Best Defense (14 page)

“Ain't much chance of that. That man might be halfway to Texas by now. Bet he can't make his foot let up on that gas pedal. Pro'bly forgot all about the airport.”

We enjoyed another laugh at his expense as I dug out my cell phone and dialed Mom.

When I said I'd call her, I expected a frantic woman to answer the phone. I expected a mother filled with admiration for her daughter who had rescued her from evil. I expected a woman released from fear. Guess I should have called someone else.

“Oh, that's good,” Mom said when I told her she could relax because her stalker was on his way to Texas and out of her life forever. “I knew you'd take care of him. And even if you couldn't, Ike would. He'll be here tomorrow, you know?”

“Tomorrow?” I echoed like a parrot. It was news to me.

“Oh, yes. I called him a bit ago. He said he had a ticket. He's taking the same flight I took.” She went on in a more hesitant voice. “If you don't need my help anymore—I mean, Dot can help you, can't she—Ike and I are going to Orlando. We want to spend a few days hitting the theme parks—Disney, Universal Studios, Epcot. It'll be such fun to share them with someone my age.” Her voice had grown in confidence as she got closer to the
my age
part.

Several questions popped into my mind, but I decided to leave them there. After all, she was old enough to live her own life. Things like sleeping arrangements were none of my business.

“You and Ike go and have fun with my blessings,” I said. “I hope I can see him before he leaves Florida though.”

twenty-three

He dropped onto the
couch in the living room, leaned his head back, and blew out a long breath. “I'm tired. It's tough following people around all night and not getting caught.”

“It wasn't all night. It was only a few hours. What did you discover?”

“There were three of them, all women. Two stayed in the car while one worked the street and knocked on doors. She was a weird-looking bitch. Like something out of a movie about bums and hoboes. The driver was the same person I saw at the soccer field picking up the envelope. I'm sure of that. Never got a good look at the other one. Far as I could tell, they didn't have a plan. Just moved from neighborhood to neighborhood. Three stops along the way.”

He held out a piece of paper. “The top line is the license number of the car she drove. Below that is the address where the third woman got out. About all I could tell was she had some mileage on her. I don't mean old-old, but no spring chicken, either.”

“Where'd they go after dropping her off?”

“Beats me. Far as I could tell, they hadn't made me. I figured I should leave well enough alone and head back here. Can you run the plate and the address?”

“Not a problem. You did a good job tonight. Get some rest. By the time you get up in the morning I'll know everything there is to know about her. If she ever bought a pair of shoes on the Internet, I'll have her shoe size. And I'll know the same about whoever lives at that address. Cyberspace is a wonderful place—unless you want to stay hidden.”

He chuckled. “You sure are a whiz with the keyboard. Yeah, I think I will get some rest. Been a long day. Soon's I get a beer, I'm headed for bed.” He stood and arched his back in a big stretch. “How's the kid?”

“Asking when her folks are coming home. I told her they should pick her up next week. She seemed to accept that. Guess she's been left with babysitters before.”

“Did she ask about school—why she's not going?”

“Yeah, but I told her it was out this week—teachers' holiday.”

He smiled. “That could happen. See you in the morning.” He headed toward the kitchen.

_____

While I spoke to Mom on the phone, Dot and I reached my car and crawled in. I felt good, good that Mom would be out of my hair for a few days and good that I'd been able to solve her problem. I sure wasn't making any headway on mine—finding Ashley. Then I remembered Dot mentioning an idea. “Okay, let's hear it. What's the brainstorm you came up with?”

Dot twisted in the seat to face me. “You might not like it, but it's a good way to find out if that little girl is in one of them houses. That's what you want, ain't it?”

“Yes,” I said, wondering where she was heading. We'd already spent a couple of hours with each house and come up empty.

“I know how to find out. It can't miss, works ev'ry time.”

I stared at her, not doubting her, but trying to guess her plan. When nothing surfaced, I said, “How?”

“Garbage. Ev'rything you ever need to know about a house is in the trash. All I got to do—”

“You're talking about dumpster-diving, aren't you?” I was so incredulous my voice had jumped into falsetto. “I don't want to do that.”

“Why not?” Dot said, defiance in her eyes. “I done a whole lot worse. And who said anythang about you? You just drive. I wouldn't expect you to mess up your
purdy
manicure. Hell, you could even break a nail or get one stinky.”

Oops, I'd crossed a line, and it was time to hop back over. “I'm sorry, Dot. I didn't mean it that way.” I hesitated. “I just meant, is this something we really want to do?”

