Lara sped her second-generation neon green Volkswagen Beetle past an unmanned guard booth and into the visitor parking area of the Wilkeshire Apartments. The complex consisted of a dozen identical yellow and white stucco buildings radiating the beachfront property look rampant throughout Florida.
At its center was a commons area consisting of a large tennis court, outdoor pool, and clubhouse. A long corridor of blooming Yoshino cherry trees served as a beautiful invitation to visitors or, perhaps more important, those in search of temporary upscale residence.
In front of each of the two-story buildings were meticulously trimmed shrubs and small plots of grass that had recently been mowed. The Wilkeshire had the well-manicured appearance expected of an expensive and professionally maintained community.
“Hey, this is nice,” Adam offered as they came to a stop. “Your sister must be doing all right.”
Lara cut her eyes at him, unsure if he was offering a simple observation or something more derogatory. After a moment, she said, “She may have been a whore, but she wasn’t poor. I know that as well as anyone.”
Adam wondered at her last words. “Call her what you will. I was just commenting on her taste in housing,” he said with a smile. Before she could retort back, he said, “Something’s been bothering me since we met.”
“What’s that?”
“Why don’t you and Maria look anything alike? With a name like Sativa I’d expect to see some Hispanic features. Come on, you have blonde hair and blue eyes. Besides, I saw her photo, and you two aren’t exactly twins.”
“Aren’t you the observant detective,” she smarted.
“Years of training, my dear” he said, grinning.
“Well, Sherlock, I’m adopted. Simple as that. My mother and father didn’t think they could have children, so they adopted me. I don’t know from whom, just that I was adopted. My dad always had a way of making deals with people. Hell, for all I know, I might have been a prize in a Friday night poker match. Anyway, a couple years later along came my sister, natural and all.”
“How old were you when you were adopted?”
“Two,” she answered. “I’ve seen the papers myself, and it was all legit. I don’t remember life before my adopted parents. Nor do I particularly care to.”
“You didn’t ever attempt to find your biological parents? I’ve heard people tend to do that sort of thing.”
“Nope. The way I see it is anyone willing to give up a child as adorable as I was doesn’t need finding.” She winked at him.
Adam wondered if the humor was to help hide feelings he couldn’t fully appreciate, not having been adopted himself. Or maybe all that hidden longing stuff was just Hollywood crap. “Do you have any other brothers or sisters?”
“No. It’s always just been me and Maria. And we’re tight. Through thick and thin.”
“I know what you mean,” Adam said, opening his door.
“I doubt that,” she mumbled under her breath, climbing out of the car. Looking over the top of the Volkswagen, he stuck his tongue out at her. She returned the gesture and went so far as to put fingers in her ears.
He laughed. Smart ass or not, she was beginning to grow on him.
As they started down the walkway toward Maria’s building, he said, “You’re only partially right, you know.”
“About?”
“My brother and me. You’re right in that we aren’t really close in a way most people would recognize. He and I have always been different. Elliot’s a quicker study when it comes to book stuff, and I have a knack for the more physical pursuits. But even different as we are, we’re still brothers. Neither of us ever loses sight of that.”
“Being rich doesn’t make him smarter than you.”
She was still picking at him, but he ignored the slur. “No, it doesn’t. But it doesn’t hurt me to acknowledge that he’s more intelligent than I am. Ever since we were children, he was considered exceptional, maybe even gifted. Looking back, I can see why. He did all the normal prodigy-type things, reading very early, becoming involved in national chess tournaments, graduating top of his class from Harvard. I couldn’t have done those things. Nor would I have even tried.”
“You seem comfortable in this role of being second-string,” she said. “I just don’t get that. Especially not to the likes of him.”
“Second-string? Not at all. I have strengths Elliot could never achieve. He recognizes mine, just as I see his. I sense his respect for me, and that’s enough. He’s often patronizing, but that’s just his nature. I can forgive him for it. Most of the time anyway.”
