Best Defense (16 page)

“The package is for Hammonds. I'm sure you'll deliver it just like the UPS man does—right on time.” He chuckled.

The words registered, but I was still in shock at what I'd seen. What had happened to this man? What had turned him into such a grotesque figure? The pain he inflicted didn't help me find an answer. I was more inclined to cry than think clearly.

“This is for you,” he said. “Listen and don't forget it. We don't like your interference. We know you been all over town trying to find us. That ain't part of our deal. You best stop right now. You understand? Nod if you do.”

He let up with the pressure just enough for me to obey, then the pressure returned.

“If we catch you looking for us again, that little girl gonna pay. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

I nodded as best I could with my face stuffed with grass.

“Good. Make sure you pick up your peashooter before you leave. Don't want no kids stumblin' across it when the sun comes up. And don't forget to deliver that package.”

I heard an object hitting the hedge—probably my gun.

“You were told to show up at three a.m. sharp. You didn't follow orders. I seen you cruisin' the area. You gonna work with me, you gonna do what I say. Don't worry. No one will see the bruises except when you want them to.”

I cringed as the pressure in my neck increased. I was in for a beating, and there wasn't a darn thing I could do about it. He landed the first blow, a solid shot to my ribs. I'm sure it was a fist, but the pain it produced felt like he used a steel-toed boot. I struggled to breathe and retain consciousness as spears of pain shot through my body.

“Catch your breath. There's more to come.”

The only noise for a moment was my gasping, then a new sound filled the air—a screeching somewhere between the call of a banshee and a scream.

Something slammed into my attacker, knocking him off balance. The pressure on my neck lessened briefly, then I was thrown to the side as an enraged howl emerged. I heard another solid thump as if a body had hit the ground.

I reached for my bra gun, intending to even things when a kick sent me flying. Thoughts of retaliation deserted me as blackness descended.

twenty-six

My eyes opened as
a crescendo of pain raced from the top of my head, down my body, and out my toes. It left behind a loud echo of itself, and I folded into a fetal position, not knowing where I was or why my body screamed in pain. Gradually, memory overcame enough of the agony to remind me I was on the ground in a soccer field at the intersection of Royal Springs Drive and Wiles
Road. I had come there to … Why was I there? That memory strand
hadn't recovered yet.

I heard a groan and looked toward the tall hedge. A person, or what I took to be a person, sat there. Although it was too dark for details, I thought he, or maybe she, was holding his or her head.

“Damn som'bitch. I let him git away. He'll be back though. I'll nail his ass next time.”

Him. The person said
him
and memory flooded in. I had come to the field to pick up a note from the kidnappers and been accosted by someone. The person on the ground had to be my savior, the one who attacked my assailant. “Hello,” I said. “Are you okay?”

“That you, Beth? Yeah, I'm alright. Just too pissed-off to move right now. That som'bitch threw me in this damn bush, and I got scratches all over me. You hang on. I be there in a minute.”

Now my head was really spinning and not only from the blows it took. The voice was familiar. Female. “Who are you, and why are you here?”

“I'm here for the same reason you are—to get Linda back, to bring my baby home.”

I shook my head—and wished I hadn't. Stars and light streaks of all colors appeared. Her answer didn't make any sense. Who was Linda? I was there for Ashley. Either that or I'd taken a harder hit than I thought.

I raised myself to a sitting position, moving with the speed of
a ninety-year-old in a supermarket. “You didn't tell me your name.
Who are you?” That seemed a good place to begin. Whys and wherefores could come later.

“It's Dabba. Remember me? Bob's friend? That man has my Linda. I shoulda done better. But I'll get him next time.”

Dabba? Linda? My brain clicked and filled in the details. But why was she here in the middle of the night?

After a few minutes, I climbed to my feet and made my way to her. Like she said, she seemed okay, although her mumbling about Linda caused me to wonder.

Remembering my assailant threw my gun into the hedge, I found my flashlight and, with Dabba's help, searched until I located it. Then we spent ten minutes finding Dabba's gun. She saw it first, and it disappeared into a shopping bag. It was a bit scary to think a woman who'd been looking for her kidnapped five-year-old for over forty years walked around with a loaded revolver. In her state of mind, though—mad as hell and making no qualms about it—I wasn't about to argue with her.

I knew I should rush the kidnappers' envelope to Hammonds, but my curiosity about Dabba held me. “What were you doing here? How'd you know about this place?”

