by L C Hayden
He approached the desk clerk on duty at the reception desk. “I need to see Wayne Weeks.”
The youth nodded. “Yes, sir.” He picked up the phone and informed Weeks someone wanted to see him. He hung up the phone and looked at Bronson. “He’ll be right with you.”
Less than a minute later Weeks approached. When he saw Bronson, his face broke out in a smile. “Good to see you, Bron—” He stopped and stared at him. His eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to speak to you.”
Weeks turned. “Let’s go to my office.”
As soon as Weeks closed the door, Bronson said, “My wife Carol has been kidnapped. I have reasons to believe that L’ee Chalmers is responsible. I need to know the make and model of her car.”
Weeks leaned back in his seat and rubbed his chin. “Is this official police business?”
“You know better. You know I’m retired.”
Weeks slowly nodded and looked away, as though deep in thought. He nodded once again, swung his chair toward the computer, and pressed some of its keys. “Problem is, it’s against company rules to give out any information about our guests. You’d have to hand me a court order. Do you have one?”
Bronson looked down and shook his head.
“I see.” Weeks tapped his computer. “Sometimes rules can be bent. Why don’t I go talk to my supervisor, see if she’ll give me permission to give you that information? I’ll be gone three, four minutes.” He tapped the computer and walked out.
Bronson waited for Weeks to close the door. He slowly counted to seven, stood up, and walked around Week’s desk. He looked at the screen which showed L’ee Chalmer’s registration information. Bronson retrieved his notebook, opened it to the proper page, and wrote down Cadillac Deville, light platinum, Texas license plate CZM601. He circled the word Texas and put a question mark next to it. Didn’t L’ee say she was from Arizona? What was she doing with a Texas license plate?
He closed his notebook, put it in his shirt pocket, went back, and sat down. A moment later, the door opened and Weeks stepped in. “Couldn’t find her,” he said.
Bronson stood up and offered him his hand. “No problem. I’m sure I can get the information elsewhere.”
“You do that.” They shook hands and exchanged smiles. Bronson mouthed a thank you and as a response, Weeks nodded once. Bronson walked out.
Now that he had the information he needed, he itched to go out and cruise around. They could have changed their mind and gone to a different restaurant. It could be that simple.
But darn if that sheriff wasn’t right. He needed to stay in his hotel room just in case L’ee—or anyone else for that matter—called. Of course he did have his cell and if L’ee had Carol, L’ee would demand Carol give her his cell number. In fact, chances are the call would come from the cell, making the call harder to trace.
Still, he should at least check his room for a note slipped under the door or a blinking light on the phone. Bronson bypassed the elevators—they took too long to arrive—and instead used the stairway.
By the time he reached the fourth floor, Bronson’s air came in short gasps. Age had caught up with him. He and Carol had planned to spend their golden years together and now. . .now. . .
He quickly changed his line of thought. It wasn’t age catching up with him. It was lack of exercise. He’d have to get himself on some type of daily exercise routine.
He reached the motel room and stared at the door. It didn’t look like anyone had tampered with the lock. He looked down. He couldn’t see any partial piece of paper sticking out. Maybe when he opened the door. He opened it, looked down, and saw nothing. No note shoved under the door. No blinking light on the phone.
No Carol.
He felt the empty, hollow stab of depression settle in.
A knock at the door sent a chill running down Bronson’s spine. Automatically, he reached for his gun. It was still in the trunk of the car. Damn.
He peeked through the peephole. Lupe stood, wringing her hands, looking as scared as Bronson felt. He swung the door open.
“Mr. Policeman, I need to talk to you.” Her lips trembled.
Bronson let her in.
She started talking even before she entered the room. “I’m so sorry.” Big tears ran down her cheeks. “She told me she was your wife. I let her in.” A big sob shook her body.
“Who did you let in?”
