  “No you didn’t. Dominic had you convinced that email was short for easy mail post-paid envelopes you picked up at the post office.”

  “That’s because they have such a thing at the post office. I knew they––”

  “Detectives!” Lionel Brewbaker returned from the kitchen holding a prescription bottle. His hands were trembling––again. “Detective, look.” He showed me the bottle. “This is Kelly’s medication. She needs to take this every day for her heart.”

  “Shit,” said Carlos. I don’t think he meant for us to hear, but we all did.

  “Kelly has a heart condition?”

  “It’s congenital. She takes this every day.”

  “I have a picture, Detective.” Amanda Brewbaker returned with a photo, a digital snapshot printed on photo quality paper. It showed Kelly wearing what looked like her riding outfit.

  “Is this current?”

  “Taken about a month ago.”

  “Mandy,” said Lionel. He held the medication bottle up for her to see. She gasped, perhaps the only time all afternoon I had seen her display genuine emotion.

  “Is that Kelly’s?”

  “Yes.”

  I expected she would run to her husband and the two would embrace. She didn’t. Instead she ran straight for the bourbon.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Brewbaker.” I walked to her and removed the glass from her hand. “I’m sorry, but I think we all need to keep a clear head about things. Would you mind?”

  She offered no protest.

  “Carlos, will you do me a favor and escort Mrs. Brewbaker upstairs to Kelly’s room? Go through Kelly’s belongings and look for letters, notes, a diary, anything unusual she might have documented. Also, check her laundry. Clean and dirty. Have Mrs. Brewbaker verify anything that might seem strange or unfamiliar.”

  “Got it.”

  “Oh, and Carlos.” I waved him over and met him half-way. Leaning in to him and whispering, I said, “Pay particular attention to any soiled underwear. Look for traces of blood.”

  He nodded. “Right.”

  As they headed up the stairs, I turned to Lionel. “We need to know what your daughter was wearing this morning. Can you tell us?”

  “She was still in pajamas when I left.”

  “What color?”

  “White with little sea creatures on them.”

  “Sea creatures?”

  “Starfish, whales, dolphins and such.”

  “I see. Now, if she left the house on her own, have you any idea where she might have gone?”

  “She wouldn’t have left the house on her own.”

  “But if she did?”

  “She didn’t.”

  “You don’t think she would have gone to a friend’s house.”

  “I told you. She has no friends.”

  “Does she know the neighborhood well?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean if she left the house for any reason, does she know her way around enough not to get lost?”

  “Detective, you’re wasting time with these questions.”

  “Humor me, please.”

  “Yes. She knows her way around the neighborhood. She has a great sense of direction. Phenomenal even. I could drop her in the middle of the Amazon and she’d find her way home before dinner.”

  “Ok, fine.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, knowing he wouldn’t want to hear my next question. “Mr. Brewbaker, do you by any chance have Kelly’s fingerprints on record?”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “Yes. A fingerprint card.”

  “Good God no. Why would I need that?”

  I think he knew why. “Just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “It’s standard procedure, sir.”

  “Then no, Detective. I’m sorry. I don’t. I mean honestly, I would never have imagined my daughter might someday be kidnapped.”

  “No parent ever does, sir.”

  “Fingerprints,” he said, shaking his head. “Who’d have thought of fingerprinting a goddamn child?”

  “That’s all right. Don’t worry about it. We can lift them from something in her room.”

  I followed Lionel Brewbaker to the couch, and when he sat down, I sat down next to him. “I know this is extremely difficult, but I have only a few more questions. I have to ask this, sir. Can you think of anyone who might have done this? Do you have any enemies at all?”

  He had planted his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. He was not outwardly crying, but subtle groans bled through his hands. Without looking up, he said, “No, Detective. I have no enemies, and certainly
Kelly has no enemies either.”

  “Of course not. Tell me about your visit today at your lawyer’s. Was that about the divorce?”

  He shook his head lightly. “No. My visit today was with a corporate lawyer.” He raised his head and we made eye contact. “I’m in talks with my business partner, Bill Massy Jr. He’s offered to buy me out. I agreed.”