“After you come here the first time, I knowed he'd be back. I found his hidey-hole and made one for myself. Tonight when he showed up, I figured I would follow him and find my Linda. But then, he went after you, and I couldn't let him kill you. I couldn't shoot him 'cause I needed him to take me to her, so I jumped on his back, hoping to conk him with my gun.” She groaned. “He's a strong som'bitch. Just threw me off like I was a mosquito. Before I could git up, he kicked you and ran like hell. Went thataway.”

She pointed in the general direction of the parking lot. “I was still diggin' my way out of that damn hedge when I heard a car start
up down the street.” She stopped and held her hand out in front of her. “Shine your light over here. My hand feels funny.”

I did, and we discovered two broken fingernails.

“How'd that happen?” I asked.

“Don't know. Maybe when I was in that damn bush. ‘Course I hope I tore them ripping a hunk of his hide off.”

“Possible, but not probable. More like you caught them on something. I've done that. They'll be tender for a few days, but ought to be okay. Does Bob have a doctor you can visit when the sun comes up? Wouldn't hurt to have someone check you over.”

“Don't need no doctor. I done worse diggin' in dumpsters. You go on 'bout yo' business. I'm staying here. If he comes back, he gonna get a big surprise. This time I'm shootin' first and jumpin' his ass second.”

I turned my attention to the kidnapper's package. He had staked it to the ground by its four corners with long spikes. That explained why I couldn't lift it. He must have guessed I'd relax my vigil enough to bend down to it—and he was right.

I shined my light around the area one last time, wanting to ensure I left nothing behind.

“Put that light over here,” Dabba said.

I followed her pointing finger.

She giggled. “Damn. Must be one of them silver-lining things. There's almost a full pack of cigarettes here. Bet that som'bitch dropped it.” She stooped to pick them up.

“No. Leave it be. There might be fingerprints.”

Dabba gave me an angry look, but backed off.

Digging in my purse, I found a baggie and dropped the cigarette pack into it after shaking a couple out for Dabba. In spite of the pain that still roamed my body, a smile split my face.

After another quick search of the area, I offered Dabba a ride to any place she wanted to go. She'd saved my butt, so I definitely owed her that much. She refused, repeating her mantra that she'd wait for
Linda's kidnapper
to return.

Dabba disappeared into the hedge, and I limped toward my car. Loyal as could be, it sat with the headlights blazing and the motor running. After about ten steps, my foot slipped on something that didn't belong. I shined my light down and saw a rubber fright mask in dark colors featuring oozing sores and scars. I felt like an idiot as I scooped it up and put it with the cigarette pack.

_____

My dash to Hammonds' house was uneventful and, as usual, I found it lit up like a football stadium. Media trucks lined the street, but even those pests need sleep. No one bothered me as I parked in the driveway and rushed to the front door.

It opened, and Sargent greeted me. “Did you get the delivery?” He stopped and gave me a once-over. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Yes and long story,” I said, stepping into the foyer. “Here it is. Feels like another DVD. But this could be better. Have your people do a check on this cigarette pack and mask fast. It might hold what we need—the kidnappers' fingerprints.”

He gave me a quizzical look, but didn't protest. Turning down the hall, he called, “Campbell. Got another run for you. The lady needs fingerprints like yesterday.”

Campbell took my baggie and disappeared. Sargent took the kidnappers' envelope and disappeared. I felt like Cinderella after her ugly sisters left for the ball, hoping the contents of one of my discoveries would be my fairy godmother.

Hammonds came around the corner. “I thought I heard you. Did
you—” His voice froze as he stared. “What happened to you? You look like … Do you need a doctor?”

“No, but a dozen aspirin would be welcomed. That and a trip to the bathroom to repair myself. From the look on your face and Sargent's reaction, I assume I'm not ready for the pageant.”

“Pageant? I don't … Oh. Bathroom's down the hall. I'll get the aspirin.”

The frizzled hag who stared at me from the mirror explained the reactions I'd gotten—face covered with scratches and dirt, and hair that defied any finger-combing I could give it. The comb I pulled from my purse did no better. It would have to stay wild until I could shampoo and condition it. Even then, a wig might be my best bet. There was no hope for my shirt, but, with lots of soap and water, I might salvage my jeans. In fact, the new tears and stains could enhance their value.

From the hallway, I heard, “Mr. Hammonds, Beth, I have a DVD for you.” It was Sargent's voice, dragging me away from my image. It would have to wait. Ashley came first.

I went into Hammonds' office where he and Sargent hovered over the computer. Madeline, Hammonds' sister, stood a respectful distance behind them, close enough to see the screen but far enough away not to intrude.

