“Get to the point,” Logan snapped. “You know where Robbie is?”
Sinclair shrugged. “That’s not the point. The point is, your friend here might have some visitors, and if she does, I wanna make sure she doesn’t say anything to them about me.”
“What visitors?” Ali managed to ask.
“You’ll see. They might ask you some questions. And I don’t want you bringing my name into the conversation. I’ve never been to your house. You’ve never met me. If they happen to ask about me, you’ve never even heard of me. You understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes. Yes, I understand. But what about Robbie?”
“I told you, he’s fine. And he stays fine as long as you do like I say. So...you still getting that two million on Friday?”
She nodded, not knowing whether that was the right or wrong thing to do.
“And Bob tell you where to meet him with it yet?”
“No...no, not yet.”
“Ahh. Well, if you don’t hear from him about it, you’ll hear from me. You don’t really care who you give that money to, do you? Not so long as you get the kid back safe, right? And by the way, don’t say anything about him to your visitors, neither. About him not being around right now, I mean. You do that, and he won’t be around permanently...you understand what I’m saying?”
Behind them, a driver unable to get past the Cherokee tooted his horn. Sinclair glanced in the man’s direction and gave him a finger. Then, without another word, he turned and started back toward the Caddy.
“He’s got Robbie,” Ali whispered. “My God, Logan, he’s got Robbie.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Logan said, even though he didn’t have any idea who had what. “Just let me get out of the way here,” he added, driving forward, past Sinclair’s car, then pulling in across the entrance to a driveway.
The car they’d been blocking drove past. In the rearview mirror, he could see Sinclair backing up the Caddy. Then he swung it out onto Harbord and was gone. But that probably wasn’t the last they’d see of him, which was far from the most reassuring thought in the world.
Ali had started trembling and tears were trickling down her cheeks, so Logan pulled her close and held her. “Listen to me,” he murmured, thinking fast and trying to add up everything they knew.
“Sinclair doesn’t have Robbie,” he finally said more firmly, deciding that had to be true. “If he did, why wouldn’t he have come right out and said so? And remember when he showed up at your door on Monday? You told me he said he didn’t know where Robbie was. All he knew was that Bob had him. And he only knew that because they’d bugged your phone, remember?”
“But...” Ali didn’t go on, simply gazed tearfully at him.
“Look, he just wants you to think he has Robbie. So you won’t say anything to...to whoever he figures is going to come around asking questions.”
“I won’t. I can’t take the chance that maybe...I just can’t take any chances.”
Logan nodded. As much as he hated the idea of her lying to protect a creep like Sinclair, he knew she’d do anything to help keep Robbie safe. Even if there was only a chance in a million it actually would.
“But, Logan,” she whispered, “do you know what’s going on? Do you understand all this any better than I do? Who doesn’t he want me to say anything to? And what did he mean about the money? That bit about maybe hearing from him about it, instead of from Bob? Why would I give it to him? And even if that made any sense, I won’t have it to give him.”
“Shhh,” Logan murmured, pulling her closer once more.
“And what about Robbie?” she went on, her cheek pressed against his chest. “He’s not going to be waiting at home for us after all. Nobody would have gotten him there with those two goons guarding the street. Oh, Logan, this is all so crazy I can’t stand it. We’re never going to get Robbie back. I’m never going to see him again.”
“Shhh,” he murmured again. “Let’s get home and we’ll talk about it then, okay?”
When she simply made a little whimpering noise in her throat he sat stroking her hair and held her while she cried.
They could drive the final block once she’d calmed down a little. By then, with any luck, he might even come up with some answers to her questions. Some answers she’d want to hear, that was.
He mentally reviewed what Sinclair had said. It had sounded as if he was figuring he could somehow get the two million bucks from Ali. But, as she’d said, she wasn’t going to have it. All she’d have would be a brokerage receipt for its transfer to Switzerland. So if Sinclair had decided he wanted that money, and then he discovered Ali had lied to him...
