Guardian Angel

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Here,” he said again. “Give me your pajama top. Hurry up,” he said a bit more sternly.

  Reluctantly, full of suspicion and confusion, Jennifer sat up and unbuttoned her pajama top. He could see she was shy about it, so he smiled and turned his back.

  “You’re growing up fast. Lucky I came along now; otherwise I might have missed all the good things. It’s an exciting time when a girl starts to become a young lady.”

  He turned back and saw her pull the sweatshirt down over her head.

  “Thanks, Jen. I appreciate your help here.”

  He picked up the pajama top and folded it neatly.

  “Sailors like us always tie things up and fold things neatly,” he said. “Got to keep shipshape. All right. We’re going to be a while, so you have to continue to amuse yourself here. There’s lots of goodies to eat, and guess what,” he said, reaching into the bag from the store in La Jolla. He produced the rag doll. “I got some great lollipops, but most of all…ta daaaa!…a new one of these for you.”

  He handed it to her, but she didn’t take it.

  “I want my own,” she said.

  “Oh, you can’t have that one for a while, Jen.”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s what is known as evidence now. It’ll be a while before we get that back. In the meantime, you can use this one. She’s a beaut, isn’t she? Check her out,” he added, pumping the rag doll at her.

  Reluctantly, she took it and looked at it.

  “Neat, huh?”

  She shook her head.

  “I want my own,” she said, and put it down.

  “Now that’s what we call ungrateful, Jennifer. When children are ungrateful, adults have to punish them. You don’t want that, so you had better change your mind fast.”

  He stared at her.

  She started to sob silently.

  “Yeah, girls are harder than boys,” he muttered. “All right. For now, I’ll just leave you to yourself to think about your ingratitude.”

  He went to the door.

  “You behave now,” he said, and walked out, closing the door behind him. He locked it again, stood there thinking a moment and then, with the pajama top in his hands, returned to the dinghy.

  He could see Sanchez pulling out with his two tourist fishermen. The Mexican saw him as well and waved. He didn’t wave back.

  He was still in a bit of a sulk at Jennifer’s ingratitude.

  He calmed himself by recalling that she was a child and she didn’t know, couldn’t know, all that he had done for her already and would soon do for her.

  He’d get that smile back on her face.

  Or else, he thought.

  The dark possibility that perhaps he had to begin with a new child faster than he had planned crossed his mind. He looked back at his boat as he pulled away and slowed up. Maybe it was a mistake to bring Jennifer along in his new life. He played with the idea of turning around and returning to the boat. It tempted him for a few moments and then he looked down at Jennifer’s pajama top and thought, No, this will work.

  It will be fine.

  It’s meant to be.

  He headed for the dock to finish what he had begun.

  Scott stepped out of the courthouse with his father and Taylor Stewart.

  “I have to tell you,” Stewart told them both, “that this isn’t a result of my great lawyering as much as it is of the FBI’s intent to find your daughter. You’re out, but your phones are being tapped, including your cell phone for sure, and you’ll be under constant surveillance, Scott. As your attorney, I have to advise you that if you have any more information as to the whereabouts of your daughter, you should bring it forward now. If it comes later as a result of any of this—”

  “I didn’t attack Megan and take my daughter,” Scott insisted. “I’m being set up.”

  “You can’t blame it on your wife. She didn’t hit herself on the back of the head and put herself in the hospital,” Stewart said. He waited for Scott to say something more and then turned to his father. “All right. I’ll be in touch, Gordon.”

  “Right,” Gordon Lester said.

  They watched Taylor Stewart head toward his car.

  “I can’t believe we’re standing here,” Scott’s father said. “That this is happening.”

  “You think I can? Do me a favor, Dad, switch cell phones with me.”

  “Why?”

  “You just heard what Stewart said. My phone will be tapped.”

  “So? What do you have to hide?”

  “I’m not hiding anything, but I need some room to maneuver. Please.”

  Hesitantly, his father gave him his cell phone. Scott handed him his and then headed away.

  “Where are you going?”

  He paused and turned back.

  “To find my daughter, Dad. What I intended to do from the beginning of this mess.”

  “Scott…“

  He kept walking.

  “Don’t get into any more trouble,” his father shouted after him.

  Scott got into his car and sat for a few moments. His father’s remark felt like a sword to his heart. From his earlier questions and his comments now, his father sounded as if he really suspected him. His own father! And he knew why. His father never thought he measured up to him. He always thought he was too weak or too soft, especially when it came to Megan. In his mind, this dastardly act would be something a whiner and a coward might do.

  He turned and watched his father get into his car and drive off. Ironically, all this went far to convince him even more that Megan had been on solid ground with her criticisms. I was trying too hard to please my father, to be my father, he thought, and in the process, I’ve lost track of what is really important in my life. I’ve got to find a way to win that back. I will, he concluded, and started the engine.