“That woman. She said she was your wife. She said you needed towels. I’d forgotten to bring some. I was sure I had. But I brought some more anyway. She made me open the door. I really thought she was your wife. How was I supposed to know she wasn’t? Please.” She looked at Bronson with huge, brown, round eyes. “Please don’t have me fired. My b-baby.”
“I won’t let anyone fire you. It’s okay. You didn’t know. Everyone makes mistakes.”
Lupe’s shoulders dropped with relief. She looked timidly at Bronson and attempted a smile.
“This lady who claimed to be my wife, what did she look like?”
“She was big. Huge.”
L’ee! Bronson nodded. If only Lupe had told him this earlier, Carol would be safe now. Rage mixed with bitterness consumed Bronson. He opened his mouth, thought about it, and closed it. He bit his tongue to keep from screaming at the pregnant maid. He took a deep breath. When he felt he could trust himself, he said, “Thank you for comin’. I know exactly who you’re talkin’ about.” He reached for his wallet and took out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to Lupe. “For the baby. An early gift.”
Lupe smiled in spite of the tears streaming down her face. “Thank you, Mr. Policeman. Thank you.”
Bronson led her out. “If you see this woman who claimed to be my wife, please contact me immediately. Do you still have my cell number?”
She nodded.
Bronson closed the door behind her. The resentment inside of him felt thick and heavy, like motor oil after ten thousand miles. He slammed his fist against the palm of his hand. Shiiit! Why hadn’t he insisted on talking to Lupe earlier? Why had he waited? Now it may be too late.
Oh God, was it too late for Carol?
He stopped. Destructive thinking never helped anyone. Now, more than ever, he had to focus.
Keep busy. Get moving.
He retrieved the recorder from its box and attached it to the phone. It was ready to use, but doubtful it’d be useful. He picked up the phone and asked to be connected to Gerri Balter’s room.
Gerri picked up the phone on the third ring. “Hello?” Her voice sounded slurred, as though she had been asleep.
“Gerri?”
“Yes.”
“Bronson. Did I wake you?”
“Yes, but it’s okay. I was just taking a little catnap. It was time for me to get up anyway. What’s going on?”
“Would you by any chance know what kind of a car L’ee Chalmers drives?”
“Let me think. . . Oh yeah! How could I forget? It’s one of those big, fancy cars. A Cadillac, I think, kind of a silver-white. Why do you ask?”
“Have you seen L’ee today?”
“Nope.”
“You weren’t going to meet her and Carol for lunch?”
“If I was, nobody told me about it.”
“What can you tell me about L’ee?”
“Not much. She hosts this conference. Has been doing so for several years. She pretty much keeps to herself. I guess that’s because each year she seems to gain more and more pounds. It’s gotten so that she has to rely on Balthasar for just about everything. Why, Bronson? Why all the questions? What’s going on?”
Bronson closed his eyes and pictured Balthasar. Big, powerful, towered over him. He could easily overpower Carol. Bronson felt panic grab at his chest. He forced himself to take deep breaths.
“Bronson? You still there?”
“Yes, I’m still here. Sorry. Any idea where I can find L’ee?” and Balthasar?
“None, why? What happened?”
“If you see
L’ee, please notify me immediately. I can’t find Carol. She and L’ee went out somewhere for lunch.”
“What do you mean, you can’t find Carol?”
“She’s not where she’s supposed to be.”
“Have you tried her cell?”
“Yes, I called Carol, but the message just went to her voice mail.”
“No, not Carol. Have you called L’ee at her cell?
Bronson grabbed the note pad and pen by the phone. “You’ve got her number?”
“Sure do. She gave it out to everyone attending the conference. Didn’t you get it?”
“Apparently not.”
“Hold on. I’ll get it.”
Bronson heard her put the phone down. Seconds later, he heard her pick up the receiver.
“Here it is.” She gave him the number. Bronson jotted it down, repeated it, thanked her, and hung up.
Just as he reached for his cell, it began to ring. The caller I. D. told him the number matched L’ee’s number.
