Best Defense (7 page)

I sat up straight in my chair, suspecting there was a lot hidden in those words. “Uh, no, I didn't. I never met her. So, where did you go for breakfast—IHOP?”

“No, silly. I fixed it right here. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, grits, the works. I wouldn't ask a man like Ike to go to IHOP … well not when we just met.” She chuckled. “Maybe next time.”

Great. Now I had created a pickle. Good luck, Ike, I thought. My mom is a determined woman.

After giving directions to my house, I got her off the phone. Of
course, she said she didn't need the instructions because she had printed them out before she phoned. That's my mom—efficient to the nth degree.

“Sorry, John,” I said. “My mom. She has a problem in Dallas so she'll be camping with me for a few days. But she knows she's on her own. Ashley comes first.”

“You don't have to convince me. I know you're a pro.”

“Well, since nothing is going on here, I'll hit the road. I have a couple of things I want to check. Call me if anything changes.”

He stood and extended his hand. “I'll keep you informed. You do the same.”

nine

I headed for Ashley's
school, hoping the two women who saw her abductor had information they weren't aware they had. I didn't know whom they talked to at the police station, but if the detective wasn't female, there might be unasked questions. Any time one woman describes another, a woman's touch adds to the construction of the questions. Plus, the police spend every day emptying the gutter, and the hideousness of society hardens them against tragedy. Sometimes, it narrows their field of vision and causes them to miss important details.

Once there, I parked in a visitor's spot and fumbled through my notes. The women I needed to see were Ms. Dimitri and Ms. Sumatra. The former was the school secretary and the latter was Ashley's teacher. I went to the office where an attractive blond lady in her forties sat behind a desk. The nameplate read Ms. Thelma Dimitri, Secretary.”

“Ms. Dimitri, I'm Beth Bowman, a private investigator hired by John Hammonds to look into the abduction of his daughter, Ashley. I understand you saw the lady who took her.” I laid a business card in front of her.

She stood, her arms crossed in front of her. “Abduction? I didn't see it that way. Ms. Lowenstein came into the office, gave me a note signed by Ms. Hammonds giving her permission to pick up Ashley. After satisfying myself that the note was legitimate, I asked Ms. Sumatra to bring Ashley to the office. Once they arrived, Ashley went with Ms. Lowenstein, just like she has gone with other people who have picked her up. I had no way of knowing there was anything wrong.”

Oops. I had jumped off on the wrong foot. Some quick backtracking was necessary. “I wasn't being accusatory. The police as
sured me you acted properly in every way, and I'm sure I would have
done the same as you. I have no reason to think otherwise. However, the lady in question did kidnap Mr. Hammonds' daughter. I'm sure you're very observant and very conscientious in your duty. I'm hoping you can help me.” I stopped, giving her a chance to respond—in a more positive way, I hoped.

She didn't uncross her arms, but they appeared to relax a bit. “I spent hours with the police. I have better things to do than defend how I perform my job. I have a school to run here. If you have their report, you know everything that I know. I really don't see—”

“My experience is that many times we know things we're not aware of. Especially, with small things that don't seem important. This can be even more true when women talk about other women.”

Her arms came unfolded, and she gave me a skeptical look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean things one woman notices about another, but doesn't make a big deal of. Something a man might never think about.”

Her look changed to one of thought before she waved me to a chair. “For example?”

“I noticed the sketch doesn't describe her jewelry. Was she wearing any?”

“Of course. I mean … I suppose so. Everyone I know wears
jewelry.”

“I agree. What kind of earrings did she have on?”

She rested a hand across her chin and tapped her forefinger against her lips as if in deep thought. “I don't remember any. Her hair covered her ears … I think. It … wait. When she turned toward the door as Ashley entered, her hair lifted and …” She went quiet again. “I did see an earring. There was something about it. It didn't look quite right.” She looked at me with expectant eyes.

I said nothing. Sometimes the best way to gain information is to show patience and wait for it.

“It was a pink pearl that clashed with her red hair. A stud, not a dangle.”

“Size? Expensive? Real?”

“Oh boy. That's tough. Give me a minute.”

I took my gaze off her and looked around her office. I didn't want her to feel pressure as she searched her memory bank.

