Best Defense (3 page)

three

Daughter? Had I heard
right? I didn't know they had children. But why should I? I only had the one meeting with Ms. Hammonds. We sat in the living room and talked business. Specifically, her husband's philandering and my fees. She explained she was sure he'd be with one of his
loose
women that night, and she wanted to know. According to her, he ran around on her, telling her he had to work or had meetings or some such. She was tired of it and wanted a divorce. If I could get her the evidence, she'd make it worth my while.

Since I'd heard a variation of the same story many times before from many different wives—and a few husbands—we came to a quick agreement, and I was on my way. The session only lasted an hour or so. She could have had a whole passel of kids hidden all over the house. Not to mention school, daycare, and camps. They could have been lost in the acreage behind the house, and I'd have never known. Kids were not part of my assignment.

That didn't change the jolt I felt, though. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a family.” I hesitated, wondering if I should continue, then did, “But that doesn't excuse last night.”

“That's what I need to explain.” Hammonds stopped and rubbed his face again, the rasp of his five o'clock shadow audible through his fingers. “I need to correct your misconception.”

The bags under his eyes seemed to grow even as I stared at him, but I kept my face hard and held my tongue. If he wanted to explain, he could do it without any encouragement from me.

He leaned forward and placed his forearms on his desk as if to emphasize his sincerity. “This might come as a surprise, but I know my wife hired you to watch me. The two of you met yesterday morning here at the house. She told you I had a history of picking up women for sex. She asked you to follow me and obtain evidence she could use in court for a divorce. Am I right?”

My mouth dropped open again, or that's how I felt. He knew about his wife hiring me? I expected excuses. I expected explanations. I expected revelations about his wife's frigidity. I expected about anything except what he'd said. I squeaked out, “Yes, but—”

“Ms. Bowman, please understand that I love my wife very much. And, I believe she loves … uh, loved me the same. However, she was possessive. Yes, even jealous—something I never gave her reason to be. You're not the first she hired to
get the goods
on me. Over the years, I learned to live with it. Anytime I was out at night, I expected to have someone documenting my activities. Last night, it was you. When I saw you watching me, I thought you might be the one, but having someone like you around was old hat. I knew I was doing nothing wrong.”

“Yes, but—”

He held up a hand. “As soon as you left yesterday, Sabrina called t
o let me know she hired you. She always did that.” He hesitated, took
a linen handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket, and wiped his eyes. “I never understood, but I lived with it. It was as if … like she had to punish me—or something. I hope you'll understand that your assignment was just one of many. However, don't fret. I'll pay you. Just send me an invoice.”

Tears beat an unwanted path to my eyes as I studied him, but I forced them down. It was a different story than I'd heard before, but no way was I going to buy it. “That's a nice twist,” I said, waving my hand to let him know I was unconvinced. “But you had to anticipate I might have a difficult time believing it. Talk's cheap. What else do you have?”

“I understand. How can I convince you?”

“Tell me about last night. Also, explain why your honey's sitting in the front room?”

“Ah. Yes, you did follow us, didn't you? The
honey
I had dinner with, then escorted to her hotel is my sister—my
older
sister by two years. She's in the living room now because I need her here. Her name is Madeline Hammonds. She's in town on business and has a room at The Hilton. She lives in New York and only comes to Florida occasionally. When she does, we have dinner.” He leaned back and rested his head on the back of his chair as if those words had exhausted him further.

I went into my dropped chin routine again. However, I recovered with what I knew was the killer question. I leaned forward to put maximum energy into it. “Why wasn't your wife with you if that woman is your sister? Why didn't the three of you go to dinner?”

He looked away, then back at me, and sighed. “Another family
secret outed. Nothing mysterious about it. The simple fact is my wife
and my sister can't stand one another. It goes back many years, before we married. I doubt either remembers why they decided to hate one another, but that doesn't stop them from keeping as much space between them as possible. If I'd shown up with Sabrina, my sister would have walked out, or vice versa.”

I stared at him, my mind in high spin. A lot of husbands—and wives for that matter—had tried to talk their way out of their indiscretions, but Hammonds' story was the most incredible I'd ever heard. So damned incredible, it could be true. He was a top lawyer. Would he come up with such a cockamamie story if it weren't true? Could I trust him? Did I want to trust him? Could I shift him from suspect number one to misunderstood husband? Quite a dilemma, one filled with more questions than I could ever find answers for.