Chapter Thirty-eight
They were definitely heading the wrong way. Carol sat up straighter and concentrated on her surroundings. “Where are we going?”
L’ee, who occupied the front passenger seat lowered the visor and looked at Carol through the mirror. “Friend of mine lives up here somewhere. Her daughter gave me a package to give to her. You don’t mind if we stop and see her? It won’t take more than a few minutes.”
Carol relaxed. “No, of course not, but won’t Gerri and Gay wonder where we are?”
“They called just before you arrived. They told me they’ll be at least half an hour late, but now it looks like we’re the ones who are going to be late. I better call them. Do you have your cell with you? I’m afraid I left mine back at the motel.”
Carol opened her purse, retrieved her phone, checked to make sure it was on, and handed it to L’ee who made no effort to contact their friends. Carol frowned.
“No service,” L’ee said as she watched Carol through the mirror. “Maybe when we reach the top of the cliff, I’ll try then.”
Carol nodded. She had looked at her phone and could have sworn that she had three or four service bars. That meant she had a strong signal. Strange that L’ee would say she had no service. Maybe up here in the mountains, service drifted in and out. She leaned back and looked out the window. Instinct told her to pay close attention to the road and its landmarks, but the shadowy stretch of the woods prevented her from making any headway. One tree looked like the other. One road similar to the next.
Carol spotted a cabin and she breathed easier. That must be L’ee’s friend’s cabin. The car stopped in front of the cabin and Balthasar opened Carol’s door.
Carol smiled. “I’ll wait here.”
“Get out.”
The look in Balthasar’s eyes filled Carol with apprehension. She looked at L’ee, seeking an explanation.
“You better do as he says,” L’ee said.
As soon as Carol slid out of the car, Balthasar grabbed her and dragged her into the cabin.
“What the—”
“Shut up.”
They entered the cabin and Carol’s eyes focused on the chain strapped to the bed. She felt her heart jump to her throat
Balthasar pulled her toward the bed and Carol let out an involuntary tremor.
* * * * *
Bronson forced himself to let the phone ring a couple of times before he answered it. “Bronson speaking.” That was stupid. He should have just said hello.
“Hello, Detective Bronson, do you know who this is?”
The question threw Bronson for a loop. Kidnappers didn’t normally want to be identified. “I may be wrong, but your voice sounds like L’ee’s. How’s lunch going? Do you need me to pick Carol up?”
The laughter at the other end of the line was laced with sarcasm. “Hardly.”
A pause followed. Bronson waited.
L’ee continued, “You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?”
“I’ve figured out a lot of things. It all depends on what you’re talking about.” It took a lot of self-control to keep from yelling at her and demanding to know what she had done. He wanted to speak to Carol, to hold her, to know she was safe.
L’ee’s stern voice rang out, “There’s only one thing we need to talk about. I’m sure you have my cell number. Call me when—”
“Wait! I know you have Carol. Is she all right?” He shouldn’t have asked, but he had to know.
“Is Carol all right?” L’ee’s tone taunted him. “For the time being, yes, but what happens to her will depend on you.”
“Can I speak to her?”
“In time, yes, but now is not the time.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Have you ever gone geocaching?”
“What?”
“Geocaching, the game. Ever done it?”
Bronson retrieved his notebook and scribbled down the highlights of the conversation. At least that much of his professional mind remained. “I’m not familiar with geocaching.”
“Really? I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it. It’s taking the world by storm. The premise is simple. You go to the geocaching website. It lists thousands of geocaching locations all over the world. You copy down the coordinates and go look for the hidden treasures.”
“The treasures?” Did she mean Carol?
“Yes, the treasures. They usually consist of items you can buy at any dollar store. The trinkets are placed in some kind of container that is hidden and can be found by following the coordinates the computer gives you. When you find the treasure, you can keep any items you want, but you’ll need to add something else to replace them. There will be a log in the cache where the finder records whatever he wants, normally things like whether this was an easy or hard cache to find, comments about the terrain or the geocache itself. You then put everything back the same way you found it. It’s now ready for the next person who goes looking for it.”