The DVD was similar to the first. It contained three pictures of Ashley, ostensibly to convince us she was in good health and happy with her life. In each, she wore a different outfit but the same big smile. Had I not known the circumstances, I'd have thought she was a normal, well-adjusted child.

Hammonds fixated on the pictures, touching the computer screen as each came up. He traced Ashley's features and smiled, his tears flowing. Sargent sat mute at the keyboard, and I emulated him, standing to his left. It was Hammonds' show—his daughter.

After several moments, Hammonds took a deep breath. “Let's see what they wrote. Maybe it contains delivery instructions. I want this over and my daughter returned.”

I suppose I should say it contained everything we hoped for. But saying that is too difficult because of the chilling words it contained.

Asshole Hammonds!

As before, we have included pictures to assure you that Ashley is enjoying her time with us. If you haven't reviewed them yet, I'm willing to wait. Take a look, then come back to me.


Okay, you're back. Let's get serious. But before we move to the more important details, let me fill you in on what will happen if you or anyone else fails to follow instructions exactly as we lay them out. If anything, accidentally or intentionally, looks funny to us, we will simply disappear, taking Ashley with us. We have already made contact with certain business associates and collected bids on her. Such a cute little girl has high value in certain markets. Of course, being blond is an additional advantage. Think about it.

We are guessing that the police are looking over your shoulder, and the PI you employed, Elizabeth Angeline (Beth) Bowman, is reading with the hope our anger will lead us to make a mistake. It will not happen. We are invincible.

Here are the details.

One million dollars in each of four locations. We will service one of those. Whatever happens to the other three million holds no interest for us. If you lose it, our consciences will be clear. We may laugh some though.


Put the money in cardboard boxes. Neither the money nor the boxes can be new. Make sure both show the ravages of age and use. Place the cartons as dictated below, walk away, and do not return until after four p.m. two days hence. If the money is still there, you saved a million. If it's gone, c'est la vie.


And please don't make the mistake of booby-trapping any aspect of the operation. Such folly would be yours and Ashley's misfortune.

Drop sites.

1. Murder on the Beach Bookstore on NE Second Avenue in Delray Beach, Florida. Place the box in the alley behind the bookstore. Make sure you put it between the dumpster and the back wall of the store.

2. Mizner Park in Boca Raton. The amphitheater is at the north end of the complex and backs on NE Mizner Boulevard. At the rear, there is a dumpster housed in a U-shaped enclosure. Place the box on the building side of the enclosure.

3. Across from the post office on West Atlantic beyond Route 441 in west Delray Beach. That area is filled with weeds and brush. Stand in the driveway entrance to the post office and look directly across the road. About ten yards in, you'll find the edge of a field suitable for leaving the ransom. Use it.

4. The last site is one you're familiar with—the soccer field at the corner of Royal Springs and Wiles. Facing north, walk the right sideline directly into the deep hedge that separates the field from the Sawgrass Expressway. Look inside the hedge and you will find a hollowed out area, perfect for leaving a large carton.

Have everything in place by midnight tonight. Remember, we will keep Ashley for seven days following the transfer of cash. If all has gone well, the police will find her on the street.

Mr. Hammonds, do not ignore our warnings. Ashley is a delightful and beautiful little girl. She will bring top dollar on the international market.

I pushed down the bile that had risen in my throat as I read. They were threatening to sell Ashley. Sell her? How? Then it hit me. White slavery. I headed for the bathroom, my stomach rolling, nausea threatening me every step of the way. How could anyone be so coldhearted? I hoped John hadn't come to the same conclusion as I. A moment later, I kneeled beside the commode, my stomach rebelling at the evil in the message.

_____

After printing the demands in sufficient copies for everyone, Sargent called up MapQuest and located each site. Other than telling me where they were, there was little more I could gain from the computer. A trip to each was in order.

I was a bit surprised the soccer field was still in play. After what transpired there a couple of hours before—the kidnapper in full retreat from Dabba's attack—I'd have thought they'd shy away from it. Then I remembered they wrote the note before the assault.

The other three sites were in Palm Beach County. Mizner Park was in east Boca Raton, Murder on the Beach was several miles north in the heart of Delray Beach, and the post office was as far west as you could go along Atlantic Avenue.

They seemed strange locations, but as I studied them, I changed my mind and labeled them smart. They crossed police boundaries—three cities, two counties, making for potential communication problems—and far enough apart to cause me to spread my forces. As if I had any.

The last instruction was that the cash had to be in place by midnight. That gave me just over eighteen hours to find Ashley, or John would be out up to four million dollars. More money than I could even dream of. I looked at him, wondering how anyone could accumulate so much.