From Cape Town with Love (30 page)

The black Mercedes SUV identical to Roman's was parked at a spot near the corner of the residential district that borders the Bodhi Tree. All of the SUV's windows were tinted black and sealed up tight, but I saw Rachel Wentz in the driver's seat. We drove past without slowing, and Rachel didn't seem to notice me.

“I see her,” I told Marsha. “I'll jump out at the next corner. You can circle.”

“Were those really her boobs in
The Vintner,
or did she use a body
double?” Marsha said, and her joke irritated me. It was probably just her idea of graveyard humor, but it reminded me of the way the FBI agent had tried to minimize Roman's humanity. As soon as I found a spot to pull over, I left Marsha in the car to ponder Maitlin's breasts alone.

“This better be good!” Marsha called after me.

When I knocked on Rachel Wentz's window, she gasped loudly. She stared at me, wide eyed, as her hand reached for the gear shift.

“Hey, Rachel, it's me—Ten,” I said, remembering my disguise.

Rachel Wentz was so relieved that she closed her eyes. The doors
clicked.
I opened one of the rear doors to climb in.

“You just scared the holy living shit out of me,” Rachel Wentz said. “Nice getup.”

“Close the door, Ten.” A whisper from the rear passenger seat behind me.

After I closed the door, I leaned over to find Sofia Maitlin lying prone. She sat up slowly, checking the windows to make sure we weren't being watched. If I hadn't dodged helicopters and a motorcycle to escape my own house, her behavior might have seemed extreme.

The dark spots beneath her eyes were much worse, her skin impossibly paper thin. Her bright red nose looked chafed and raw. Sofia grabbed my hand and held on, hard. Her nails bit into my skin, but I squeezed back. Sometimes touch is the only mutual language.

“Drive,” she told Rachel Wentz.

The SUV bucked into the traffic lane with a screech. I had lost sight of Marsha, but I hoped she would stay on our tail. Sofia Maitlin held my hand during the whole drive.

“What's going on?” I said. “Did they call again?”

She shook her head and held her cell phone up for me to see. “I'm always waiting,” she said. “That's why I'm rushing right back. Nothing since we talked.”

Then, nothing. Her long silence agitated me. “Sofia, whatever it is, just say it. Something about the gang from South Africa?” I rubbed the meat of her thumb with mine, gently. If we had been in bed, it might have been foreplay.

“Paki,” she said. “The birth father. I didn't tell you everything about him.”

My heart thundered. “What about him?” I said.

“There was more to the story in South Africa . . . Not just what was on the news . . .”

Rachel Wentz was noticeably silent. She obviously must know whatever Maitlin was about to say, but she didn't try to run interference for her client.

“What happened?” I said.

Sofia's face was wrenched with a bitter memory. “Everything was going fine with the adoption, the paperwork was almost finished . . . and then
he
came. I'll never forget that phone call. I thought it would be good news from my lawyer, and instead she said, ‘Sofia, there's a problem . . .' Out of the blue, a man claiming to be the birth father showed up. Paki. He demanded that we help him come to America so he could be in his daughter's life.”

“You know he's the father for sure?” he said. “You have proof?”

“Yes, we're positive, unfortunately,” she said. “We helped him get a job, in San Diego. Close enough to visit his daughter . . . occasionally. But far enough not to be intrusive.” Sofia brought her hands up to her mouth, as if she'd just made a horrible revelation. “Roman kept saying, ‘What do you really know about that guy?' I couldn't bring myself to believe it.”

“What makes you believe it now?”

Rachel Wentz spoke up. “He's been
real
jumpy since the FBI showed up. Pacing. Nervous. He couldn't wait to get home.”

That didn't prove anything. He might be nervous around authority figures, and Nandi was his biological daughter. I would have been pacing, too.

“What else?” I said.

Maitlin sounded breathless. “He knew a lot about the party. He was very interested in the planning—making suggestions. Alec didn't like it, but I didn't see the harm. He recommended that restaurant, South African Sun.”

“The FBI has this, then,” I said. “They're looking at the employee lists. Anything yet?”

Maitlin shook her head. “They're talking to Paki, but nobody's said he's a big lead.”