Logan kissed the top of her head, his throat tight with fear. Last night, she’d said that if Robbie didn’t make it through this she was going to die. And he knew exactly how she felt. If she didn’t make it through this, he was going to die.
* * *
ALI’S HOUSE WAS EMPTY when they finally got there. No Robbie and no visitors. It wasn’t long, though, before the visitors arrived.
Ali had managed to calm down somewhat, and had gone upstairs to wash her face. Logan was on his way to the kitchen to make some coffee. But as he was heading down the hall someone knocked on the front door. He swung around to face two serious-looking men standing on the porch. One was a swarthy, dark-haired guy in his late thirties, the other was balding and a little older. Both were wearing suits and overcoats. Both looked in good shape, but somewhat worn around the edges.
Logan had already guessed they were cops by the time the older one held a detective’s shield up to the glass and said, “Police.” He started for the door, not really surprised this was who Sinclair was worried about Ali talking to. It made the thought of her lying for him even less palatable, but what alternative did she have?
None, he thought, silently answering his own question. Because she was right. They just couldn’t take any chances.
When he opened the door, the younger detective asked if Mrs. Weyden was home. Logan said she was, motioned them inside and turned to call Ali, but she was already coming down the stairs. She was still wearing the jeans and blue ski sweater she’d worn up to the cottage, but she’d put on fresh makeup. It didn’t help. She looked so damned drawn and pale that he knew she couldn’t take much more.
“Mrs. Weyden?” the older detective asked when she reached the bottom of the stairs.
She nodded.
“I’m Detective Frank Hallop. This is my partner, Detective Lou Mitropoulos. We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes. In there be okay?” he added, gesturing toward the living room doorway.
She simply nodded again, and they all trooped in. Hallop and Mitropoulos shrugged out of their coats, then sat down on the couch, facing the fireplace and Christmas tree. Ali took one of the wing chairs. That left Logan only the other chair, at the far end of the coffee table from her, or the love seat, way back by the window. He casually wandered over and just stood behind her chair.
“And you are...?” Hallop said, eyeing him.
“My name’s Logan Reed. I live a couple of doors down the street.”
“Whatever you’re here about,” Ali said quietly, “I’d like Logan to stay.”
“You a lawyer, Mr. Reed?” Mitropoulos asked.
“No. Just a friend.”
Mitropoulos glanced at Hallop. When Hallop shrugged, the younger man produced a pen and notebook from his coat pocket.
“Does she need a lawyer?” Logan asked while Mitropoulos flipped through his book, looking for whatever page he wanted.
“No, I can’t imagine why she would,” Hallop said. He leaned forward, clasping his hands between his knees, and looked directly at Ali. “Mrs. Weyden, I’m afraid this is going to come as a shock to you, but your husband’s body was discovered earlier today. He was murdered sometime during the night.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Murdered?” Ali whispered.
“I’m afraid so,” Hallop said.
Logan
rested his hands on her shoulders, trying to will her strength. The pieces had suddenly fallen into place. A few of them, at any rate. Sometime after Bob had phoned in the middle of the night, Sinclair had succeeded in catching up with him. And that was why Sinclair didn’t want Ali telling anyone what she knew.
But if Bob was dead, what about Robbie? That question started Logan’s gut clenching. Could Sinclair really have him? Surely it wasn’t possible Robbie had been with Bob last night, that when Sinclair had caught up with him...
Of course it was. In this crazy situation anything was possible. And he knew it was the first thing Ali would think about. He began trying to massage the back of her neck, but her muscles were so tense they felt like steel.
“Murdered,” she whispered again.
This time, Hallop simply nodded, then said, “I understand you believed he’d died about eighteen months ago?”
“You’re certain it was Bob Weyden’s body?” Logan asked, trying to buy her time.
Mitropoulos nodded. “His prints are on file. The RCMP had some interest in his activities a few years back.”