  But then he continued to sit there. It was all well and good to be determined, but where to begin? Who would attack his wife and want to take his daughter? Who put that woman up to calling the office and who put the rag doll in his car? He couldn’t imagine anyone he knew to be capable of such a thing, and he certainly didn’t have such a dedicated enemy. To be sure, there were people in the business community who didn’t like him, probably mostly because they didn’t like his father. But surely none of them would have any motive enough to come at him and his family this way.

  The only really incongruous part of all this was the stranger who had come into Megan’s life. It was important to know how and when. He had no time to rehire the private detective and wait for answers. He had to get them himself, he thought, and backed out of the parking spot. Twenty minutes later, he pulled into Tricia Morgan’s driveway. Somehow, he had to get her to trust him enough with the truth.

  He could see her car was there, but he had to ring the door buzzer three times to get her to come to open the door. She stood there looking at him, but not backing up to let him enter.

  “What do you want, Scott?”

  “I need a friend, Tricia, or at least the benefit of the doubt.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Look, I know I’ve screwed up, screwed up bigtime, but you’ve known me for years, too. You must have at least some doubt of my being guilty of all this.”

  “Not from what I’ve been told.”

  “I’m being framed, Tricia, and the worst thing here is not my being framed. The worst thing is what might have happened or will happen to my daughter, to Megan’s and my daughter.”

  “What do you want from me? I told the police all I knew.”

  He lowered his head. This was so hard. He had little respect for this woman, yet he needed her to have some respect for him, to look past his opinion of her, an opinion he did little to hide.

  “I don’t have any vicious enemies, at least not this vicious,” he continued. “And certainly neither does Megan.”

  “So?”

  “So I can’t think of anyone who would do this to us.”

  “Except yourself?” />
  “This guy, this man she’s been seeing, Steve whatever,” he said, plowing on. “Who is he? How long has she been seeing him? What do you know about him?”

  She smirked.

  “I should have known that was where you were going. That way you can still blame stuff on Megan.”

  “No, no, that’s not what I’m after, not at all.”

  She shook her head. He could see she was toying with simply closing the door in his face.

  “What harm can it do now for you to tell me anything, Tricia?”

  “Megan was not seeing Steve before she petitioned for divorce,” she offered.

  “Well, okay. Thanks for that. When did she begin to see him?”

  Tricia looked away, pursing her lips.

  “I mean how much do you know about this guy?”

  “She met him at the Cage one night and he took her out to dinner. The night you saw him at the house was only the third time she met him, as far as I know.”

  Scott nodded, hoping for something more.

  “He came to her aid at the bar the first night and punched someone.”

  “Punched someone?”

  “Some creep who was bothering her. He’s been supportive and concerned about her ever since. In fact,” she added, putting her right hand on her hip, “he was the one who told her you hired private detectives to spy on her.”

  “Was he?”

  “Yes. Okay?”

  She started to close the door.

  “Wait. Where can I find him?”

  “All I know is his name is Steve Wallace. He’s in construction work and lives with his mother in West LA. He tells great stories, but not that much about his personal life. At least he didn’t to me.”

  “Do you have his address?”

  “Of course not. He wasn’t interested in me. He was interested in Megan. In fact, he sent her flowers almost as soon as she entered the hospital. He’d be the last person I’d suspect to hurt Megan. So you’re going to have to look for some other patsy. If anything, he’s tried to be her guardian angel,” she said, and then slammed the door in his face.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “I need you on the case again,” Scott told Bob Anderson the moment he answered. Scott had remained in Tricia Morgan’s driveway to make the call.

  “Mr. Lester?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re all over the news. This is quite complicated now. I don’t want to get in the middle of a police investigation, especially one involving the FBI.”

  “What I want you to do is quite simple and I’m not asking you to withhold any information you discover or anything you and I discuss or will discuss.”

  “What is this ‘quite simple’ thing?”

  “I need you to locate a man. All I have is his name and that he’s in construction, but he lives in Los Angeles, somewhere in West LA. Lives with his mother.”

  “A man in construction. You mean a contractor?”

  “I’m not sure if he’s a contractor. His name is Steve Wallace.”

  “A contractor at least has a contractor’s license. It would be easier to locate him.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s all you have?”

  “He drives a yellow Corvette and a red pickup. He’s about six feet one, one hundred and eighty pounds, I’d say. Light brown hair.”

  “This is quite a task, Mr. Lester. Do you have a license-plate number or at least a partial licenseplate number?”

  “No. Damn. I could have gotten that, but never thought to do so. I’m just not cut out for your kind of work or this kind of life.”

  “What year is the Corvette?”

  “Looked like this year.”

  “Is there someone else who might know anything about him?”

  Scott hesitated and then said, “My wife.”

  “Your wife? Oh. She’s in the hospital, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “To be frank, Mr. Lester, I’d have thought you would hire me to help look for your daughter.”

  “That’s why I need to know who this man is and where I can find him,” Scott said, now not hiding his annoyance. “I didn’t attack my wife and I didn’t kidnap my own daughter.”

  “Well, this sort of assignment will take a while.”

  “I need the information tonight,” Scott said. “I’m willing to triple your fee.”