“I told you,” Dot said, her voice still not normal. “Just drive the dang car, and I'll do the diving. The answer's in the garbage.”

“That's not what I mean.” I could see Dot's back was up and probably wasn't coming down anytime soon. More discussion followed, but Dot was determined. The more she talked and the more I listened, the more convinced I became she was right. If there was a five-year-old in the house, the garbage held the evidence. However, there was no way I could let Dot go by herself. If someone called the cops, she'd be in handcuffs in a flash. If I were along, my PI license would cut us some slack—maybe. It might slow the police down long enough for me to tell them I worked for Chief Elston. And throwing John Hammonds' name around should carry some weight, too.

It took another ten minutes before Dot gave in and agreed I could go with her—as long as I did exactly what she said. What she said was, “You better be damn careful 'round the back of them houses. Don't go knockin' no cans over or bangin' 'em togther. Ain't no way nobody will think it's cats.” She said it with a great deal of reluctance in her voice, but I might have seen a smile try to creep through.

I vowed to make up for her hurt feelings later. In the meantime, I thought her rule was perfect. My dumpster-diving experience was nil. I'd raided a few paper recycling bins, but never searched a garbage can. It was her show.

_____

Three hours later, I drove toward Bobby's Bar. Dot's thoroughness had given me a whole new appreciation for those who man the garbage trucks every day. In my newfound appreciation, they were unsung heroes on a level with soldiers, police officers, firemen, teachers, and others who go above and beyond. I vowed to call them Sanitation Engineers from that day forth. They deserved a special title.

It only took one experience for me to learn not to have my head over the can when I yanked the lid off. That single burst of South Florida sun-baked garbage stench almost knocked me off my feet while Dot stood by and laughed. From then on, it was reach as far as I could, keep my head turned, hold my breath, and lift. I supposed it was something I could use on my resume if I got desperate enough. However, I never intended to get that desperate. I might admire the Sanitation Engineers, but I had no intention of ever joining them.

Other than the education, though, it was a wasted effort. If one of the houses held a five-year-old girl, the garbage didn't reflect it. No pizza boxes, no juice cartons, no macaroni and cheese containers. Not even a chocolate chip cookie box.

On the way to the bar, both of us were quiet. I don't know what was in Dot's mind, but mine was numb. I had been so sure one of the three—Lively-Wesler, Sabastion, or Stevenson—was the kidnapper. During the drive, I accepted that I had nothing to hang that notion on except simply wishing it. But I had hung my expectations on it, and they were smashed.

There was always the possibility I was right and the guilty person had Ashley stashed some other place. If so, he or she would
have to go back and forth. I perked up a bit. Maybe I could get some
of my homeless friends to keep an eye on the houses. It might be one of them yet.

Dot suggested, and I concurred, that I stay in Bob's dorm the rest of the night. I was down and dog-tired, but wired, like I'd spent the night at Starbucks instead of absorbing garbage smells. I didn't want to go home and face Mom. I had had enough failures in one twenty-four-hour period—well, if you didn't count my encounter with Strudnocker. In spite of how I felt, I smiled, remembering his hasty departure.

After showering long enough to get the South Florida water police after me, I crammed the clothes I'd worn into a plastic bag, tied it tight, then put that one into another bag. I hadn't decided whether to try to clean them or find a fire hot enough to incinerate them. Of course, the latter could get the EPA regulators after me for polluting the atmosphere.

I assumed Dot was as exhausted as I when I lay on the cot next to her. There was time for a few hours sleep before I needed to head back to Hammonds' with the hopes that something new—and good—had happened.

I closed my eyes. A garbage can appeared, and I smelled its unique
aroma. My eyes popped open. I closed them again. Strudnocker's fear-filled face appeared. My eyes popped open. The third time
produced a picture of Ashley, holding out her arms. I sat up. No way
I could sleep.

“Somethin' wrong?” Dot said.

“Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

“Wake me? Dearie, I ain't been asleep. My head just refuses to shut down. All I can think of is that sweet little girl out there with them nasty people. Nah, ain't no sleep in me.”

“Me either. Dot, I feel like I'm in a dark room and can't find the light switch. I know it's there, but I can't even touch a wall.”

“You thinking too hard. Prob'ly need to get your mind off it for a while. You be surprised what you can think of when you ain't thinking about it.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

There didn't seem to be anything to say to that so I didn't say anything. Neither did Dot.

Dot's bed squeaked, and I sensed she had turned toward me. When her lamp came on, I saw I was right.

“I meant to ask you earlier. Did you have somebody backin' you last night?”