  “You’re selling your interest in Brewbaker and Massy Department Stores?”

  “That’s right.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Has it got anything to do with the divorce?”

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “It is if it lends to a motive for kidnapping.”

  “You think Massy kidnapped my daughter?”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m simply saying that where large amounts of money are concerned, we have to look at all possibilities. How much is the buyout worth to you?”

  “We’re still negotiating that.”

  “Tony!” Carlos came back downstairs with Amanda Brewbaker in close tow. He held up a pillow case wrung tight mid-way and tied in a knot. “We didn’t find anything suspicious, but I grabbed this stuff.”

  I walked to him and took the pillowcase, weighing it in my hands. “What is it?”

  “Pajamas, socks, undergarments, hairbrush. You know.” he covered the side of his mouth. “Scent stuff.”

  “Those pajamas, do they have whales and dolphins on them?”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “Never mind. Good work.”

  “What does he mean, scent stuff?” Brewbaker asked.

  “They’re scent articles,” I said. “For search dogs. If it comes to that.” I could see he wanted to challenge me, assuming I meant if it came to finding his daughter’s dead body. I came back to him. Put my hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Brewbaker. More often than not, the dogs pick up the scent of a live child hidden away in an old boxcar or a warehouse or someplace like that.”

  He nodded without comment.

  “Olson’s here,” said Carlos.

  We all turned toward the kitchen to see Detective Brittany Olson coming through the swinging door separating the two rooms. In all the years I have known Olson, she’s never failed to turn heads when making an entrance. Even in her fifties, she still maintains the perfect balance between unquestionable authority and undeniable femininity. She’s bright, confident, physically fit and masterfully perceptive. In many ways, she reminds me of Lilith, only without the attitude. Maybe that’s why the old Tony Marcella dated her, but never stayed with her. Then again, that might have been her idea.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Brewbaker.” I presented Olson with a sweep of my hand. “This is Detective Olson, NCPD. Detective, Mr. and Mrs. Brewbaker.”

  She shook hands. No smiles. All business. “Detective Olson will set up a command center here in the house. Either she, Carlos, Detective Spinelli or myself will maintain a presence here at all times. Mr. Brewbaker, we’re going to need your permission to monitor and record all calls activated on your cell, Mrs. Brewbaker’s, Kelly’s and of course, your home phone lines.”

  “Of course,” said Brewbaker.

  “Detective Olson will also need to access Kelly’s computer, check her browser and document history, contacts, email flow and anything else she might need to explore on its hard drive. I assume you have her passwords to her social networking sites?”

  “All her passwords are the same: KellyB140.”

  “Good. Detective Olson will also need to go over your most recent phone bills. That’ll include all cell and landlines that Kelly might have had access to. Is that all right?”

  “Of course. Again, anything you need, Detective.”

  “Thank you. And lastly, we’ll need address and contact numbers for all of Kelly’s acquaintances, anyone she may have been in contact with over the last week or so. You mentioned she goes horseback riding?”

  “Yes. She studies equestrian disciplines at a place in Essex, off 133, just down from one of my department stores.”

  “We’ll need her instructor’s name and the name of the stables he operates. You also mentioned she takes dance lessons?”

  “At the Swan Lake Dance Studios on Route One.”

  “Route One, where?”

  “In Danvers.”

  I turned to Olson. “You’ll get that info and send it to Spinelli?”

  “Of course. He’ll have it on his desk before you get there.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to Brewbaker again. “Sir, do you mind if I bring in some street cops to canvas the neighborhood. Look for witnesses. You might be surprised what people see and don’t report until––”

  “No. Absolutely not, Detective. You heard the kidnappers. No police. I already let you talk me into letting you call two more officers in on this. I would really much prefer to wait until they call back with the ransom demand, pay the damn thing and get my little girl back in my arms.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand that, but normally a child abduction case like this has dozens of people working to––”

  The phone rang. It was in Brewbaker’s pocket. He took it out and handed it to me. I checked to make sure it was still on speaker before hitting the pick up button. Brewbaker spoke first.

  “Hello?”

  The scrambled voice came back, “You called the police.”