They wouldn't necessarily tell her if Paki had turned into a suspect.
But with Spider's trail to follow, I couldn't get mired in a diversion fueled by Maitlin's anger toward Paki. “What makes you think Paki might be tied to a criminal gang?”

“Something he said when we ran into each other in the hall before a hearing in South Africa: ‘I'm a little guy, but I have big people behind me.'”

“Was he threatening you?”

“I thought he meant the South African
government.
Rule of law. I'm wealthy, Mr. Hardwick. I was a celebrity, but I couldn't trump the power of his nation. Now . . . I don't know. What if he meant he was connected to that gang? Right before he left with the FBI this morning, he looked me dead in the eye and said, ‘I'm sorry.' The sound of his voice chilled me, Ten.”

“It's an expression of condolence, not a confession,” I said. “He's Nandi's birth father, but he knows you're the one who's raising her.”

Sofia was shaking her head. “No. It
wasn't
that. My mind is clearing up, past all the crying—I don't have time to sit and cry. Nandi needs me, and I'm noticing things I didn't before. Things about Paki. I make my living from voices and emotion, and he meant it when he said ‘I'm sorry.' He
knew
something.”

The validity of the theory was too dependent on Sofia's state of mind, but I wrote Paki's name down and circled it.

“Where's Paki now?” I said.

“With the FBI. I think.”

“You've told them everything you told me?”

Maitlin hesitated before she nodded, the way a bad actress might have played a lie. “Yes, but they're looking in so many directions, like you said. Half of the city was at our house Sunday. I'm afraid you're right: They might be getting lost.”

“Are they searching Paki's house?”

“Yes, I think so. I don't know if they found anything.”

“So you want me to give him a closer look,” I said. “As if he's the main suspect.”

Maitlin nodded fervently. “Yes—if you can! I'll give you his home and work addresses. You'll know if he's hiding something. Make him tell you the truth.” A fire in Maitlin's eyes said
Even if you have to break his bones to get it.

“If I ask Paki too many questions and he's involved, it might be bad for Nandi,” I said.

“If I'm right, don't let him go,” Maitlin said. “Not until she's home.”

Maitlin had already decided Paki's guilt, and she wanted me to break him. I almost told her my name was Tennyson Hardwick, not Jack Bauer. If Sofia Maitlin was circling the crazy drain, I couldn't let her drag me down with her.

I looked at Rachel Wentz, waiting for her assessment.

“I've known Sofia a long time, before we were working together,” Wentz said. “I know this woman like I know myself, and she's not crazy. If she says Paki's not acting right, you can bet your ass he's hiding something.”

An inside job could explain everything. Paki had helped plan the party, and he could have funneled information to the kidnappers to help them execute such a flawless abduction. His
Aw-shucks
act might have fooled Zukisa, the nanny, or she might have purposely deflected suspicion from him for her own reasons. Maybe Zukisa was in on it, too.

“What about the nanny?” I said.

They both shook their heads.

“No way,” Maitlin said. “That poor woman was the one who first came to me and said she didn't like the way Paki was acting. I was too upset over Nandi to notice.”

“She's brilliant,” Rachel Wentz said. “She's on her way to medical school one day. What a story she is! She's the loveliest, sweetest woman. She's half out of her mind, she's so worried.”

“We tried to send her home,” Sofia said. “She wants to stay until Nandi comes back.”

Zukisa probably wasn't a suspect, and she still might have her job—if Nandi survived.

I remembered how I'd been sent to the kitchen to babysit the cooks from South African Sun on Melrose in the moments before Nandi was snatched. Had they been Paki's friends brushing me out of their way while Paki cheerfully sipped wine with Sofia?

If Paki's involved, maybe Nandi's less likely to get hurt,
I thought.

Paki might have made his plan to cash in on his golden child, never expecting Nandi to get hurt. But once the drop went bad, was he worried
about the temperament of the gang he was working with? Was that why he'd told Sofia he was sorry?

It was still just a maybe, but
maybe
was enough to make anger coil in my chest.

“I'll take care of it,” I said.

I told Marsha the story after Rachel Wentz dropped me off in front of the bookstore again. I'd decided against telling Maitlin that I had a tail. Marsha climbed out of the driver's seat to let me drive. Her eyes were glued to her cell phone's text field.

