Trouble in Paradise (13 page)

I pulled off the interstate and onto the shoulder. My good
driver record vanished as I rolled down the window. The trooper approached on
the driver side. “Do you know why…,” he started.

“Help, she kidnapped me!” Alex yelled.

The trooper’s gun came out in an instant. “Hands where I can
see them.” He opened the door and ordered, “Get out slowly, hands in the air.”

“He’s lying,” I said, doing what I was told. The trooper
wasted no time reading me my rights.

He gave me a shove up against my Tahoe and cuffed me. “Is
that why you gave me the finger?” he asked Alex. “What’s your name?”

“Alejandro Lopez. I’m afraid of her; she took me from my
house in Miami.”

“His name is Alejandro Lopez Famosa. His father, Casio
Famosa, is a detective with the Miami police department. Casio can clear this
up with a phone call. His brother hired me to drive Alex to his grandmother’s
in St. Petersburg.”

“She threatened to kill me, and pulled my hair, and punched
me in the stomach,” Alex yelled. “She scares me. I was afraid.” He started
crying.

I’d put money on fake tears but he’d sold his story like an
A-list actor kid.

The trooper led me to his car, holding my arm steady as I
wobbled, hands cuffed behind me. It wasn’t easy getting in the backseat.

“The kid is lying. Please call his father,” I practically
begged.

“Don’t go anywhere.” He shut the door and walked back to
Alex. Alex sat in the cargo section, swinging his legs out the rear door.

The trooper made a phone call, then he and Alex got into an
animated chat. Two local cop cars sped up, lights flashing and sirens blaring,
both marked, Springs, Florida. One was a K-9 unit, giving the newest child
abducting felon priority. Two gas stations at the end of the ramp gave no
indication of how far out in the middle of nowhere we were.

The K-9 cop opened his car door, signaling the dog, who
jumped out and ran to my SUV sniffing over every inch. I expected him to lift
his leg and mark his territory. Through the open rear door I saw one of the
local cops toss the interior, upend the contents of my purse and go through
Alex’s suitcase. The other one went through my wallet, took my license and
disappeared back inside his car.

The cop who tossed my SUV opened the door. “Do you need help
out?” His name tag read Duno.

“Did you talk to his father and get this straightened out?”
I asked.

“You’re being transferred to the Springs Police Department.”
Duno held onto my arm as I stood up.

“Why are you taking the word of a bratty seven-year-old and
not checking out his story?”

“Alex fits the description of an Amber Alert out of Miami.
We’ll check out his version of events. In the meantime, we’re not sitting on
the side of the highway.”

“What about my purse and SUV?” My arms ached from being
restrained, my shoulders pulled into an odd angle.

“Your purse has been bagged. A tow truck is on its way.”

“And when you find out he’s a liar, then what?” I asked, on
the verge of hysteria.

Duno led me to a Springs patrol car. He shut the door
without a word. Alex and I made contact through the window. He smiled at me and
gave a quick wave good-bye.

Springs turned out to be several miles down a two-lane road
to nowhere; Main Street was three blocks long. A dot on the map, it was
comprised of a three-in-one motel-restaurant- bar, a gas station, a fire
department, police station and the required liquor/check cashing store.

Duno walked me into the police department. It was an ugly
cement building, with a large office area containing several desks. The
building showed its wear, but it was clean; a throwback to an old western
movie. Through an open door at the back, I spotted several jail cells.

“I’d like to make a phone call. If you let me use my cell, I
have a lawyer I can call.”

“Why doesn’t it surprise me that you have a lawyer on speed
dial?” Duno stared at me with disgust. “We weren’t able to reach Detective
Famosa. He’s out on assignment. Anyone else who can back up your story?”

“How about his uncle Brick Famosa? Private detective, bail
bondsman.”

Duno was clearly not impressed with my second reference. “I
suggest you call your lawyer.” He handed me my phone. “We’ll keep you here
until the transport bus comes by and then you’ll be transferred to the women’s
jail. We don’t have the facilities here for overnight company.”

I struggled to stay calm. “Susie, this is Madison Westin.
This is an emergency. Can I speak to Mr. Campion?”

“He’s in court. Can I help you?”

