Best Defense (10 page)

“It was a good observation. Now, may I ask you something?”

“Sure. Same rules as you used. If I don't like it, I won't answer.”

“Why are you a private investigator? You're attractive. You seem intelligent. Why would you put yourself in such a position?”

I sipped my coffee as I considered her question. It opened a painful window that I didn't often let anyone through. But suddenly, I wanted to talk about it. Anything to get my mind off Ashley.

“When I was twelve, my father was murdered. We lived in Addison, Texas, at the time, Dad, Mom, my older brother, and me. One night after I had gone to bed, something woke me, noise coming from the front of the house. Sounded like two people wrestling. I got up and crept up the hall, and looked into the living room. My father was wrestling with someone wearing a ski mask. As I started to yell, a shot rang out, and my father fell to the floor. I stood mute, my voice having deserted me. The shooter saw me, snapped off a shot in my direction, then turned and ran out the front door. He missed me, but Dad was mortally wounded.”

“I'm sorry,” Maddy said. “That must have been tough.”

“It was. But even worse was the fact the police never caught the shooter. As far as I know, he has lived to a ripe old age.”

“So, that made you want to be a private investigator?”

“Not exactly. That made me decide to become a cop. Being a cop made me decide to go private.”

“I don't understand.”

“Political correctness and sympathy for the criminals. I became a cop in Dallas and loved it. But every arrest was a battle with the system. I watched so many guilty bastards walk free because the arresting officer didn't dot an I or cross a T exactly right. I don't mean on important matters. I mean on some BS that some ACLU type dreamed up and convinced a judge to okay. A couple of those were mine. I decided I'd have more freedom if I went private. I have not regretted my decision. Does that answer your question?”

She fiddled with the pink package I had crumpled after sweetening my coffee. She laid it down and smoothed out the wrinkles, then began to fold it. I waited, assuming she'd get there at her own speed.

She took a deep breath and looked straight into my face. “Thank you for telling me, but I'm afraid it doesn't change my opinion. In my business circles, I'm known as a straight-shooter because I don't sugarcoat what I think. Tact has never been my strong suit, and I can't force it now. In your case, I think John made a big mistake. I cannot believe you are some super investigator with a fail-safe technique for rescuing kidnap victims. Instead of pushing the authorities aside and giving you the power, John should have used every agency and every kind of publicity available to spread the story. I believe that would get Ashley home sooner and safer than you ever can. In fact, I don't think you have a clue what you're doing. I sincerely hope his mistake doesn't lead to tragedy.”

She set her cup down and stared into my face. “There, I've said what I came to say, and I stand behind my feelings. Can you give me a reason you're a better choice than the police? Can you make me feel better about you?”

I followed her example with my cup and locked my fingers in front of me. In my head, I counted to ten, not wanting to alienate her completely.

“First, I have no inclination to make you feel better about me. You've already formed your opinion, and, frankly, I don't give a rat's ass what it is. Now, under different circumstances, I'd throw your bony ass out of here. But, John is your brother and Ashley is your niece. I assume you and John are close. He and I have a verbal contract. Nowhere in our agreement is there any mention of his sister.” I stopped to let the words sink in, then added, “You're not the only one not known for tact and diplomacy.” The look of surprise that spread across her face was satisfying.

I continued, “Since you describe yourself as a straight-shooter, I'll reciprocate. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. If this thing goes sour, you'll be right by default, and you'll be able to needle your brother for the rest of his life—if you so choose. Me, I'll be upset by the loss of Ashley—and my
failure—
but it won't take over my life. Odds are heavy you'll have the opportunity to remind John that you disagreed. The
experts
say we'll never see Ashley alive. But that has nothing to do with his decision. That's simply the way it is in kidnappings. The victim seldom survives.”

“Then why—”

“Don't interrupt. I'm not finished.” I hesitated a quick moment as she went mum, then plowed on. “I learned a long time ago to defer to those who know more than I. He says he's an expert on the criminal mind because he spends so much time with such a variety of them. That sounds logical to me. So when he says a heavy police presence could cause them to panic and kill Ashley, who am I to argue? He wants me on the job. I agreed to take the job. Period. And that's about as much as I want to say about the subject. You may think what you please.” I finished my speech by picking up my cup and raising it to my lips.