After a moment, she said, “I have to say expensive, but I can't
give you a reason. It wasn't particularly large, what I'd call
medium-sized. But something about it makes me say a real pearl. Mind you, I only saw the one. And don't ask if they were cultured or saltwater. I don't move in those circles.”

“Good observation. So we have pink pearl stud earrings under,” I checked my notes, “red hair. Is that correct?”

“Yes. Not a combination I'd recommend,” she said.

“Lipstick. What color was it?”

“Oh, my.” She ran a forefinger over her lips as her eyes glazed. “Don't hold me to it, but I'm thinking pink. Does that make sense? A redhead wearing bright pink lipstick? It didn't do her any favors. I remember that.”

“Possible,” I said. “Any other makeup? Her eyes? Blush?”

She thought for a moment, her fingers dancing around her face
as if recreating what she'd seen. “No. I'm drawing nothing there. Just the lipstick.”

“Amazing what we see without realizing it, isn't it?” I said. “There may be other things.”

“I see what you mean about a woman observing another woman,”
she said. “None of this came up with the police—just the color and
style of her hair.”

“You're doing great. Now, what was her complexion? Pale, dark?”

“She was … she had a warm skin tone. Kind of golden, yet clear.” She hesitated, frowning. “Not what I normally associate with redheads.”

“Interesting. How about rings, bracelets?”

“Just a minute. There was something else. Give me a moment. Maybe it'll click in.”

“Take your time.” I waited as she scrunched her face up as if in deep thought again.

“It was … her eyebrows. They didn't fit a redhead. They were dark, almost black.” She paused. “You know, I'm beginning to think the red hair was the part that didn't match. Everything else, skin tone, earrings, lipstick, and eyebrows fit.”

“A wig?”

“Could have been,” she said. “I wish I'd been more observant. But it was a busy time in the office, and I had no reason to examine her.”

“I understand. Now, let's move on to the rest of her jewelry.”

There was no hesitation. “She wore rings on almost every finger. But the one that caught my eye was a large marquise-cut green stone on her third finger, left hand. It was surrounded by diamonds. I'm betting all of it was real—an emerald big enough to choke an elephant. She wore it with a simple gold band, like a wedding ring.”

“Engagement ring?”

“I should be so lucky.” She dangled an empty finger. “Whatever it was, there was a genuine sugar-daddy behind it.” She thought
again. “Yeah. I'd say it was an engagement ring.”

I wrote every word in my notebook. “Bracelets. Any bracelets?”

“You're thorough. I'll give you that.” She went into deep thought mode again. “Left wrist. A diamond tennis bracelet in yellow gold. It flopped around her gold watch. I don't know the brand, but I'd give you expensive. In fact, now that I think about it, everything about her was expensive. Maybe that's one reason I accepted the note so readily.”

I handed her the police sketch of the woman. “Look at the glasses.
Are they accurate?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Tough question coming. Get ready. Expensive or cheap?”

“Expen …” Her eyes glazed again, leading me to believe she was analyzing her memory.

I let the clock tick. An idea had formed in my head, but I didn't want to force her to the same conclusion. If I was right, she had to get there by herself. If wrong … well, no risk, no gain.

“Ms. …” She looked at my business card. “Bowman, this sounds almost too stupid to say. The frames looked cheap, drugstore cheap. Does that make sense? I mean, she was well dressed, wearing all that expensive jewelry. Why would she have cheap glasses?”

“Yeah, makes one wonder, doesn't it?” It was my turn to think, to consider any points I'd skipped. Nothing came to mind. “I've run out of questions. Can you think of anything we missed?”

She thought some more. “No. You've been very thorough. Well, one more thing. Her clothes were nice, they looked expensive, but … They seemed old, like they were out of date.” She stopped and shook her head. “If I come up with anything else, I'll call you.”

“That'll do it then,” I said. “And please don't blame yourself. No one would expect a rich woman to be a kidnapper.” I closed my notebook. You've been very helpful, and I thank you. The more I learn, the closer I get to finding Ashley.”

“Sorry about my attitude when you came in. I really thought I told the police everything I knew.”

“You did. At least, you told the police everything that you knew you knew. I only guided you onto some of the things you didn't know you knew.” I smiled and shrugged. “Is Ms. Sumatra in today?”

“Yes. Should I call her for you?”