“Huh?” Damn, not understanding was getting to be a habit. “What do you mean? I didn't have anyone except you—well, and Mom.”

“Shit. I might be wrong, but I shore thought I saw somebody.”

That sat me up. “Who? When?” My mind flew to Bannon and Sargent. Had those bastards put someone on my tail in spite of the warnings from Hammonds.

Dot swung around and put her feet on the floor. “I can't be shore. It was after I did the third house. As I made my way back to where you parked, I saw a car about a block behind you. It had dark windows, and I don't know but my gut said there was a man in the front seat all scrunched down. As I thought about it, my mind remembered there might have been a car at the second house, too. Nothing that really stood out, just a feeling—if you know what I mean.”

“What about the first house?”

Dot shrugged. “No idea. I squeezed on it, but there was nothing about the first stop I remember.”

“So, why didn't you mention it then?”

“I was going to, but when I got to the car, your mom was talkin' a mile a minute, and it slipped my mind. Then we got all wrapped around with her boyfriend, and it went plumb away. I reckon getting my head off it caused it to come back. Like I said before, not remembering is sometimes the best way to remember.”

I mulled her last statement. “I think I understand. What kind of car was it? Was it an unmarked police car?”

Dot shook her head. “Dearie, I don't know. Like I said, it was more a feeling than something I really saw. Now you got me worried, though. If it wasn't somebody on your side, it coulda been …” Her voice trailed away and her brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” I said. “It could have been part of the kidnapping team keeping tabs on me. They might have picked me up at the soccer field last night. Damn. How could I have been so careless?”

That thought quieted us and a moment later, Dot turned off the lamp. I lay in the darkness hoping it was Bannon and Sargent, not the bad guys. If I hadn't feared waking Hammonds, who needed all the sleep he could get, I'd have called the house then. Instead, I vowed to call after the sun came up. That's the last thing I remember. Exhaustion defeated worry, and I slept.

twenty-four

In spite of how
late—or early, depending on your point of view—it was when I fell asleep, the sun awoke right on time. And so did Dot. I guess sleeping on or under park benches and bridges taught her to hit the street as soon as
Old Sol
did. Probably saved some rude awakenings.

Dot finished dressing, then asked, “How do I look? Will I pass muster as the best
damn
greeter at Walmart today? My shift starts at nine. I get off at six if you need help tonight. I don't work tomorrow so we can sneak around all night.”

“You look great,” I said. And she did. Living on the street had kept her in trim athletic shape, not an ounce of flab anywhere.
Pinch an inch
did not apply to her. I was envious. And her
greeter outfit
, as she called it, fit like it was tailored for her. She had the kind of body that off-the-rack clothes fit to a T. The Dot who prowled with me the previous night and the Dot prancing in front of me were as different as peanut butter and mayonnaise. I loved both of them.

I continued, “As for tonight, since I don't know what I'll be doing, I don't know if I'll need help or not. Tell you what, though. I'll leave word here at the bar.”

“Works for me,” she said, sneaking another look in the full-length mirror. “Now, let's see if there's any coffee in this place.”

We headed into the front area where Bob sat in a booth with Street, Blister, and Ralph. When we entered, Bob called, “Java behind the bar. Help yourselves, then join us. Fill us in on last night.”

I poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Dot. As I began to fill a cup for me, my stomach growled. That gave me a better idea. I walked to the booth. “Instead of sipping bar
swill
, why don't we go to Denny's?” I punctuated the word swill with a smile to let Bob know I was kidding. “I'll treat everyone to a full course breakfast with all the trimmings. I talk better on a full stomach.”

“Sounds right to me,” Dot said.

Bob looked around the table and received nods from everyone. “Looks like you're on, Beth. Hope your credit card has room for all these hungry bellies.”

“Yeah,” Street said, laughing. “A couple or three classic combos will do me.”

“You eat, I'll buy,” I said, then sealed the deal with a fist bump.

The waitress doubling as hostess did a double take when we walked in. Bob had on his street corner attire while Blister, Street, and Ralph were dressed like … well, like the homeless people they were. I've already described Dot. I wore a set of the backup clothes I kept in my car—black slacks, a light blue top, and flats. While none of us would pass for rich, we reflected several levels of society. However, to give the waitress credit, she recovered in a heartbeat and seated us as if we were visiting celebrities.

No one pigged out, although everyone cleaned his or her plate—including me. Guess I was hungrier than I thought. While eating, we chatted like old friends who met around the breakfast table all the time. Blister told stories of the street, some of the things that happened to him on a frequent basis. The one that got the biggest chuckle was one about a woman in a limo who invited him to her place for a
special
treat. Better than money, she told him.

