“How has Amanda Forrester responded to the kidnapping, apart from driving the police away?”
“She’s petrified the kidnappers will harm Sheila. I’m sure that’s why she tried to call off the police, but I don’t believe she’s involved in any way, if that’s what you’re driving at. I don’t see what she could possibly gain from a kidnapping.”
“You’ve said the shelter’s struggling financially,” Michaelson noted. “It’s possible that Amanda and Sheila settled on a scheme for getting some extra money.”
I shook my head. “I’ve already told Amanda the Bennett Logan Memorial Trust would donate money to help the shelter. Why would she need to stage a kidnapping to get more?”
“Maybe she and Sheila aren’t after money for the shelter,” Michaelson observed. “Maybe they want money for themselves.”
I considered the suggestion seriously for a moment. Could Amanda and Sheila be scamming me? I thought about the look in Amanda’s eyes when she handed me the ransom note. It was an intangible sense I couldn’t fully convey to Michaelson, but Amanda was genuinely in distress. She wasn’t acting, I was sure of it. “Anything’s possible,” I said finally, “but I’m sure the answer lies farther afield.”
Michaelson acknowledged my assessment with a brief nod of the head and looked back at his notes. “According to the police report, there was no sign of forced entry. This suggests that if Sheila was taken, her abductor entered the shelter with a key or was let in. Who had ready access to the shelter?”
I gave Michaelson a summary of the key holders, followed by a list of the people who’d been at the Rest the day Sheila went missing. “Urquhart’s handyman, Sam, was in the kitchen repairing the dishwasher,” I stressed. “He told me earlier today that he overheard Sheila and his boss having a row about the shelter’s impending relocation.”
“Would you say the handyman is a reliable source?”
“He’s a malicious gossip, and definitely an odd bird, but as long as he wasn’t negatively impacted in any way by the information he was sharing, I’d say he was truthful.”
“What else did he have to say about the argument between Sheila Kincaid and Richard Urquhart?”
I did my best to provide a cogent summary. “Urquhart’s trying to move the Rest out of their current digs by the end of the month because he’s already committed the property to a senior care facility called Manorcare. According to Sam, Sheila confronted Urquhart about cutting a side deal with Manorcare and hustling the move past the board without the required notice.”
“Notice clauses are violated all the time,” Michaelson noted.
“True, but Urquhart’s agreement with the shelter has some pretty significant penalties for noncompliance. Moureen Templeton was a shrewd woman.” I pulled up my solicitor’s email. “Urquhart kept insisting that the shelter could never afford to sue him over the relocation and would just have to accept it, but Sheila must have looked at the contract herself before she gave it to me and realized that without proper notice being given, the shelter could sue because Urquhart would be forced to pay all the legal costs as a penalty. The shelter’s and his own.”
“Meaning Urquhart would stand to lose a significant amount of money if Sheila kept on pressing the issue. How did Sheila find out about the agreement with the senior home?”
“From Jenny. She interviewed with Manorcare and they offered her a job at their new facility, which turned out to be exactly where she was living now.”
“Then Jenny Woodyard’s death and Sheila’s disappearance could be linked in some way after all,” Michaelson mused.
“I think it’s worth considering. Urquhart and Ross are tight, and there’s no evidence Ross has drugged any of the girls from the shelter before. Why start now, unless there was a specific reason to dispense with Jenny.” I hesitated before continuing. “What Ross has done is helped Urquhart to drug and blackmail my predecessor and force him off the board.”
“You have proof of this?”
I nodded.
“For the record.”
I looked into the camera and said, “Yes.”
“And you’ve not heard anything else from the kidnapper since this morning?”
“No. They said tomorrow.”
Michaelson pressed the off button and looked across at me. “I think that’s enough for now. That will get Harry’s team started looking into the various players.
“What else have you got?” Michaelson asked as he began to pack his recording gear away.
“Me?”
“Come on. Gut feelings about these people.” Michaelson was usually the king of hard evidence, but over the course of our relationship, he’d learned to respect my instincts as well.
“I think it’s like the drugs found in Jenny’s bloodstream. There are several bad elements here. We just haven’t landed on which one, or which combination, is to blame for what’s happening at the Rest.”
“What about the ransom?”
“My gut says the ransom request is just a scam, but my heart hopes it isn’t because that’s the only reason I can think of that Sheila might still be alive.”
“The ransom note would be a solid bluff,” Grant pointed out. “Sending a note that says no police would give the killer extra time to dispose of a body if they had one without the cops nosing around.”
A darker thought than I would have expected from Grant. “A good point and one I’m sure the police will consider,” I said quietly. “I’m so afraid that Sheila’s dead, but I can’t accept it until we have proof. There’s an eleven-year-old girl at Grant’s waiting to find out what’s happened to her mother. We owe her some kind of closure. If Sheila’s dead, someone has to be held accountable, and if there’s even the slightest chance she’s still alive, we have to keep looking.”
“Have faith in Elliot. He’s a good man and he’ll find the answers,” Michaelson said.
“But how?” Grant asked. “He can’t go questioning any of the parties directly. It would raise suspicions.”