“Let me guess . . . ,” Marsha said. “Women's intuition?”

“Cut her some slack,” I said. “It's a hunch. I got vibes from him, too.”

“I'll ask around,” Marsha said as she texted someone, fingers flying. “Let's see if we can find something better than vibes on this guy.”

“Who are you asking?”

“Yo' grandma. Mind your business.”

I chuckled. A few hours ago, even a small chuckle would have been inconceivable.

“Let's head for San Diego,” I said. “Even if Paki's tied up with the FBI, we might be able to sniff around his workplace and find something to tie him to Kingdom of Heaven.”

Marsha looked at her watch. It was 3:45.

“Ten, I'll give Maitlin and her hunches the benefit of the doubt . . . ,” Marsha began. “But we need to get back and stay on Simon. He's a direct route to Spider, and that's our best shot. I may be able to get our ears on Simon's home phone, if that helps. Maybe his cell, too, but that'll be trickier without custody of the phone. Paki's up to his eyeballs in feds right now.”

We were having our first real argument. There was a long silence.

“Piece of advice, Ten?” Marsha said gently. “Don't get attached to Maitlin. It'll only make it harder on you if this goes to hell.”

Probably Marsha's life philosophy,
I thought. Once, it had been mine, too.

“Thanks, but I can take care of myself,” I said.

“Just checking,” she said. “Sometimes emotions sway our judgment. I know this.”

The car was idling, and we had to make a choice. I wanted to jump on Paki, but I respected Marsha's opinion. Too many of my choices had been wrong so far, and Maitlin's instincts had led her all the way to Hell.

“We'll do Simon,” I said. “We'll hit Paki later tonight, or first thing in the morning.”

Instead of starting surveillance on Nandi's birth father, we raced back toward Baldwin Hills. There, we finally caught a break. The mechanic's truck was just driving away. Simon's engine was idling, and Simon was chatting on his cell phone in the shade of an awning, smoking a cigarette. Simon didn't look nearly as pissed as I would have been.

“Damn,” I said. “He could be talking to Spider right now, and we wouldn't know.”

“Patience, padowan,” Marsha said, a
Star Wars
reference that surprised me. “Young the day is.” She said it like Yoda. She really
was
a geek!

We stayed out of sight at the other end of the parking lot and waited for him to leave.

After five minutes, he drove off. We had almost missed him.

I remember my father complaining about long hours of surveillance when I was a kid. Often, he had to work late, and sometimes I had to sleep at a neighbor's house because he never came home. I got a taste of his old life as Marsha and I drove through Los Angeles tailing Simon O. The hours passed like years.

After he left the restaurant, he headed straight to a park in Glendale, where an equally lanky thirteen-year-old boy wearing a bright blue soccer uniform met his car. Few other kids were in sight. Thanks to us, dad was more than a little bit late after soccer practice. I was glad the kid wasn't any younger. That was at five thirty.

Great,
I thought.
Paki's off on his own, and we're following the soccer dad.

Almost as if he had a psychic burst, the kid gazed in our direction while we idled down the street, waiting. We were about thirty yards away, but he stared before he climbed into his car. Probably just admiring the 'Vette, but I was careful about my following distance. I got
caught at a red light, but by then we knew it didn't matter. Simon O. was headed home.

“Maybe we'll get lucky, and Spider's at Simon's house,” I said. “A rehearsal.”

“And maybe Nandi will be there, too, dressed in her Sunday best,” Marsha muttered, flipping through the car's radio stations, as she did every time she heard a commercial. Then she smiled sheepishly at me. “Sorry. Jokes are my way.”

“Whatever works,” I said. But Marsha had stolen my next thought: Nandi might be at Simon's house.
Doing what? Playing in the backyard with Simon's wife and kid?

Simon pulled into the driveway of a quaint Craftsman almost the same shade of blue as Junior's soccer uniform, except with white trim. No other cars were parked at the house, which sat at the end of a shaded upper-middle-class street. The houses were well kept, easily worth $700,00 or more. And I didn't see any For Sale signs, which was rare during a recession.