  “But…Okay, when did you see this guy last?”

  “I saw him in the hospital today. He was visiting my wife.”

  “Visiting…Well, if he attacked her and kidnapped her daughter, why would he be visiting her?”

  “I don’t know all the answers,” Scott said, frustrated. “And I’m not asking you to do any more than locate this guy.”

  “Your wife won’t tell you?”

  “No. Do you think I’d be calling you if my wife would talk to me?”

  “Do the police know about him?”

  “I guess so. Megan should have told them. I mean, she might have told them about him. I can’t say.”

  Anderson was quiet.

  “There is something else,” Scott realized.

  “And that is?”

  “My wife’s girlfriend said he sent my wife flowers.”

  “In the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know how many florists there are in Los Angeles?”

  “Well, chances are he’d have used one in West LA, wouldn’t he?”

  Anderson sighed. Scott looked at his watch.

  “Get me something within four hours and you’ve tripled your fee. Under two hours and I’ll add a thousand-dollar bonus.”

  “She’s at Cedars, right?” Anderson asked, his voice betraying his greed and interest now.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”

  “One other thing. According to my wife’s girlfriend, this guy was in some sort of fight at the Cage in Beverly Hills recently. See if there’s a policereport.”

  “Oh, that could be something, Mr. Lester. You should have mentioned it first.”

  “I’m not exactly thinking clearly, Mr. Anderson.”

  “Understood. I’ll get back to you.”

  Scott closed his cell phone and permitted himself to breathe again. A shelf of ominous-looking bruised clouds were sliding over the remaining blue sky. Shadows deepened and spread over the houses and the street behind him. He felt as if the world were closing in over him, felt like a man lying in a coffin but still alive. The lid was slowly being shut and no one could hear his screams and cries.

  When he backed out of the driveway, he noticed the black automobile parked on the street because two men sat in the front, watching. Tricia would probably be getting a visit soon, he thought. They or another pair of detectives would want to know why he’d visited her, what he wanted. They might even think she was somehow in cahoots with him. That oughta make her feel really good about helping me at all, he thought, and drove off slowly. There was no sense in trying to lose them. That would only make him look more guilty anyway.

  He couldn’t get himself to return to the office. For now, he wanted to stay away from his father. He didn’t want to go to his house either. What was he going to do? Drive around and around? Without really thinking about it, he found himself driving down his own street and stopping at his house. He saw the police tape across the front door. It was as if he had to see it to believe this wasn’t all some nightmare. He had a great desire, a great need to go into the house, to seek comfort from its familiar surroundings, especially from his daughter’s room, but when he looked at his rearview mirror, he saw the black automobile pull to the curb, the two men watching him. He imagined they were thinking the criminal always returns to the scene of his crime, maybe to cover up another clue.

  Nothing I do will look innocent now, he thought. He felt so trapped. After he started his engine and pulled out, he decided to get something to eat. He had little appetite, but it was something to do, something to fill time w
hile he waited and hoped Anderson would have something for him. His shadows were right behind him. Would they come into the restaurant, too, or just wait outside? What a lousy job they had, he thought, ironically feeling sorry for them.

  Especially since I’m innocent.

  Less than two hours later, his cell phone rang.

  “I got you your address,” Anderson said. “555 Brody Avenue, West Los Angeles. I was able to run some other data. Wallace did have a contractor’s license, but it’s expired. He’s basically construction labor. There’s an interesting detail however. I picked it up on a Google search actually.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Three years ago, Wallace’s wife died in a boating accident. Fell off and drowned. He owns his own boat, a Cantiere di Lavagna Admiral 26, which is a good-sized yacht. It’s in San Diego.”

  “Boating accident?”

  “Yes. Maiden name was Julia Brooks. As I recall, she was about your wife’s age at the time. That doesn’t mean anything, I suppose. Just one of those interesting facts people like me pick up on. Routine investigation concluded it was an accident. They got caught in some bad weather.

  “As to the incident at the Cage…Beverly Hills police do have a report, but Wallace wasn’t mentioned. Apparently no one, not even your wife, could identify him. She might have been protecting him or she might not have known his name yet, I suppose. You can tell just so much from written reports. They’re not exactly journalists.”

  “That’s okay. I have what I need and you’ll get your bonus,” Scott said. “Thanks.”

  “You don’t want me to do anything else, do a surveillance on this guy or anything?”

  “I’ll call you if I need anything more,” Scott said.

  He paid his restaurant check and started to get up, then stopped. The men following him hadn’t come in, but he could see them across the street. Having them on his back was unnerving now. They could crimp his activity, stop him from doing much more. After all, there was no doubt in their minds that he was guilty.

  An idea occurred to him. It would only do more to confirm their suspicions, but it made sense to him at the moment, and what was the risk? He couldn’t change their minds about his guilt or innocence anyway. He rose and headed toward the restrooms in the rear, but once he was clearly out of their vision, he continued into the kitchen. The two chefs and their assistants looked up, surprised.