Michaelson finished packing up the last of his gear and rose to go. “The police are professionals, they’ll be discreet. Fortunately, Jenny Woodyard’s death is still under investigation. They can use that investigation as a cover for this one. I need to get this back to Elliot. Call one or the other of us as soon as you hear anything about the drop time. In the meantime, I’m afraid you’ll just have to be patient,” Michaelson said. “And for God’s sake, don’t do anything stupid.”
* * *
—
“Patience seems to be a theme of our lives these days,” I said to Grant after I’d shown Michaelson out.
Grant had taken the liberty of pouring us both a drink and I steered him into the sitting room, where we each collapsed onto a separate sofa facing the fireplace. I tilted my glass toward his side of the room. “Sorry, you’re stuck with the good stuff here.”
Grant ignored me and asked, “What now?”
“I’ve given the police all I have. It’s time for them to work on motives and put tabs on suspects. My job is to wait for a drop time and place to be given and hope it will lead us to the kidnappers.”
“That’s a lot of lost time. Once they get the money, I think it might be all over if it isn’t already,” Grant said.
I shuddered in spite of the whisky and the warmth of the fire. “I know. I can feel the clock ticking inside my head like a time bomb, and I keep picturing poor Nora’s little face.”
“Me too. You agreed not to do anything stupid, but we can’t just do nothing,” Grant insisted.
For the moment I wouldn’t argue the “we” point. I was just glad to see Grant engaged with something beyond his own problems.
“Let’s try analyzing the practical side of things,” Grant suggested. “If Urquhart had Sheila taken, and for some reason didn’t kill her outright, where would he be
keeping her?”
“Certainly not at Duncan Ross’s with all the cops coming and going,” I pointed out. “If Urquhart used Sam to do his dirty work, maybe at Sam’s place?”
“Maybe. What about Urquhart’s place?”
I shook my head. “I wouldn’t think so. It would be risky and messy. Not at all Urquhart’s style, and anyway, the police are the only ones who could justify a search of those locations.”
Grant conceded the point with a nod of the head. “You said Urquhart owns a number of rental properties. Any of them not leased at the moment?”
I pulled up the list Patrick sent me. “Most are leased, but he has two vacant warehouses in Leith, and then the Campbell Road property.”
“If I were trying to hide someone, a vacant commercial building would seem like a safe bet,” Grant observed.
“True. The Campbell Road property would be a nice irony, but I think that would be too risky. Urquhart knew I was sending an inspector in to look at the place.” I looked up at the clock on the mantle. “I suppose I could drive back to town now and check out the other two warehouses.”
Grant cocked his head to one side and looked at me out of the top of his eyes. “That qualifies as stupid. You’ll either get stopped for drinking and driving, or arrested for breaking and entering. I’ll make a call in the morning. MacEwen Glass is always looking for commercial space. I’ll set something up with the rental agent.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No you won’t. You could be recognized.”
I scowled. He was annoyingly right. Again.
“Allow me to do something to help,” Grant insisted. “I’m sick to death of just sitting around twiddling my thumbs. I need to get out of my own head and this is something I can do.”
I had to admit it was a practical idea and certainly one that Grant could handle, but it left me at a loose end. What was I supposed to do now? I needed to lay low, having tipped my hand to Urquhart. Maybe it was time to bring in the second string. Trish would be my eyes and ears at the shelter, Grant would search the warehouses, and I would, well, I would think of something.
* * *
—
I was up early the next morning. It felt odd walking around the kitchen without Liam at my feet, but he’d quickly adapted to his role as emotional support animal for Nora. He was sticking by her like a gun dog on prey. I put on a pot of coffee and waited for Trish to show up, ready for her assignment. I’d given her strict instructions on how to dress and how to behave. I had my fingers crossed that she’d be able to pull it off.
At exactly 8:00 a.m. she arrived on the doorstep wearing a pair of faded jeans and a navy anorak. The pink t-shirt she had underneath carried the logo of a relatively unknown pop band and she would have blended into the woodwork admirably if it wasn’t for the purple tips on her hair. I poured her a cup of coffee and gave her a second briefing on her assignment.
“I don’t want you to get in over your head. Just take it easy. See what the residents have to say about Sheila and Jenny. I think the girls there will be far more willing to talk to you than they were to us or the police. We’re looking for anyone who Jenny confided in. My money’s on Cheryl Pullman across the hall. I still think she knows more than she’s saying. Should be easy to start a conversation with her. You’ll be staying in Jenny’s old room.”
“Oooh, that’s dead brilliant! Just like in the movies.”
Not the best turn of phrase, but I let it slide for the moment. “I’m betting someone knows more than they’re saying about what goes on at the shelter. Just don’t mention the ransom note.” I felt like my words were spilling out in a flood.
Trish patted my arm. “Don’t you worry none. I’ve told you, I can be the soul of discretion when I wants to be.”
Amanda arrived at that moment, and I introduced Trish. We set off in the car with Trish talking nonstop. She was busy telling Amanda all about her uncle Simon who’d moved to Edinburgh five years ago and was now struggling with gender orientation issues.
Amanda was looking a bit dazed, but I looked over and smiled as reassuringly as I could. When Trish slowed for a moment, I asked after Nora.