“I’ve been arrested for the kidnapping of Casio Famosa’s
obnoxious son. Alex made up the story and lied to the cops. I’m being held in
Springs,” I explained, my voice rising with each sentence. “If someone doesn’t
get here fast, I’m going to be transferred to the women’s jail. You tell your
boss to use his superstar talents to get me the hell out of here and to send
the bill for his services to Brick Famosa.”

“Try to stay calm. Don’t worry, we’ll get you of there. I
promise,” Susie said.

“Please hurry.” I had a hard time comprehending what
happened but I knew the jail cells were a few feet away behind an open pair of
steel doors.

Duno put me in one of their holding cells. The only upside
was that they weren’t entertaining any real felons; no worries about advances
from someone named Bertha. Seating was limited to the bunk bed, or the toilet.
I spread the scratchy wool blanket over the stained mattress, keeping one thin
layer between me and the giant spring sticking up my butt, not to mention
possible bed bugs.

The outer doors slammed. I reined in my panic, leaning
against the wall, closing my eyes, knees pulled to my chest, trying to pretend
I was walking on the beach. The eerie quiet unnerved me.

The outer door creaked open. The noise startled me and my
eyes flew open. Disoriented, I thought I must be having a nightmare. Not only
was I in jail, but Detective Harder stared at me from the other side of the
bars.

“I’m here to get you out of this mess,” Harder said.

My eyes filled with tears. “I’ve never been happy to see
you, but right now I could kiss you.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Harder said, shaking his finger at me.
“You better not cry.”

Duno unlocked the cell door.

“I vouched for you with Officer Duno here, verified your
story that Alex concocted the kidnapping story. As Assistant Chief of Homicide,
I’ve got clout.” Harder blew on his knuckles, rubbing them on his shirt.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Miss Westin. We had to hold
you until we checked out Alex’s story,” Duno said. “As I mentioned, we thought
Alex could be the missing kid from Miami, but that young boy had already been
found at a friend’s house. Early on, we decided he could be full of himself,
overly dramatic, suffering from too much television but he never retracted a
word of his story. He detailed the abuse he suffered at your hands which got
more vivid each time he recounted his story. It didn’t go unnoticed that he
didn’t have a scratch on him.”

“It surprises me that I’m not in the mood to gloat over your
situation,” Harder said. “Ready to be escorted back to Miami?”

Once clear of the cell, I almost hugged Harder and laughed
at myself. “How did you know I was here?”

“No tears,” Harder reminded me. “Casio and Brick got an SOS
call from your lawyer Cruz Campion. A few phone calls later, I got the call to
come vouch for you. I pull rank even in this two-cop town. Besides, it wasn’t
out of my way. I just finished eighteen holes at Naples Country Club.”

“I just need a ride to the tow yard. Where is it located, by
the way?” I asked.

“Tow company’s closed,” Duno said. “Billy’s wife, Heather
went into labor. Second kid. Hopefully this delivery will be easier on Billy
than the last one.”

Figures Duno would be worried about the man’s role in
childbirth. “I’ll need that ride after all,” I said to Harder. “Where’s Alex?”

“He’s at my house, driving my wife crazy,” Duno said. “Says
he yells everything. Alex’s mother is on her way from Miami to pick him up.”

“I’d like to press charges and have Alex thrown in jail,” I
said.

“I know you’re angry but he’s young enough to get a pass.
Sad to say but in this day, his word trumps yours, until proven otherwise,”
Duno said.

“I don’t blame you. My Tahoe will be picked up tomorrow.
Tell the tow driver to charge triple. Alex’s uncle is paying the bill. Tell
Billy to buy something for the new baby.”

“I like the 88 vanity plate on the front of your Tahoe.
Jr.’s my favorite driver too. I hated to arrest a NASCAR fan,” Duno said.

“I got it at the Daytona 500. Better than a t-shirt.”

“Oh man, that’s on my bucket list. Where did you stay?” Duno
asked.

“The infield.” Happier times with my ex-husband.

“Damn.” Duno slapped his desk. “That’s the way I’m going to
do it.”

In addition to Harder’s drug-dealer looking SUV, he owned a
black convertible Mercedes, buttery black leather interior, all the tricks on
the dashboard.

“You look like crap.” Harder looked me over.