Adam was silent for a moment then chuckled aloud.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. It just got me thinking about something that happened when we were kids.”
Lara turned to him. “Tell me … please.”
Debating over whether to continue, he finally said, “Understand I was only five. Elliot was six. I doubt he even remembers it anymore.” Correcting himself, he said, “No, of course he remembers it. He remembers nearly everything. We were traveling across the country with my father. He and my mother had just separated, and he had the wild idea to drive from California to Maine. I’m not sure why, but I think my dad was just trying to escape the daily drudgery of life for a few weeks.
“Along the road trip, we slept at small rest stops and makeshift campsites. One night after eating the typical grub of macaroni and corn, my father told us to go down to a nearby stream and wash out the pots. Elliot and I gathered up the pans and utensils and proceeded to what looked like more of a raging river than a stream.
“We climbed down a particularly steep and slippery embankment to reach the water, where we used dishrags and a bit of elbow grease to get the pans reasonably clean. As we headed back toward camp, though, we found ourselves in a bit of a dilemma. To get to camp, we had to climb back up the steep bank. Each time we tried, we slipped and fell, thereby muddying the pots once again. We tried it several times, but the bank was just too slippery to navigate with our hands full. I was ready to give up and call for help when Elliot finally figured out a solution.”
Adam walked on in silence wondering if Lara was curious enough to ask the question.
After a moment she did. “Okay, I’m hanging here. What in the hell did some six-year-old brainiac do to get the pots up the muddy bank?”
Adam stopped and turned to face her. “Simple. He climbed up the bank and left the pots with me at the river. Then he had me toss them up to him one at a time.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it, Sure, it’s obvious. Simple, really. But I didn’t think of it. Like I said, he and I are different.”
“Hmph,” Lara snorted.
* * *
A few minutes later, Adam and Lara stood in front of a yellow door with the number 254 engraved on an antique brass doorplate. He knocked on the door. To no one’s surprise, Maria didn’t answer. He tried the knob, but it didn’t budge.
“Should I try to get the key from the manager?” Lara asked. “He knows me.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll wait here.”
“Be right back,” she said, wheeling around and heading briskly toward the stairwell.
Adam didn’t like misleading Lara, but he thought it best if he stuck his head inside Maria’s apartment before she did. She’d told him that the police had searched the residence, but it wouldn’t hurt to make sure Maria wasn’t lying dead on the living room floor. Stranger things had happened.
As soon as Lara rounded the corner, he withdrew a small rolled-up pouch from his jacket pocket. Unfolding it, he removed two lock picks: an L-shaped torsion wrench and a small grooved rake pick. He inserted the short end of the delicate torsion wrench into the bottom of the lock, applied very light torque, and then pushed the rake pick into the center of the mechanism. Pressing the grooved tip up, he exercised the tumblers. Within a few seconds, he felt the L-pick turn slightly as he found the correct position of the furthest tumbler. He slid the rake pick forward, exercising the next one. It took less than a minute for him to successfully work the lock.
Adam stepped into Maria’s apartment, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. What he saw surprised him. Adam wasn’t sure what he’d expected, perhaps something metropolitan with streamlined furniture and questionable splashes of paint posing as artwork. Instead, what he found was a room with a comfortable, classy feel to it.
A pastel blue-and-yellow checkerboard couch sat on the polished hardwood floor, two of the couch’s feet resting on a large white rug that sprawled across much of the room. Opposite the couch was an antique chair with a pinstriped cushion and a mahogany coffee table. A matching entertainment center lined one wall, and three waist-high bookshelves pressed against the other. The room was lit by soft rays that filtered through droopy lavender curtains and the sudden burst of sunlight that now poured in through the open door. The subdued stillness of Maria’s living room was disturbed only by several vibrant oil paintings of wildflowers hanging neatly on the walls.
“Very nice,” he said, giving her a soft clap of his hands.