“Look, Ms. Bowman,” Hammonds said, his eyes imploring me, “I can see by the look on your face, you don't believe me. I know it sounds strange, but it's the truth. I'd like for you to trust me.”

I kept staring.

“I checked you out after Sabrina called yesterday. I know you're on retainer to Bergstrom and Bergowitz. Sly Bergstrom is a golfing partner and close friend. Anyone who's good enough for Sly is good enough for me.”

“Excuse me,” I said, letting indignation slip into my voice, “but we're not debating whether I'm good enough for you. My debate is whether you're honest enough for me. And with that cock and bull story you spun, I'm not sure you are. It's quite convenient that your wife is not alive to verify what you say.”

From the shock and pain in his face, I knew my crudeness had gone too far. “Sorry. That was out of line. But you have to admit, your story is pretty strange,” I said with less vehemence than my previous statement.

He waved his hand, as if accepting my apology. “I can call my sister in. She'll verify what I said.”

“No need. I believe that woman, sister or not, will support your story. Money can buy more than just a night of ecstasy. Sorry.
You'll have to do better than that.”

He frowned. “You do have a suspicious mind. However, I understand. It goes with the territory. What kind of PI would you be if you believed everything you heard?” He appeared to think, looking toward the ceiling. “I have it. Call Sly. He knows my wife and her problem. He'll vouch for me.”

No way I could argue with that. Sylvester Bergstrom, called Sly by
friends, was senior partner in Bergstrom and Bergowitz, one of the most respected law firms in South Florida. When Sly spoke, everyone listened. If he backed up Hammonds' story, that made it fact.

“Look,” he said, standing. “I'll leave you alone. Think about what I said. There's the phone. Call Sly if you like. When you make a decision, come get me. Whichever way you decide, I'll try to understand. But, if you believe me, I have something very important to discuss with you.” He walked to the door, then turned back, his face questioning. “I hope you're the woman Sly says you are.”

I stared at the door as he pulled it closed behind him. I had been confused before, but his performance and story took me to new heights. What gall on his part to wonder if I was the right kind of woman? But, could he be telling the truth? If not, what possible purpose could such a farfetched tale serve? He must know I'd punch holes in it big enough for his Mercedes to race through.

I took out my cell phone and scrolled down to Sly's number, then hesitated. He had made it obvious when I went to work for him that he did not enjoy being bothered at home. His exact words were, “I separate my home life from my business life.” However, he added that it was permissible to call in case of an emergency.

I blew my breath up at my bangs, wondering how much of an emergency this was. For me, a big one. For Sly, probably not. Besides, if Hammonds was willing for me to call, it probably meant he was on the level. Or maybe that's what he wanted me to think. If he could sucker me into not calling Sly, it would prove I believed him. Should I trust him? Not a chance—maybe.

To hell with it. I had to know. I could always apologize later and buy Sly a bottle of his favorite scotch. I speed-dialed his number, then counted rings. He picked up after the third.

“Beth, what can I do for you on a Tuesday
evening
when I'm at
home
with my family?”

He might have put some extra emphasis on evening and again on home. I knew I'd better make it good, so I jumped straight to the key question. “How well do you know John Hammonds?”

Sly sighed as if about to address a three-year-old. “Very well. We play golf together and are often at the same social events. Is
that why you called, to check up on my social life? I hope you have
a better reason.”

Uh-oh. Not a good beginning. Quickly, I started from the beginning, but only got as far as finding Ms. Hammonds' body.

Sly jumped in. “Oh my God. John must be devastated. How's Ashley?”

“Who's Ashley?”

“Their daughter. How is she?”

“I don't know. I didn't know they had children until a few minutes ago. Can I finish my story?”

“I'm sorry, Beth. You obviously didn't call just to tell me about Sabrina. What else do you have?”

I finished a quick summary, then said, “I don't know what to think. His story is so farfetched.”

There was silence on the line, and I sensed that Sly might be having a quarrel within himself. I waited.

After a moment he said, “I make it a habit to treat what I know about my friends' private lives as a client-attorney situation. But this time, I suppose it's different.” He paused. “What John said is true. I've been party to some of her jealous accusations. It got to the point that when he and I attended a meeting at night, I'd take him home and go in with him. Inevitably, she accused him of having been with a woman.”

“That's nuts,” I said. “Why'd he stay with her?”

“In one word, love. He loved her, and he loved Ashley. He'd never do anything to hurt the marriage. Incidentally, she loved him just as much.” He sighed. “Sabrina was an insecure person from a poor background. I guess she could never believe someone like John would want her.”