When I asked if he went with her, he said, “A gentleman never tells.” However, his lascivious grin finished the story. Between bursts of laughter around the table, I said, “You should write a book.
Normal
people would get quite an education.”

“Nah,” he answered. “What would I do with all that money?”

That produced more laughter as two sets of hands belonging to Dot and Street jumped out, palms up.

When Blister ran out of stories and quieted, Bob turned to me. “Okay, tell us about last night. Did you discover anything?”

“Only if negatives help,” I said. “We pretty well determined Ashley is not in one of the three houses belonging to Lively-Wesler, Stevenson, and Sabastion. Doesn't mean one of them isn't guilty. Just means we didn't come up with any evidence of her presence. At this point, I'm a bit flummoxed. We need a break, and it needs to come soon. If anyone has any ideas, my ears are wide open.”

I looked around the table and received a series of shrugs until I reached Ralph. His brow was furrowed, and his face appeared pinched. “Ralph, do you have something for me?”

“If I may,” he said. “I have a theory I'd like to share.”

I realized he had stayed quiet during Blister's exploits, apparently deep in thought. “Please. Anything you have is better than what I'm sitting on.”

“I been thinking about the whole situation—the murder of Ms. Hammonds, the kidnapping, the note they sent, and the five people on your suspect list. Maybe it's a case of the forest versus the trees thing. You been thinking so much about everything, you might be missing the small thing. Hammonds failed them, so they went to prison. You spent your time concentrating on the three that are still alive and loose in the world somewhere. Maybe that's not where it's at.”

“Oh?” I said. “You think one of the dead guys did it?”

“No, no.” Ralph chuckled, as did the others around the table. “I'm not into ghost-avengers. Well, not yet anyway. But there are other possibilities. Do you have time for a story?”

“I'm always up for a good story. Just ask Dot. I listen to her outrageous tales all the time. And some of hers are … whooee.”

“Every one of them is true,” Dot said.

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Any day I expect to hear about the time Martians gave you a handout.” I laughed to make sure she knew I was kidding.

“Humph,” Dot said. “If you got something to say that will help Beth, you just let fly, Ralph.”

“That will be her call,” Ralph said. “I think it might.”

_____

Dabba threw back her space blanket, sat up, and swept her hand along the ground where she'd lain. “There it is.” She picked up
a pebble and tossed it aside. “Funny how something so little can dig so deep in you.” She rolled her shoulders, then stretched. “May as well go find some coffee. Ain't no need hangin' around here. If he didn't come back last night, he won't be here during the day.” She crouched in her hidey-hole in the hedge and looked across the soccer field. “Good, it's clear. Hate to go through all them weeds on the other side again. Full of bugs.”

She folded her covering, crammed it into her bag, then inched her way out of the hedge. When she could, she stood to full height
and repeated her stretching routine, accompanied by various pops
and cracks as her joints responded. “I'll be back,” she said into the hole. “Hmm, maybe I oughta take a look at the hole he used. I reckon I could've slept right through his comin' and goin'.”

She walked along the hedge about twenty feet and peeked in through a small tunnel, took a deep breath, exhaled, then sniffed a couple of times. “Nope. Don't smell like he's been back. He will though. I just feel it in my bones. And when he does, I'll stomp the truth out of 'em. He'll tell me where my Linda is.”

She ambled across the field.

_____

Ralph's face puckered as if he was looking deep into the past. “About thirty years ago, there was a man named Ralph Spagnolli. He led a life filled with luck, but he was too damn dumb to know it. He had a beautiful wife, who was expecting their first child. In fact, you could say Spagnolli had the best of everything going for him—loving wife, a child coming, a good job, and a bright future. But he didn't have enough sense to stay home and live the good life. He hung out in a local beer hall where he fell in with some bad people. Now, don't get me wrong, he knew they were bad weather on a clear spring day. When a couple of them asked him to be their driver for a burglary, he knew he shouldn't. He knew it was not the right thing to do. But, like I said, he wasn't too smart, figured what the heck, it'd be fun. The burglary collapsed, and the three of them ended up in handcuffs.

“Because he had no previous record, Spagnolli only got five years. His friends went down harder. They'd been in and out of the slammer many times. That wasn't the tough part, though. When the judge announced the sentence, Spagnolli's wife collapsed. While he was en route to prison, she was in the hospital losing the baby.”