“Now,” Hallop said, his attention focused on Ali again, “I’d like to ask you a couple of questions. First, there’s been no response at Mrs. Weyden’s residence. The deceased’s mother, I’m referring to. Do you know if she’s in town?”
“Celeste,” Ali murmured. “Oh, Lord, poor Celeste.”
“Is she in town?” Hallop asked a second time.
Ali nodded. “As far as I know. But when she hears about this she’ll be so... She has a friend. Next door. A Margie someone. When you tell her, could you have Margie there with her?”
“We can try to arrange that,” Hallop said. “And we’ve also gotten no one at Custom Cargoes. Only an answering machine. Would you know if Mr. Velarde is away?”
“No...no. He...I guess he just wasn’t in the office.”
“Fine. That helps us. Now, Mrs. Weyden, we’re not treating your husband’s death as a random killing, but we don’t have much to go on yet. Not as far as motive was concerned. Mr. Weyden was carrying a key, though. There was no ID on the body, but there was a safety deposit key with the number 3374 on it. Does that mean anything to you?”
“No. Nothing.”
“Mrs. Weyden was separated from her husband,” Logan said. “The marriage had ended before he was reported dead the first time. She didn’t know anything helpful then, so now she knows even—”
“Yes,” Hallop said, cutting him off. “We’re aware of the circumstances the first time. We’re already cooperating with the RCMP on this. They obviously have an interest in what’s happened now.”
“And what, exactly, did happen now?” Logan asked.
Hallop gave him an annoyed glance, then nodded to Mitropoulos.
The younger man flipped back a few pages in his book and looked at Ali, as if she’d asked the question. “Mr. Weyden was killed by a semiautomatic pistol,” he began, half reading, half watching Ali.
“We estimate the shooting occurred sometime between 3:00 and 5:00 a.m. A jogger found his body in High Park at approximately 8:00 a.m., but it had been taken to that location after he was killed. Our belief at this point, based on the wounds and other evidence, is that he was shot while in a car. He was likely the driver, which would explain why there were no other keys on his person. Our assumption is that they were left in the ignition,” Mitropoulos concluded, glancing at Hallop.
“So, Mrs. Weyden,” Hallop said, taking over again. “Were you aware your husband was actually alive? Had you seen him recently?”
“No,” she whispered. “No, I hadn’t seen him.”
“Had you heard from him?”
“Wait a minute,” Logan said before Ali could answer. “She just finished saying she didn’t know he was alive. You’ve given her some shocking news, so I don’t think—”
“Mr. Reed,” Hallop snapped, “I’m afraid if you’re going to interfere you’ll have to leave.”
“Detective Hallop,” Ali said, her voice still a little shaky. “Logan isn’t trying to interfere. But...I’m afraid I’m not feeling well right now. We just got back from visiting a friend who’s extremely ill. She had surgery and...I’m sorry...I was very upset before you even got here...and hearing about Bob...I really can’t cope with talking to you right now. Could we do it later? Maybe this evening? I could come to your office, or—”
“Mrs. Weyden, this is important.”
“Yes, I understand that. You have a murder case on your hands. But I’m sure you don’t suspect me of having killed my husband.”
“No, of course not, but—”
“And nothing I can tell you will...what Logan said before is true. I didn’t know anything that could help the RCMP last time, and there’s nothing now that...” Ali dissolved into tears and buried her face in her hands.
Logan glared over her head at the detectives. “Can’t you see the shape she’s in? She was told eighteen months ago her husband was dead. And she thought that was true. What do you figure she can tell you now that can’t wait a few hours?”
* * *
ALI SAT HUDDLED in her chair while Logan showed the detectives out. Even after she’d collapsed into tears, he’d had a hard time convincing them to leave, because they’d clearly suspected she was putting on a performance.
Of course, she had been trying to duck their questions, but it had hardly been a performance. All she’d done was stop trying quite so hard not to cry, and her tears had begun flowing as if they’d never stop. But now she had to pull herself together. She was so terrified she could scarcely think, yet she had to think.