“Damn,” I muttered. “You're saying I should believe whatever he tells me. And, if he wants to hire me, I should take the job?”

“Not only that,” he said, “but I'll clear your calendar for as long as it takes to help John. You let
me
know when you're available to take on one of our cases.”

I only hesitated a split second. “Thanks, Sly. I'm sorry to have bothered you at home.”

“Under the circumstances, not a problem this time. Just find the son-of-a-bitch that killed Sabrina.” He hung up.

I pondered my phone for about half a moment, then opened the office door. “Mr. Hammonds. Can I see you for a minute?”

He broke off the conversation he was having with the woman he called his sister and looked toward me, then scanned the room. “If you'll excuse me.”

As he closed the door behind him, I said, “Sly says I should believe you. But if I discover you're lying to me, I'll dedicate myself to pinning your wife's murder on you.”

“Fair enough.” He looked relieved. “Can I assume you're ready to work for me?”

“If the situation is right and the money fits, yes.”

He took a deep breath amidst a look of sadness. “My five-year-old daughter, Ashley, is missing. It's logical to assume the people who killed my wife kidnapped her. Perhaps my wife put up too much of a fight, or perhaps they were leaving a message. We won't know until we capture them. That's where you come in. I want to hire you to bring my daughter home.”

“Me?” Damn, he kept catching me off guard. “You have access to all the cops in the universe. Several of them are in your living room. Why me?”

“Because they have to follow the rules—rules that too often benefit the guilty and impede an investigation. Plus, they are captives of the media. Please understand, I know that world. I'm a defense attorney, and I use those rules to my advantage every day. From what I've heard Sly say, rules and Beth Bowman are not synonymous.”

four

Mr. Hammonds had a
point.
Cops are too often hogtied when it comes to bringing down criminals. The slanted slope causes them to run uphill all the time—in slick-soled shoes. Me, I take a more downhill approach. If there is an advantage to be found, I grab it.

“Maybe you should explain what rules you expect me to break,” I said. “I'd look terrible in prison garb.”

“Does that mean you'll take the job?”

“Not so fast. I still need to know what you expect.”

He stared at me, then rubbed his chin. “I want my daughter home. I don't care what it costs or what it takes, I simply want her home. And, before I have to hear it again, I know the odds of getting her back alive. That doesn't change anything.” He choked back a sob. “If the worst should happen, I at least want her buried beside her mother.”

I couldn't help myself. I reached across and laid my hand on his arm. “I'll do anything I can to help. I don't know how much that will be, but you'll get the best I have to give.”

He opened a desk drawer, took out a tissue, and blew his nose. “That's all I ask.”

“Mr. Hammonds, I need a full briefing on what has happened and what's in the process of happening.”

“Please, call me John.”

“And I'm Beth. But amenities will have to wait. As I'm sure you know, time is short.” The
experts
say kidnapped victims who aren't recovered in the first forty-eight hours aren't likely to be found alive. However, I simply couldn't bring myself to mouth the words. Instead, I asked, “Have you heard from the kidnappers yet?”

“No. According to the police, that's bothersome. It could be good
news though. It might mean they're still formulating their plans.” He stood. “Let's go into the living room. I'm sure they're wondering what we're concocting.”

We entered the living room and had the instant attention of everyone there. John walked to a couch and sat, waving me down beside him. The others relaxed, but not much.

John took his time, eyeing each person, then leaned forward. “If anyone here has not met Beth Bowman, let me introduce her.” He turned to me. “This is Beth Bowman.”

The officer with the most braid on his uniform said, “My pleasure, Ms. Bowman.”

Hammonds eyed him. “Beth. This is Chief Elston of the Coral Lakes police.”

“I'm familiar with Ms. Bowman,” he said. “At least by reputation.” He walked over and stuck out his hand. “It's a pleasure to put a face with it. You don't look near as fierce as Bannon and Sargent describe you—or as incompetent.”

I took his hand. “Considering the sources, I take that as a compliment. You must be a pretty forgiving fellow if you keep those two on the payroll.” I wanted him to know I could play the hard-ass game as well as he.

Hammonds interrupted. “Chief, I want Beth in on everything you're doing. She will be my personal representative in the investigation. I'm hiring her to recover my daughter.”

Elston said, “Mr. Hammonds, I'm sure you realize that's not a workable situation. She's nothing more than a private investigator. My people and I owe her nothing.”