The look of shock on her face faded into a smile. “Thank you for your honesty. I suppose we'll have to agree to disagree. But even
though it doesn't matter, I had to let you know my feelings. John made his decision, and that's how it is. We're both stuck with it.” She held out her hand.

I stared at the hand. My first impulse was to slap it away. How dare she invade my privacy to remind me I wasn't qualified? To hell with her and her New York attitude. But even as that popped into my mind, I was overcome by the realization I had met an honest woman. That, alone, made the conversation worthwhile. In my life, I met far too few of them. I rose and shook her hand. “I appreciate your opinion,” I said, meaning it. I didn't know whether we could be friends, but I could honor her integrity.

“And I appreciate yours. Let me add that contrary to how I may sound, I do hope John made the right decision.” She walked around the table toward the exit from the gazebo. “Maybe when this is over, we can have a lunch together. Who knows? We might learn to like each other. Now I suggest you get some sleep. You look like hell.”

“Yeah.” No witty comments came to mind. Too tired.

sixteen

I sat again at
the table in the gazebo and picked up the message. The letters blurred as my eyes closed, making me realize how stupid I was acting. I was beat, and this might be my best chance to get some rest for the near future. Who knew when the lid might blow off? I slid the paper and the pictures into my briefcase and stepped out of the gazebo. My plan was to locate a sofa in a quiet corner and grab some shuteye.

But first, I wanted a shower. A cleansing and a nap might solve my zombie state. Hammonds was at his office downtown, but I didn't need his permission or for him to point me in the right direction. I had no doubt he'd prefer a clean PI representing him. As for where to find a shower, that shouldn't be a problem in a house like Hammonds'. Each bedroom probably had a full bath attached.

I headed toward the front door, my mind feeling heavy. Before I arrived, Providence intervened in the form of my cell phone.

Oh, no. Mom. In the excitement of the soccer field run, I forgot she was in town. Feeling a lecture coming, I answered, “Mom. How are you this morning?”

“Don't give me that. If you really wanted to know, you'd have come home last night—or at least called. What kind of life are you leading?”

I guess there was no need telling her I spent a couple of uncomfortable hours flopping from one side of my recliner to the other. She'd accuse me of making it up. “It's a tough case, Mom. Look, I was on my way home to grab a shower. I'll explain when I get there.”

“Are you sure? I hear something in your voice like when you were a teenager and up to some devilment.”

What is it about mothers? Or is it only mine? I could never put anything over on her. “Well, I need to clean up, and my shower isn't that far away. I promise to tell you the whole story.”

“Okay. I'll fix something to eat. Have you taken the time for a proper meal? You know breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“That sounds great. I'll be there in less than a half hour.” I hit the end button. So much for checking Hammonds' fancy digs.

Twenty-five minutes later, I walked through my front door. The delicious smell of frying bacon greeted me. In the kitchen, I saw Mom at the stove. Not only was there bacon in a pan, but a pot of grits bubbled on a back burner. With that, I realized how hungry I really was. Thinking back, I couldn't remember anything except coffee since … well, I couldn't remember.

“I'll be in and out of the shower in fifteen minutes,” I said. “That smells so good I can hardly wait.”

Mom turned. “I didn't hear you come in, dear. You go ahead and shower. I'll hold the eggs until you're ready. Want two or three? And how many slices of toast? Will three be enough?”

“More than enough,” I said. “And two eggs. But you better make it about half a pound of bacon. You know I can't resist it.”

Over enough food to feed several of Bob's homeless friends, I filled Mom in on the case. When I finished, there were tears in her eyes.

“You do whatever you need to do,” she said. “And don't even think about me and my problems. That little girl's more important than anything else right now. I'll just call Ike and ask him if he can come for a visit. He said you promised him a fishing charter.”

“Ike?” Oh, my. What had I started? What had they discussed over that breakfast in Dallas? “Do you really think he'll come? Can he break away from his job?”

She chuckled. “He says it's more of a hobby than a job. They kinda humor him and pay him for coming in. All he has to do is let them know he won't be there.”

Figuring I was in a no-win situation, I said, “That's a great idea. If Ike was in the area, I wouldn't feel so guilty about leaving you alone.” After a second thought, I added, “Uh … where will he stay?”

“Oh, I'm sure he'll get a room in a hotel. That would be much more convenient for him. And … well, if we decided to stay out late, we wouldn't disturb you if you were resting.”