“Still a bit on edge, but when I left she was helping Louisa to make scones for teatime. She loves to cook, just like her mum. I think she finds it soothing.”
“And Liam, was he being good?”
“Slept at the bottom of her bed last night and didn’t leave her side this morning.”
Of course he didn’t, I thought—she was in the kitchen.
* * *
—
I dropped Trish and Amanda off first thing. There was nothing from the kidnappers, but it was early yet. Between us we managed to convince Amanda to go over to Woolies to help with the Saturday shoppers. Trish would be taking over some of Sheila’s duties and would stay in the kitchen, keeping watch on the mail flap.
Cam was driving Grant into town. A bit of fresh air and a trip to the bottling plant, they’d told Brenna. I arranged to rendezvous with Grant at the Starbucks in Leith. I knew he wouldn’t take me with him, but he couldn’t stop me from following him. I arrived early and I found a space near the Scotch Malt Whisky Society and strolled along the waterfront, browsing in the antiques shops’ windows as I passed. It took me about a block and a half to realize that I wasn’t alone. There was man behind me who seemed to have an uncanny shared interest in vintage glassware. Every time I stopped, he stopped one window behind me. I quickened my pace and swung into the Starbucks, noting that he parked himself on a bench across the street, lit a cigarette, and started looking at his phone. Seeing him full on, I immediately recognized him as the guy working security at Urquhart’s office. I could even see a shadow of the tattoo on his right hand as he held his phone. He was wearing tinted glasses on this cloudy day and kept glancing my way.
I ordered two coffees and purposely chose a table in the front window. When Grant arrived, I stood up and greeted him with a light kiss on the lips. He looked surprised but didn’t complain. “You’re not going with me, if that’s what you’re after,” he said.
“Of course not,” I replied. “But the gentleman in the sunglasses across the street has been tailing me and I want to establish this as a purely personal meeting.”
“Happy to oblige, but you’re still not coming with me.” Grant took a seat across from me. “I made a ten forty-five appointment with the realtor. He’s showing me the larger of the two buildings, but the other address you gave me isn’t open for viewing.”
“Then that’s the one we need to see.”
“Me, not we,” Grant stressed. “I’ll do my best to get the realtor to at least give me a peek inside the building he can’t show. I told him my company’s really interested in renting both sites and is willing to pay a premium.”
“Then I’ll just sit here and wait for you to come back,” I said meekly.
Grant gave me a sidelong look. He was smart enough to know I’d given way too easily.
“Why do you think you’re being followed?” he asked.
“Two reasons. One, I made the mistake of annoying Urquhart by letting him know I suspected him of being involved in Sheila’s disappearance, and two, I recognize the tail. He’s one of the security guards at Urquhart’s firm. I want to make sure he tells Urquhart that I’m not up to anything.”
“You’re always up to something, so sit tight and let me handle this for a change.”
When it was time for him to go, I waved him off and sat back down, making sure my friend was still across the street, watching. After a few minutes I went to the ladies’ room, leaving my coffee on the table and my jacket on the back of the chair. Fortunately, the building was old. I’d taken a gamble that there would be windows in the bathroom. As luck would have it, they were decent-sized ones. I sat on the ledge, slid the window open, and jumped down into the alleyway beh
ind the coffeehouse. I followed a round-about path to the place where Grant had arranged to meet the realtor and slipped into the doorway of a bakery down the block to watch.
Grant greeted a trendy young man in ankle-high slacks and a three-quarter-length Burberry coat. He was carrying a portfolio. I followed them to a three-story brick building two blocks off the main waterfront area. Grant and his companion stepped inside the first building and were gone for a solid half hour. He must have insisted on being shown every nook and cranny. I contented myself with walking round to the back side of the building and looking at the loading dock. The grass was worn down and there had been some recent traffic in and out, but for the moment there was no sign of activity.
I kept looking over my shoulder, knowing that my shadow would have figured out something was wrong by now. As Grant emerged from the front door, I could see him putting on his best charming face. Much head shaking on the part of the realtor, and finally a hand raised in resignation. I followed the two of them along the road and down another side street. The agent fiddled with a lockbox as Grant continued to encourage him. I slipped closer and hid behind a truck parked across the road.
Trendy boy finally managed to get the door open and he ushered Grant in. I waited until they were both inside and crept to the open door. Both men were looking up as Grant did an excellent job of vigorously extolling the virtues of the steel-reinforced ceilings. I seized the opportunity to steal in silently and hide behind a concrete support pillar just inside the door.
Grant showed no indication of slowing down, but his companion cut him off. “I’m happy to show you the rest of this property from the outside, Mr. MacEwen, but we really shouldn’t be in here. I’ve had explicit instructions not to allow potential lessees into the building for safety reasons.”
The two left and locked the door behind them. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was in. I’d worry about finding a way out after I’d located Sheila. I made my way up to the first floor and began a methodical search of the rooms and closets. Everything was dusty and abandoned. Ceiling tiles were down, and wires hung from the framing in a tangled mess. It was a disaster and there was no sign that anything had been disturbed for quite some time.
Died in the Wool Page 18