He stood very still, closed his eyes, and took a deep sniff of the room. He detected only the usual odors of food, sweat, perfume, and some sort of pine cleaner—thankfully, no hint of a decaying body hidden in a closet or bathtub.
He moved to the entertainment center and opened it. Inside were shelves containing an assortment of popular movies and music CDs, a bookshelf stereo system, and a high-definition LCD television. A remote control sat neatly on top of the TV set. Everything, including the television screen, was free of dust.
On top of the entertainment center were two pictures. The first was of an older couple, probably Maria’s parents. The man had a distinct Hispanic look to him with rich skin and thinning black hair. The woman appeared to be Caucasian with maybe a bit of American Indian, but he couldn’t be sure.
The next photo was of Maria and Lara. Maria was holding a large stuffed Pink Panther and leaning her head against Lara, a big smile across her face. Lara looked happy too but not giddy like her younger sister. In the photo’s backdrop, he saw a Ferris wheel and crowds of people moving about, some holding snow cones, popcorn, or cotton candy. The Sativa sisters were at a fair or carnival of some kind.
Adam studied Maria’s features. She was in her late twenties, and there was no question as to her beauty. Morality aside, he felt a fresh understanding for Elliot’s indiscretion. Maria was a woman who would be hard to say no to.
Thinking that it might come in handy, he removed the photo through the top of the frame and put in into his jacket pocket.
“Hey, how did you get in here?” a familiar voice sounded from behind him.
Adam turned to see Lara standing just inside the door, hands on her hips.
“I wiggled the knob and it opened,” he replied with a sly grin.
“My ass,” she said. “Well, it’s a good thing you got in, because I couldn’t find the manager. The fat bastard always takes long lunches.”
Adam stared at her for a long time without speaking.
“What?” she asked, looking first to her clothes and then feeling her hair. “Is something hanging from me that shouldn’t be?”
“No,” he answered. “You are a pretty lady, Lara, but you should watch your mouth a bit. It compromises you.”
“Compromises?” She sounded genuinely hurt. “Fu—” she started, but stopped in mid-expletive. Her upper lip twitched as she considered her response. Finally she said, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll watch my mouth if you stop jerking me around. No more sending me on wild goose chases while you play Mr. Detective.”
Adam considered her words as he met her gaze. “Fair enough. Let’s start over.” He walked to her and extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Adam.”
She stood stunned for a moment, not expecting her words to be so well received. She suddenly felt the warmth of his hand on her own, and it made her hand go limp. “I’m . . .,” she started, but her voice cracked a little. “I’m Lara, nice to meet you.” She did a short curtsy, both legs bending gracefully in a pose that reminded him of Shirley Temple.
Both of them laughed, and a big smile remained on his face. “I like you, Lara Sativa.”
She paused, letting her confidence slowly return before answering. “I like you too, Adam Reece.” They looked at each other for another brief moment. “Now, shall we get to work or just stand here holding each other’s hand all day?”
He released her and turned back to face the room. “Your sister has excellent taste.”
“That she does. Strange though …”
“What’s that?”
“It’s just so clean. I’ve never seen my sister’s place this neat. Usually there are three or four half-empty beer bottles or a slice of day-old pizza lying on the table, not to mention a pair of panties or a bra slung across the back of the couch. She sure didn’t leave her place as tidy as a Marine Corps barracks.”
Adam nodded. “Then someone cleaned up.”
“But who? Why?”
“To hide something. Maybe signs of a struggle. As for who, that’s a more difficult question.”
“A struggle? Here? You think she was grabbed out of her apartment?” Her voice was filled with concern.
“We’re jumping to conclusions. Maybe she knew she’d be away and just cleaned up before leaving town. Who knows for sure. Let’s just take a good look around, okay?”
She exhaled heavily and nodded. “Right.”
Not sure of what they were looking for, they moved slowly around the room, Lara never leaving Adam’s side. After coming up empty in the living room, he said, “You take a look in the bedroom, and I’ll check the bathroom. Then we’ll swap. That way everything gets two sets of eyes.”