His words and tone sent several caustic comments toward my tongue, but before they arrived, Hammonds took over. “Perhaps I'd better clarify a few things. To me, they're obvious, but apparently not to you. First, it was
my
home that was invaded,
my
wife who was murdered, and most important of all,
my
daughter who has disappeared. If Ashley cannot be returned alive, it is I who will mourn her for the rest of my life, even as I mourn the loss of my wife. And, in spite of any priority you might have, mine is the successful recovery of my daughter. Anyone in this room that doesn't concur can leave
now
.” He slammed down on the word now.

John sat back and gazed around the room, meeting every eye that would look at him. Bannon and Sargent were two who studied the toes of their shoes, but they held their seats.

John leaned forward again. “Good. Since no one left, I assume you agree with me. So, here's the deal. You go about your investigation of my wife's and Carmina's deaths as you would any other case. Behind the scenes, I want you to monitor Ashley's disappearance as you would with any other kidnapping. But, and here's the difference, you will report everything you find to Beth. If the kidnappers ca
ll for a face-to-face, she will attend, agreeing to whatever requirements they demand. At all times and in all things having to do with my daughter, Beth and
I will make the decisions. I will meet whatever conditions they impose to save Ashley. Is that understood?”

Chief Elston returned to his chair and sat. “Mr. Hammonds, I have the utmost respect for you and sympathy for your situation. However, you're not thinking clearly. This is a police matter. We must handle it. It can be no other way.”

“There are two problems with that,” Hammonds said. “First, as a defense attorney, I live much of my life with criminals, some of the lowest forms of humanity. I babysit them, I dress them, I prep them, I dig into their heads. You arrest them and let the prosecutor take it from there. Second, if you don't agree to cooperate as I laid it out, I'll pick up the phone and call the mayor, the attorney general, and the governor. I'm sure they can find some other agency to handle the case.”

“Are you threatening me?” Elston said, fire in his eyes. “I'll—”

“That's not a threat,” Hammonds growled. “It's a statement of fact. My way or the highway. Take your pick. I suggest you quit
wasting time and begin Beth's briefing now. The kidnappers could
call at any minute.”

The chief and Hammonds glared like two dogs vying for a bone.
The only thing missing was they didn't circle one another. Then, as often happens in the pack, one folded.

Elston said, “Bannon, you're the lead detective. Get your team together and tell Ms. Bowman everything we know.” He looked at Hammonds. “And I do mean everything. When this blows up, I don't want our host to be able to say we withheld information.” He stood, walked to the window, and stared into the night.

_____

Over the next hour, the police briefed me. They said it was everything they knew. I took their word for that as John Hammonds
had insisted they not hold anything back. The gist of it was a woman
appeared at Ashley's school during the morning with a note ostensibly signed by Ms. Hammonds authorizing her to pick up Ashley. Since everything looked in order, school officials released Ashley into the lady's custody. Both had disappeared, neither seen nor heard from since.

The two school officials who spoke with the woman were at the stationhouse going through mug shots. A sketch artist was creating an image based on descriptions provided by the two women.

“Once we have a sketch and a solid case file, we'll contact FDLE—that's Florida Department of Law Enforcement—and they'll institute an AMBER Alert,” Bannon said.

“I'm well aware of FDLE,” I said. “You might remember that I worked with them not so long ago.”

Bannon blushed, then continued, “Authorities will flash Ashley's picture, the sketch, and details all over Florida by TV, radio, and the interactive signs along the Interstates and toll roads. By tomorrow morning, everyone in the state will be on the lookout for her.”

Hammonds spoke for the first time since the briefing began. “No AMBER Alert.”

“Excuse me,” Bannon said, an incredulous look on his face. “Did you say no AMBER Alert?”

“That's what I said, and that's what I mean. There will be no publicity about Ashley's disappearance.”

“Why? We need that. I mean, AMBER Alerts exist for just this kind of situation. It lets everyone know and invites them to call in sightings.”

Hammonds flared. “I know all that. Dammit, don't treat me like you do Joe Sixpack. I've already told you, I know these kinds of people. I know more about the people who did this than you do. I know their strengths and their weaknesses. I also know their fears and what causes them to snap. So when I say no AMBER Alert, I damn well mean no AMBER Alert.”

“Easy, John,” Chief Elston said. The outburst had apparently caught his attention, bringing him back into our group. He swallowed. “Tell us what you're thinking.”