“Interestin’ game, but—”
“Oh yes, it’s fascinating. It’s a great way to get people outdoors, forces them to exercise, and have some fun.”
“I’m sure you’re not interested in me exercisin’ or havin’ fun. What is it that you really want?”
“What I want is for you to go buy a GPS unit. You will need it when you go geocaching.”
“Where can I buy one?”
“That will be up to you. Use your resources. See what you can find.”
“What do I do once I get the GPS?”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll contact you. As of now, you have forty-three minutes to get one. That doesn’t give you any time to go to Sheriff Quaid or anyone else along those lines. In fact, if you want to see Carol again, you’ll play strictly by my rules. No police of any kind. Is that understood?”
“It’s perfectly clear.”
“Good, because so far, you’ve wasted ninety seconds. That means you’re down to forty-one minutes. You have less than five hours to find Carol. If you don’t find her in that time frame, well. . . I’m sure you know the end results. The clock is ticking and we’re watching you.”
Bronson looked at his watch, then at the cell. It read Call Ended.
Chapter Thirty-nine
The policeman part of Bronson told him he had to notify the authorities. All kidnappers always had the same rule: no police. Of course, no police. It was the police who rescued the victim and apprehended the criminal. But could Quaid? Bronson had his doubts. Still, the procedure was embedded in him. He shouldn’t even consider not calling the police.
Yet, there existed another part of him—the part that was not a policeman, but a man, a husband, a lover, a father. That part ordered him to play it by L’ee’s rules. Carol’s life depended on it. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk it.
Maybe later, he’d call Quaid, but not now. The policeman part urged him to reconsider. Doing this alone was stupid and reckless. He reached for the motel’s notepad and wrote
down:
Carol, my wife, has been kidnapped. All evidence points to L’ee Chalmers. She told me that she was watching me, so please no police, for now. She’s got—needs—an accomplice. Balthasar, perhaps? Wants me to buy a GPS unit. Plans to send me geocaching. Don’t know the purpose of that. She drives a light platinum Cadillac Deville, TX plate CAM601. Please look for the car and be on standby.
He read the note, added his cell number and name, folded the paper and wrote down Tom and Marie O’Day. He refolded it until it was small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.
He rushed out. Downstairs, he approached the desk clerk, the same young man who had been on duty when he talked to Weeks. As Bronson worked his way to the desk, his gaze searched the motel lobby. It looked deserted. Not many places to hide.
“Do you know what a GPS unit is?” Bronson asked the clerk.
“Yes, sir. Me and my friends do some geocaching on my spare time. Joey—that’s one of the guys in the group—has a GPS unit.”
“Where can I buy one?” He couldn’t help but look at his watch. He had wasted five minutes already.
“One of the pawn shops around town might have one. That’ll probably be the cheapest place.”
“Money is no object. Time is. Where’s the fastest place?” What if he didn’t make the deadline? He placed both hands on the counter top and opened his hands.
“That would be Wal-Mart.”
“Where’s the Wal-Mart?”
“As you leave the parking lot, turn right. Stay on that road—that’ll be Highway Seventy. Toward the edge of town, you’ll see it to your left. Can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” Without moving his head, Bronson surveyed the area as well as he could. They seemed to be alone. Still, Bronson lowered his voice. “Under my left hand, there’s a note for Tom and Marie O’Day. Under my right hand, there’s a five-dollar bill. It’s very important that the O’Days get this note immediately. Somebody may be watching us, so wait a few minutes after I leave to retrieve the note. Thanks for helping out.” He turned and walked out, wishing the clerk hadn’t acted so surprised. Hopefully, whoever was watching him hadn’t noticed the youth’s reaction.