“Please, if it won't disrupt her class.”

“She has an assistant who can cover for her.” She used the intercom and paged Ms. Sumatra, who soon appeared.

I went through my questions with her but didn't learn anything new. She said she was only with the woman for a moment. She
brought Ashley into the office, shook hands with the lady, and turned
Ashley over to her. She did verify the pink lipstick and the profile of well-to-do, though. That alone made the trip worthwhile.

I walked out of the school, feeling like I'd made progress. The woman had apparently thrown on a shallow disguise in the form of a red wig and cheap glasses. Perhaps that's what she wanted remembered. Obviously, she hadn't counted on someone with Ms. Dimitri's photographic memory. It needed a bit of prodding, but when it clicked in, she gave me more than I expected. The ring
might be a real clue, something that could identify her if she stepped out of her house. If it was an engagement ring, she probably never took it off.

Of course, I had no idea of her true hair color, meaning whatever shade her hairdresser made it. She could be blond, black, brunette, or any place in between. Maybe I could get the police to come up with a version of each.

I climbed into my car, fired the engine, and started the air conditioner. Once it was blowing cold, I took out my cell and called Hammonds' number.

“Mr. Hammonds' residence,” I heard.

“This is Beth Bowman. Who's the detective on duty today?”

“Bannon, and you're talking to him. What's up?”

I told him about my conversations with Ms. Dimitri and Ms. Sumatra and asked if he could match me up with the sketch artist.

“You might be better than I thought. How long will it take you to get here?” Bannon asked.

“No more than fifteen-twenty minutes.”

“Good. Our portrait-maker will be right behind you.”

_____

I spent two hours with Officer Germaine and his colored pencils. He started with the sketch he'd made the previous day, then made changes as I asked for them. The glasses came off, the lips assumed a brighter pink color, and the eyebrows went dark brown. I decided to gamble that the wig was approximately the same style as the woman's usual hair, so Germaine did three versions for me—blond, black, and brunette. We decided to stick with basic colors. There were simply too many variations to try one of each.

By three o'clock, I was at FedEx Office again, making color copies of the sketches. At four, I was walking into Bobby's Bar after calling Judy to let Bob know I was on the way. He didn't appreciate his phone ringing when he was working his corner. He set the phone on vibrate, but only answered to Judy. She knew not to call unless it was important.

ten

Street, Dabba, and Dot
had been close enough that Bob called them in. They were waiting for me in the men's dorm.

I opened our meeting by saying, “Our kidnapper used a disguise. We've been looking for the wrong woman.” I passed around copies of the new sketches. “I'm pretty sure one of these is closer to her real appearance. Do any of them look familiar?”

“Not to me,” Dabba said. “I ain't never seen her.”

“Is this the best you got?” Dot asked. “Lots of women can fit this
picture. I don't know.”

I turned my attention to Street, whose eyes appeared glued to the picture. “How about you? Have you ever seen her?”

“I can't be sure,” he said. “Maybe she comes by my corner sometimes. Her hair's like this one, but with streaks.” He held up the brunette version. “Light-colored streaks.”

“Think, Street, think,” I said. “A five-year-old's life is at stake.”

“I don't know. I never seen her without sunglasses. Everybody in Florida wears them. Can you put a pair on her?”

“Yeah,” Dot said. “It ain't like these folks invite us to dinner.”

Dabba cackled. “That's a good'un, Dot. I used to have folks come to dinner. That was before they took Linda. Ain't done it since.”

There was an awkward silence, so I pulled out a fresh sketch of the brunette and some colored pencils I borrowed from Officer Germaine. With Street guiding me, I drew dark glasses over her eyes. My efforts at streaking her hair were unsuccessful until Bob found a yellow marker. After using that to add highlights, I asked, “Anything else?”

Street took the picture and walked over to one of the lamps. He held it under the bright light and studied it as if he were selecting lottery numbers. “Yep. I'm purty sure I seen somebody looks a lot like this driving on route four-forty-one.”

“That's good. Can you remember what kind of car she was in?”

“Give me a minute,” Street said. He plopped down on a bunk.

“Take all the time you need.” I turned to the rest of the group. “Let's go into the bar and have a glass of water or something. Give Street some privacy.”