“That's terrible,” Dot said. “That man—”

“That's not all,” Ralph said. “Let me finish. Spagnolli's time in prison was hell on earth. Since he was young and good-looking, you can figure what happened to him. The good part of that was protection came with the
boyfriends
. So, four years later, when he went out on parole, he still had his health. But he had aged many times the four years he'd been away.”

“What about his wife?” I asked. “What did she do after she lost the baby?”

“I'm getting to that.” He paused, appearing to reflect again on the past, his face sad and forlorn. “I'll stick to the nickel version. Short and sweet, she took to the bottle. Nursed it like a baby on a full tit. She made the trip to the prison once a month, but after the first six months, Spagnolli never saw her sober again. Many times she arrived so sloppy drunk the guards wouldn't let her in. Finally, just before his release, she went into the hospital—alcohol poisoning. She died there. When he got out, there was only her grave to visit.

“He spent a lot of time crying over that grave, cursing his fate. It took him another year before he figured out it was all his fault. He and only he made the decision to go in on the robbery. That decision cost him his baby and his wife. No matter how hard he looked for someone else to blame, the finger pointed straight back at him. Spagnolli took to the street and ran from the past.”

“Sad,” Bob said, touching Ralph on the arm. “He shouldn't feel so bad though. Unfortunately, there are many stories like that.” He paused and stared into Ralph's face. “I never asked before, but I'm guessing your last name is Spagnolli—Ralph Spagnolli. It's not important to any of us. Only you as you are today are important. I'm curious. Is that why you don't have a street name? Because you don't want to escape the past?”

“That's some of it,” Ralph said. “I don't want any excuse to forget I killed my baby and the woman I loved. That she took my downfall so hard she destroyed herself. That she couldn't live with what I did. When they bury me, the only things I want on my tombstone are my name and S
tupid beyond hope
.”

Silence descended on the table like a shroud over a corpse. Each person went quiet, as if he or she were alone. My mind took off spinning, wondering why Ralph had shared his sad story, his painful past. What did his history have to do with me and finding Ashley? Then it hit me. He was telling me how dumb I'd been.

“Ralph,” I said in a hushed voice. “You think the kidnapper might be one of the spouses left behind, don't you? Any one of them could be seeking revenge for the loss of ten years.” Something clicked in my head. “Or the death of a husband. Mankosky or Simonson. They both died in prison. The ultimate loss. Is that what you're thinking?”

“I know how much pain a criminal leaves in his wake. The victims
take several forms. If one of those victims shifts the guilt to the lawyer, believing he didn't do his best, well …”

“Anything can happen,” I finished for him. “Thanks, Ralph. I hurt for what you've been through, but I appreciate your telling your story. I might never have bought the idea without hearing about you, your wife, and your baby. Also, know that helping find Ashley will go a long way toward squaring the board for you. I'm sure your wife would be thrilled.”

I waved for the waitress. “If you good folks will excuse me, I'll pay the bill, then get to work. Ralph has given me a whole new approach to pursue. Stay as long as you like.” I threw cash on the table for a substantial tip, figuring the waitress had earned it and would keep the coffee coming.

Dot stood beside me. “Yeah, I gotta go, too. Gotta put my
greeter
face on before I go to work.”

The waitress dropped the ticket into my hand, and I headed for the checkout register, credit card in my other hand.

I walked back to Bobby's Bar, my cell phone glued to my ear. The first call went to Hammonds' house. Just my luck, Sargent had the duty. “Did you have anyone following me last night?”

“Huh? Every time I think you're making progress, you go buggo on me again. What? You think I'd risk my career on this case? You know the rules Hammonds and the chief forced on me. It's your show. I'm just a phone-sitter.”

“Strange as it may sound, I was hoping for a different answer. There may have been a car on my tail.”

“And I'm guessing you got nothing but a hunch—no plate, no make or model, and certainly no description of the driver.”

I swallowed my embarrassment at having to admit he was right, then admitted he was right. “I had other things on my mind at the time. But that's not the important part right now. I have a whole new trail we need to follow.”

I gave him a rundown on Ralph's idea—without identifying Ralph. It wasn't that I didn't want to give Ralph credit, I just didn't want to hear Sargent's laughter if I said a homeless guy suggested it.

He promised to locate the whereabouts of the spouses, and we rang off.

My next call went to Mom to let her know I was on my way home, and maybe we could do lunch. Of course, breakfast still sat heavy on my stomach, but I needed to spend some time with her. Our moments together, other than last night, had been rare. And last night didn't count for much. I was preoccupied, and she jabbered.

As often happens though, my plan had to change. My cell phone
rang. When I answered, I had Sargent in my ear.