I rolled my eyes, deciding not to go there. There are some things a daughter should not pursue with her mother.

After a few more words, we lapsed into silence. The good news was, Mom was taken care of. The bad news was, I hadn't made any inroads on finding Ashley. But, after the night I'd had and the thousand calorie breakfast I'd consumed, I couldn't hold my eyes open.

“I'm going to bed down for a bit,” I said. “I'll set the alarm, but just in case, give me a good shaking about two.”

“No problem.”

I followed through with my plan and felt much better when the alarm woke me at one fifty-nine. Mom was through the door a few seconds later.

“Rise and shine. Crime awaits,” she said, giving me the same smile she used when I was a child.

Seeing her in the doorway and hearing her words again made me realize how much I missed her. Yeah, although she badgered me about grandchildren, she was still the same wonderful woman who sacrificed her youth to raise me. Giving a long luxurious stretch, I felt twelve years old. Crime busting had not been
my objective then. Timmy, who played quarterback in high school
and lived down the block, was. But that was then, and now was now. Time to move it.

“I'm awake, Mom. Thanks.” I rolled out of bed and adjusted my clothes, then slipped on my sneakers. As I holstered my bra-gun, Mom stuck her head back into the door.

“What are you doing? What is that?”

Busted. This might take more explaining than I wanted to do. How could I tell my mother I needed to carry a concealed—and I do mean concealed—firearm? I couldn't. “Sorry, Mom. Gotta run. Kisses.” I dashed past her, out of the room, and out of the house.

Once in the car, I headed north. Only when I was three blocks away did I pull into a 7-Eleven. I needed gas, but I also needed to consider my next step—and a cup of coffee would help with that.

After filling the tank, I parked in a spot beside the station and called Bob. If I were lucky enough to win the lottery, one of his people would be standing there with the name and address of my mystery woman.

“Hi, Beth. What's happening?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. I took a few hours to catch forty winks. Since no one woke me, I'm guessing things remain the same.”

“I wish I had good news, but I don't. Maybe when people drift in later, someone will have something. Time will tell.”

“Okay. I'm going to hit some more of the strip malls near the school. If miracles are real, she stopped in on her way to kidnap Ashley, and I'll find someone who knows her. That's about where I am—waiting for my good fairy to alight and point me in the right direction.”

Bob chuckled. “Remember, we're never too old to believe. Don't give up. Ninety percent of any miracle is hard work. Or, in your case, shoe leather.”

We promised to keep one another up-to-date, then rung off. My next stop was FedEx Office for more copies of my sketches. But before then, I wanted to check in at the Hammonds house.

Officer Winthrop answered the phone. “Hammonds residence.”

“It's me, Beth Bowman. Has Mr. Hammonds called in? Has anything new happened?”

“No, everything is quiet. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, all day. Well, a few media calls, but no one worthwhile.”

His comment told me what he thought of the fourth estate. Couldn't say I disagreed with him much. “Give me a call the moment something happens—anything happens. Do you have my cell?”

“Yes, Ms. Bowman. Chief Elston threatened to tattoo it on the back of my hand if I forgot it. Can you hold? I have another call coming in.”

“Sure.” I didn't have anything else to say to him, but I was curious about who was on the other line.

“Ms. Bowman.” He was back. “That was Detective Bannon. He told me to tell you to hang up and keep the line open. Mr. Hammonds wants to talk to you.”

I followed instructions and the phone rang. “John,” I said into the phone. “What do you have?”

“Five people, four men, one woman. I defended them eight to fifteen years ago and lost. Each of them received sentences that would keep them in jail a minimum of ten years.”

“Great,” I exclaimed. “Were they white-collar? Well-educated?”

“Yes. Two lobbyists and two county commissioners. The fifth embezzled from an assisted living facility.”

“That fits,” I said. “Can you bring their files to the house?”

“We're on the way. Bannon alerted the chief, and they're digging for their records, too. Of course, that might take longer. These were pre-computerization and they archived old closed cases in a warehouse in the southwest end of the county.”

“We'll take what we can get,” I said, pushing my hair out of my eyes. “At least we'll have something to start with. How long before you get there?”

“Maybe thirty minutes—unless I convince Bannon to use the siren.”

“Tell him Beth will tell the chief if he doesn't,” I said, hoping Bannon would find it humorous. Or maybe he'd cooperate. “If not, I'll be at your house before you arrive.”