“Nothing complicated,” Hammonds said. “You seem to forget that I'm a defense attorney. I've defended some of the finest slime in this state. I've spent more time with them than you've ever dreamed about. You spend all your time trying to get inside their heads to catch them. I spend my time getting to know them, really know them. I have to know what triggers them, what causes them to go off.” He hesitated, then continued in a softer voice, “What causes them to panic. Most of them don't handle pressure well. You put the pressure on, they react. That reaction is usually to get rid of the evidence. That would doom Ashley.”

Hammonds had walked around the room as he spoke. Now he dropped into a chair and buried his hands in his face. “I can't take that chance. That's why no AMBER Alert, no publicity. We must
not
panic them.”

“I see,” Chief Elston said. “What you say might make sense to you, but it goes against everything I've learned about apprehending criminals. I may not have the authority to do what you want.”

“That's how it must be.”

Chief Elston walked back to the window and stared out. In a voice perhaps only for himself, he said, “I hate this job. So many
times, there is a chasm between following the rules and doing what
might work better. This may be one of those times.” He clasped his hands behind him and paced, his head down and brow furrowed, as the rest of us watched. After two circuits, he stopped in front of Hammonds. “Friday. I'll give you until Friday. That's three days. If your approach hasn't worked, and I hope to God it does, I'm pulling out all stops.”

Hammonds stood. “Fair enough. Friday evening, it is.”

“But,” the chief continued, “I'm still going to brief all my officers and tell them to be on the watch for Ashley and the woman who took her. That won't create much of a hubbub.” He glared at me. “And even that small effort will get more results than Ms. Bowman can produce. You're making a huge mistake, John.”

Hammonds appeared to consider the chief's words, then nodded.

Since they'd reached some form of agreement, and it involved me, it was time to join the conversation. “Chief. I hope you didn't give in too fast. Now, can we get back to my briefing?”

Sargent gave me a nasty look, and Chief Elston said, “Yes. I think that's appropriate. Do you have anything else, Detective Bannon?”

“If we're killing the AMBER Alert, there's not much we can do until we hear from the kidnappers. We have recorders attached to every phone that Mr. Hammonds uses here at the house and at his office. We've alerted his cell carrier, and they're ready to cooperate by monitoring incoming calls to him.”

“Sounds like you're neck deep into privacy issues,” I said. “I hope you got his permission in writing.” I smiled, hoping to inject a touch of humor into the somber gathering.

Sargent continued to scowl, Bannon's face remained impassive, and the chief looked like I had tracked doggy doo-doo onto his white carpet.

Hammonds gave a weak look. “Yes. I insisted on it. Sly told me your opinion of lawyers—you're willing to work for them, but you'll never trust one.” He went sad again. “I just want Ashley back.”

Seeing any man as sad as John was just too tough. The expression
hangdog look
only scratched the surface of his appearance. Misery emanated out of every pore. It took willpower not to sit beside him and lay his head on my shoulder like I've seen so many mothers do to soothe a hurt child.

I tore my eyes away from Hammonds and turned to the chief. “The note from the school. Did you get it?”

“Yes. Looks like a computer printout with a signature at the bottom. Mr. Hammonds gave us samples of his wife's handwriting. We have our people comparing the note to them.” He looked at Hammonds whose head now rested in his open hands.

“Keep talking, chief. I'm all in,” he mumbled.

“Why don't you lie down?” the chief said. “We have everything under control.” He hesitated. “Tomorrow, you'll be faced with a myriad of decisions. Plus, the damned media will probably be all over you.”

“I agree, Mr. Hammonds,” I said. “You need your rest. Before you go, though, I need a recent picture of Ashley.”

Hammonds stood. “I'll get one from my office.” He shuffled out of the room.

To the chief, I said, “I need a copy of the sketch and a copy of the
note the woman used at the school. Can you arrange that?”

Hammonds returned and handed me an eight by ten of Ashley. “This was taken a couple of weeks ago. Do whatever you need with it. I have other copies.”

Chief Elston looked at Bannon. “Check downtown and see if they have a sketch yet. If so, tell them to email it. Make it high res so we can make copies. Also, get a copy of the note for Ms. Bowman.”

We sat around looking uncomfortable while Bannon followed orders. The sketch was complete, and soon I had a hard copy in hand. I studied the woman. Shouldn't be too tough to spot her. Red hair, fancy glasses, heavy lipstick. She should be obvious in any crowd.

Standing, I said, “I expect to know the moment anyone contacts Mr. Hammonds and the full content of what they have to say.”

Sargent scowled some more, but Hammonds said, “You will. I promise.”