Bob was dead. Really dead this time. The deal they’d made last night meant nothing any longer. He definitely wouldn’t be sending Robbie back to her, which made it even more crucial that she find him—even though that was seeming more impossible than ever.
An image of Bob had formed in her mind and she closed her eyes. Her thoughts were so full of Robbie she hadn’t really considered how she felt about Bob’s murder. Surely nobody deserved to be shot to death by Nick Sinclair or his silent friend—whichever of them had pulled the trigger. She buried her face in her hands again, knowing she’d scraped the absolute bottom of her emotional reserve. But she had to hold on.
“Hey,” Logan said.
When she looked, he was standing in front of her.
He rested his hands on her arms, drew her to her feet and pulled her tightly to him.
“We’ve got till seven tonight,” he said quietly. “That’s when Hallop and his buddy are coming back. And if we haven’t found Robbie by then I think we’re going to have to tell them everything. We can’t play fast and loose with them forever.”
Pressing her cheek against his chest, she couldn’t help thinking that wasn’t the only reason they’d have to tell the police everything. She might not write crime fiction, but she knew that when kidnappings went wrong, the kidnap victim usually ended up dead. And that meant if she and Logan didn’t find Robbie soon, their likelihood of ever finding him alive would be frighteningly low.
If they didn’t find him soon, telling the police the entire story and hoping for the best would be the only thing left to do. Regardless of Nick Sinclair’s threats. She stood listening to the solid thudding of Logan’s heart, telling herself over and over again that they were going to find Robbie soon.
Then the phone rang and she tensed.
“I’ll get it,” Logan said. He tentatively released Ali, half-afraid she wasn’t up to standing on her own, let alone managing a phone conversation.
When he started for the kitchen, though, she was right on his heels.
The recorder was still connected to the phone, but he had to look twice to be sure it had come on. The afternoon sunlight filling the room made the red light’s glow barely visible.
When he grabbed the receiver and said hello, a man demanded, “Who’s that?”
It took half a second before he recognized the voice as Vinny Velarde�
�s.
“It’s Logan Reed. What can I do for you?”
“You can put Ali on.”
He glanced at her, covering the mouthpiece with his hand and whispering, “Vinny.”
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered back. “We still don’t know if he was really in cahoots with Bob or not. But if he was...Logan, if he was he might know where Robbie is.”
“Do you want to do the talking?”
She pressed her fingers to her mouth and shook her head. “I’m so upset I can’t think straight. Do you think you could get him to talk to you?”
“Sorry, Vinny,” Logan said, “she can’t come to the phone right now. She said to ask you what’s up.”
“What’s up? Hell, you tell me what’s up! I’m with a supplier all morning, and when I finally get to the office all I find is my machine full of messages I don’t want to hear. First there’s one from Deloras, telling me she’s not coming in because she’s sick. And there’s one from my wife.”
Vinny paused, as if he expected Logan to know exactly what that message had been about. And guessing was hardly a challenge. Mimi had been so curious about why Vinny hadn’t told her Bob was alive, she’d probably been on the phone to Custom Cargoes the very minute Logan and Ali had left the cottage.
“Mimi’s going bananas, you know,” Vinny went on when Logan didn’t say anything. “Why would you go up there and tell her about Bob when I hadn’t?”
“Why hadn’t you?” Logan asked. That question had bothered him the entire drive back from Muskoka, and the answer might tell them, once and for all, if Vinny really knew anything about Robbie or not.
“Why?” he said. “Because she’s an insane worrier, that’s why. And when she worries she’s constantly on my back. And as soon as it occurs to her that Bob’s being alive means I owe the insurance company five million bucks, she’s going to go nuts with worrying. So I figured I’d try to get things worked out somehow, before I told her.”
Logan swore to himself. That had a strong ring of believability to it. And if Vinny hadn’t been keeping Mimi in the dark because he’d been helping Bob, so much for his knowing where Robbie was.
I'll Be Home for Christmas Page 17