Street joined us a few minutes later. “White Lexus, an old one. That's all I remember.”

Great. About every third car in South Florida was white, and a lot of those were Lexuses—or so it seemed. I couldn't let Street see my frustration though. “That's more than we had before. Maybe she'll take the same route again, and someone will spot her. If so, we need a license number.” As I spoke, I busied myself adding highlights to several of the other copies of the brunette sketch.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw each of them nodding as they looked at one another, however, no one had anything to add. After a moment, Bob said, “There's still some daylight. Let's spread out and see if we spot anything. Does everyone have pictures?”

More nodding followed his question, then Street, Dot, and Dabba left.

Bob said, “If others come in, I'll brief them. You're welcome to hang around if you like.”

“No. I need to move on. There are some places I want to hit before
it gets too dark. I'll leave extra copies of the sketches.”

_____

In the next three hours, I hit six Publix Super Markets and wandered through eight strip malls. The only thing I learned was my
sketch didn't help much. With a little imagination, it fit about every
fourth woman I encountered.

At eight-fifteen, my cell phone chirped. Caller ID sent a chill down my spine. Mom. I'd completely forgotten she was coming in.

“Hi, Mom. Did you get in okay? How was the flight?”

“The flight was fine, and I made it to your house without mishap.” Her words carried an edge to them—meaning I should have met her at the airport or at least called to verify she landed.

“Sorry I didn't check in with you,” I said in what I hoped was an apologetic tone, “but I've been busier than a horsefly in a herd of mares today. I have this case—”

“That's all right, my dear. I know you must give priority to your work.”

Ouch. That meant I'd pay later. “It's not that, Mom. It's just I've been dashing from place to—”

“I said it was okay. I'm at your house now, and I found things to keep me busy. If you can tell me when you might get home, I'll try to be through cleaning by then. Didn't you say you cleaned the refrigerator recently?”

Double-ouch. I had really stepped into it now. It would take a lot to dig myself out of this one, so I decided to stall. “Uh, how did you get in?”

Mom chuckled. “I know my daughter. I simply looked for a fake
rock in the flower bed. Found one just like mine. Popped it open and
there was the key.”

I was not doing well. I'd forgotten that I bought my fake rock at the same time Mom got hers—many years ago in Texas. Time to take the leap, though. “I'm not real sure when I'll get there. I still have several leads to pursue. There's food—”

“You need not worry. I picked up something on the drive from the airport. I
know
how busy you are. You just follow your leads, and I'll have dinner with the news. You
do
get CNN, don't you?”

That was the clincher. She never watched CNN. Said it was too liberal for her Texas roots. “Okay, Mom. I'll be there as soon as I can. Make yourself comfortable. And don't clean up. I'll take care of it.” It wouldn't have done any good to tell her I thought the place was spotless when I left that morning. If she said it needed cleaning, it needed cleaning. “I have to run now. One of my contacts just showed up. Kisses.” I punched the off button with a sigh, wondering if all mothers were like mine, or if I just got lucky.

Before I could feel too sorry for myself, the phone rang again. This time, caller ID told me it was Hammonds' number.

“Beth, here.”

“Ms. Bowman. This is Detective Bannon. We have an email. Mr. Hammonds requested I let you know.”

“I'm on the way. I'll be there in less than thirty minutes.”

_____

I hit Hammonds' house in twenty minutes and made my entry through the garage. I still wasn't up to facing the foyer. Inside, I found Hammonds in his office with Sargent and Bannon.

“So, what does the email say?” I asked after settling into a chair.

“Give her a copy,” Hammonds snapped. “I told you she gets everything.”

“I printed a copy for her,” Sargent answered, his face red.

It was obvious the pressure was getting to Hammonds, and he was getting under Sargent's skin. And, while I had no love, or even respect, for Sargent, I thought Hammonds was being a bit heavy-handed. Sargent might be a horse's ass, but he was doing his job.

“Thanks, Sargent,” I said, standing and reaching for the paper before Hammonds did. If I could keep peace between the two of them, life would be easier for everyone.

Sargent handed the copy to me, then turned and left the room. His stride was angry, his heels hitting the floor with force. When he closed the door, it didn't slam, but it had a definite slap to it.

I read aloud, “Three a.m. Instructions in center circle of soccer field at Royal Springs and Wiles.” I looked at Hammonds.