  “What? No. I didn’t. These people are my friends. I didn’t call the police. I swear!”

  “I want them gone. We will not tolerate disobedience. We are monitoring your phones. If you call anyone, your daughter dies.”

  “No, please. I won’t call a soul. Just tell me what you want. How much do you need to let my little girl go?”

  “Our demands are coming. Stay by the phone.”

  The line went dead. I looked at Carlos and Olson. Both had made the obvious observation. It was Carlos who said it. “There’s more than one kidnapper.”

  Brewbaker’s jaw went slack. “What?”

  “There’s more than one,” I said. “The caller referred to at least one other accomplice. He said ‘We are monitoring your lines. We will not tolerate disobedience’.”

  “They’re watching the house,” said Carlos. How else would they know we’re here?”

  Brewbaker said, “They saw her come in.” he pointed at Olson. “It’s her fault.”

  “No,” she said. “I parked down the street, came through the neighbor’s back yard and in the back door. Nobody saw me.”

  “Then how do you explain the kidnappers knowing you’re all here?”

  “They didn’t see anyone,” I said. I looked at my watch. It’s been over a half hour since his first call. He’s guessing if you called anyone, they’d be here by now.”

  “So, he’s bluffing,” said Carlos.

  “I think so.”

  “You think so,” said Brewbaker.

  I walked to the window, pulled back the curtains and peeked outside. The long driveway curved to the left on the far end, closest to the street. Tall oaks flanked both sides all the way down. No one sitting out front by the street could see the house from there, let alone who came or went. I let the curtains fall back in place.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I said. “It’s done. We’re here. We have a job to do and we’re going to do it.”

  CAPTIVITY

  On the ride back to the Justice Center, I asked Carlos how he was doing on time.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your date tonight. You going to make it?”

  “Oh, Lauri. Right. Nah, I’m gonna cancel.”

  “You’re going to cancel?”

  “Yeah, this is more important. Isn’t it?”

  “It is. Thanks.”

  We drove further. I settled into a train of thought centering on Amanda Brewbaker. I had made my observations regarding her odd demeanor long before Lionel Brewbaker said anything to me about her. She didn’t strike me as a mastermind criminal type capab
le of orchestrating a kidnapping, but perhaps with the right accomplice she….

  “Tony!”

  I gasped and found myself bracing for a collision that wasn’t coming.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  “Answer what?”

  “I asked you if you thought Brit was sexy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Brittany Olson. Is it me, or does she look a whole lot hotter now that she’s made detective?”

  “Hell, Carlos. I don’t know. Why are you asking me that? I thought you had a girlfriend.”

  “Oh, sure, I do. I mean I’m not saying I want to ask her out or anything. I was just making an observation.”

  “I see.”

  “So?”

  “So what?”

  “So do you think she’s a whole lot hotter now that she’s made detective?”

  “I don’t know. Carlos. Yes, I suppose she is. You know I’ve always thought Brit was a handsome woman.”

  Carlos started laughing at that.

  “What?”

  “You said she was handsome.”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Tony, guys are handsome. Women are pretty.”

  “Women can be handsome. Anything can be handsome.”

  “You think Amanda Brewbaker’s handsome?”

  “I think she was handsome at one time.”

  “Me too. I think she looks like a skank now.”

  “Carlos!”

  “Well she does. You know something just doesn’t sit right with me about her.”

  “Hmm, I tend to agree.”

  “What, that she looks like a skank?”

  “No. That something doesn’t seem right. She doesn’t come across to me like the grieving mother. And by the way, while you were on the phone with Dominic, Lionel Brewbaker took me aside and expressed concerns about her. I think he was trying to implicate her in the kidnapping.”

  “Noooo!”

  “I think. Maybe we should invite them both downtown and have them come in to take a polygraph.”

  “I would.”

  “So, are you going to call her?”

  “Amanda?”

  “No. Your girlfriend. You said you were going to cancel your date with her.”

  “Oh, sure, I’ll call. You know. Soon.”

  “Yeah, well I have to cancel dinner with Lilith, too. Only I’m not going to call. I’m going to go home and tell her to her face. It’s the only way she’ll believe me.”