“This is what one looks like after having the you-know-what
scared out of them. I worried the transport bus would show up before everything
got straightened out and I’d be transferred to the women’s jail.”

“You been to jail?” Harder asked.

“To pick people up, to visit, but not as a guest.”

Harder drove fast but not erratic. He must’ve known he was
twenty-five miles over the speed limit. Cops probably had carte blanche to
drive as fast as they wanted, so long as it didn’t make headlines. Did cops get
tickets? It wasn’t hard to recognize when he turned onto the Tamiami Trail even
if signs hadn’t been posted. Green grass, several feet tall, grew on both sides
of the highway for as far as the eye could see.

“I hate small talk,” Harder said. “I’ll put the top down; a
real conversation stopper, since we won’t be able to hear anything.”

“Fine with me.” We had zero to talk about, so why pretend?
“Before you do that, what’s new with the Cosmo Rich murder?”

“What do you know?” Harder went all cop on me.

“Not much of anything. The frustrating part, no one’s
talking.”

“We noticed. I upped the ante with my CIs, more money on the
line, incentive to beat the bushes hard.”

It was difficult to believe anyone in The Cove would be a
confidential informant for Harder. “Maybe it’s because they’re more afraid of
the killer than scary Harder and the threat of jail.”

“If you find out anything, who’s going to be your first
call?” Harder asked.

“You, of course.” I smiled. He wasn’t even on the list of
calls to be made but why tell him?

“What’s your interest in this case?”

“I met Comso’s father. He’s a genuinely nice man who
deserves justice.”

“I’ve been down twice for the Jesus bus services, always
looking for suspects,” Harder said, flashing his creepy cop smile.

“I bet you were pegged for a cop the second you stepped on
the bus.”

Harder laughed. “I didn’t shave, put on a pair of shorts and
shirt that had been in the laundry for over a week.”

“Okay, Sherlock, what did you find out?”

“No killers either week, I’d stake my badge on it. It
surprised me, though. I enjoyed the service, liked the positive message and not
one word about going to hell,” Harder related, then finally put the top down.

I’d never heard a bad word about Tolbert Rich. As for Cosmo,
he worked hard, played hard, had a quick temper, but was also well liked. My
heart ached for the Rich family.

Harder pulled up in front of the courthouse, deserted at
this time of night. “Brick told me to bring you to the courthouse. Your ride
home is here. Wait until I tell Brick you almost hugged me.”

“He’ll never believe you.” I laughed. “Oh look, Fab is
here.” A black Porsche Carrera pulled up next to us; another new ride courtesy
of Brick.

“What did I tell you?” Harder demanded. “No tears.”

I leaned across and kissed his cheek. “If I hear anything
about Cosmo, I’ll call.”

“It’s okay to say N-O to Brick,” Harder said, and waited
until I was seated in Fab’s car before pulling away.

“So, so happy to see you,” I hugged her awkwardly over the
console in the cramped car.

“What the hell happened?” Fab demanded.

“Have you met Alejandro aka Alex Famosa, the seven-year-old
bratty spawn of Casio?” I told her everything that happened, and about my incarceration
in a boonville jail.

“I knew I didn’t like kids for a reason.” Fab waited for
Harder to clear the parking lot before she screeched to the signal.

“Who asked you to pick me up?”

“Casio called, told me you needed a ride. He got the call
from Cruz who, by the way, ripped him a new one. Cruz told Casio to make the
situation go away pronto.”

“Do me favor?” I asked.

“You’ve had such a hideous day, I’m going to take a chance
and say yes, no questions.”

“Call Brick, tell him to pick up my Tahoe in Springs
tomorrow and deliver it to my house. He’s not to dawdle.”

“My pleasure.” Fab’s smile was all teeth like a mad dog. “If
he doesn’t pick up, I’ll threaten to come to his office.”

“I want to go home and wash off the stink of the day.”

“Let’s go swimming,” Fab said. “Hang onto your seat.” The
light turned green and she threw the Carrera in gear and took off.

“How was your day with Madeline?” I asked.

Fab glared at me. “Your mother is a handful.”

“You knew that before you asked her to be your ride along.”
I succeeded in not laughing. “What did she do?” 

“She brought a gun, under the impression we were on our way
to a shoot-out. When she found out stakeout is synonymous with boring, she
copped an attitude.”