“Not much to go on, is there?” he said. “What do you think?”

I studied the message. “It's from someone called
IWantMine
at Yahoo.com. I'm betting when the police track it, they'll come up with phony identifying info. But we expected that, didn't we?” I paused. John's eyes had locked on the paper I held. “Looks like I have an early morning date in Coral Lakes.” I handed the paper to John and picked up my purse.

“Wait, Ms. Bowman,” Bannon said. “We need to lay out a plan.
You'll need police backup. We'll need to get the place staked out early. Maybe we can grab someone and sweat him.”

I looked from Bannon to Hammonds. “No. This is their first contact. I'm betting they'll have someone nearby with an open phone
watching the pickup to make sure we're playing by the rules. If they see anyone extra …” I let my voice die off, not wanting to complete the sentence. The last thing I wanted to say was they might take it out on Ashley.

“You're not being smart,” Bannon said. “We have a chance at them.”

“This is why Mr. Hammonds hired me. You stay here in case they
call or send another email. I'll need to know.” I hesitated while taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Look. I say we play it exactly how they say. I'll be back as fast as I can. At least, we'll know what they
want and how they want it.”

Hammonds said, “Beth … be careful. Take it as slow and easy as you need to. Whatever it takes to bring Ashley home.”

I left the room with John's eyes boring into me. I'm not sure which they carried more of, hope or fear. And I'm not sure which my heart carried more of, fear or hope. There were only a couple of logical scenarios. I was either walking into a trap, or the instructions were there. The first was illogical, but killing Sabrina wasn't the most logical thing they could have done either.

As soon as I stepped out of the house, I flipped open my cell phone and punched in Bob's number. He answered on the first ring.

“Bob, I have a date at the soccer field on the corner of Royal Springs Drive and Wiles Road. If you have anyone in the area, I could sure use an extra pair of eyes.”

“What's going down?”

“They emailed and said they'll have instructions in the center circle of the soccer field at three a.m. I'll pick them up, then head back to Hammonds' house. Until then, I'm going home to try to make peace with my mother. She came in today and is not happy I wasn't there to greet her.”

Bob said, “I'll see if anyone is close enough to the intersection to help. Be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name—Beth Careful Bowman.”

“What was that about your mother?”

I gave him the nickel version of her arrival and the reason for it. “Not only was I not home when she arrived, but she says my house
is filthy and threatened to clean it.”

“Sounds like you're caught in a lose-lose situation.”

“You nailed it. At this moment, I'm her least favorite daughter, and she has no others.”

Bob chuckled. “Don't expect any help from me. I'd rather step between a lioness and her cub than get caught between a mother and daughter. If you run fast enough, the lioness will give up and go back to her little one. You can't run fast enough to escape a vengeful mother.”

“Yeah, I know. My mother has been outrunning me my whole life.”

“So, what now?”

“Grocery stores. There are several between here and my house. You know, a Publix on almost every corner. Maybe our kidnapper
likes to shop at night. I'll stop in before heading home to face Mom. That'll lend truth to my white lie. I told her I had leads to follow.
”

Bob tsked me. “
Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.
Sir Walter Scott's famous words.”

“Yeah. His and my mother's. It's her mantra. I'm out of here.”

I clicked the cell closed, climbed into the car, and backed out of the driveway, heading for Publix, then home. With luck, I would
spot the woman, square things with Mom, and get a couple of hours sleep. And Jiminy Cricket would land on my shoulder to provide me with guidance. Yeah, right.

Driving in the general direction of my house, I stopped at four more Publixes. No luck.

I was tired, frustrated, and nervous about going home. By now, I figured Mom would have herself worked into a real mad. If only I could stay out until she was asleep, I could avoid her until the morning.

I checked my watch again. Eleven o'clock. Bob hadn't called so his people must have come up empty, and he must not have located a backup for me. Nothing left to do but go home and face Mom.

When I pulled into my driveway, I noticed a couple of things. The first was a red Chrysler convertible. It looked like Mom was planning a fun holiday. Or maybe she was entering her second childhood. I parked my Toyota Camry beside the Chrysler.

The second thing I noticed was the house was dark. I sighed in relief. I wouldn't have to face the music tonight.