She looked a little reluctant but eventually nodded and headed into the bedroom. As she entered, Lara exclaimed, “Oh God!”
Adam spun and pushed past her into the room, half expecting to see Maria’s bloody body draped across the bed. All he saw was more posh furniture and fine decor.
“What is it?” he asked. “What did you see?”
“Sorry,” she said a bit embarrassed. “I’ve just never seen this place so damn tidy.”
“Do me a favor?” Adam said, shaking his head.
“What’s that?”
“Save the ‘Oh Gods’ for when you really need them.” With that, he turned and left the bedroom. He could hear Lara snickering behind him.
As Adam entered the bathroom, the scent of pine cleaner grew much stronger. Everything about the bathroom was just as immaculate as the rest of the house. He knelt and ran his fingers along the corner of the baseboard and the floor. No hair, no dust. Entirely too clean for anyone’s house. Whoever had cleaned the place up had made that mistake if no other.
He opened the drawers of the vanity. Typical bathroom junk sloshed around, including brushes, combs, tweezers, dental floss, and a few hair clasps. Adam swung open the mirrored cabinet. Inside, he saw a collection of small, amber prescription bottles. He read a few: Valium, Prozac, Zoloft.
“Looks like your nerves might have been getting to you, Maria.” He removed the Valium and checked the contents. Twenty or more pills. As he worked to secure the cap, it twisted out of his hands, scattering the pills into the basin.
“Damn it,” he mumbled, carefully collecting and depositing each back into the vial. As he reached for one near the drain, he noticed something unusual. There was a small object several inches down inside the drain at the metal grating meant to catch hair and wedding rings. A pill? He didn’t think so.
Adam stuck his index finger into the drain hoping to wedge the item against the side but couldn’t quite reach it. Remembering his earlier find, he slid the vanity drawer open and removed the tweezers.
He lowered the tips into the drain, spreading them apart so he could clamp on the mysterious object. As he pulled it free, his stomach turned, and he let out a heavy sigh.
It was a human tooth coated in dried blood.
Not removing it from the tweezers, he studied it. Definitely an adult molar. Along both sides of the tooth were deep vertical scratches. Grooves where pliers were used to tear it from her mouth, he thought.
“In this world, there is good, and there is evil. Of this, I am sure.” His words were soft like that of a quiet prayer. And like many prayers, they had originated from a teacher long ago.
“I didn’t find much in the bedroom. Are you ready to swap?” Lara said as she moved into the open bathroom doorway behind him.
Adam quickly stuck the tweezers and tooth inside his breast pocket. When he turned, she was at the door peering in. “You find anything?”
He looked at her for a moment saying nothing. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her. But he didn’t really need to. She stared at him, the playful expression on her face slowly melting. He could see tears welling up in her eyes. Still, he couldn’t speak.
“What … what is it?” Her voice had risen to that of a frightened, young girl. “What did you find?”
Adam moved close to her and put a stabilizing hand on her upper arm. “You asked me to be straight, so I’m not going to lie. I believe your sister’s in real trouble.”
Unable to speak, she stared at him, tears starting down her cheek.
“I found a tooth in the sink,” he said. Then added unnecessarily, “It has blood on it.”
“Oh my God!” she screamed, tearing her arm away from him. “No!” She shook her head. “No!” She began crying, her hands pressed tightly against her face. After a moment she looked up at him, her cheeks covered with streaked mascara. “You don’t know it’s hers. You don’t know that!”
“No, Lara, I don’t know.”
The anger vanished as quickly as it had appeared. She stepped closer and fell against him, hands still clutching her face. “How could anyone do that to my baby sister?” she cried, her body shaking. “How could they?”
Adam held her, laying his cheek against her soft golden hair. He wondered if she really understood that the worst was yet to come.
* * *
Adam led Lara out of the apartment without further investigation. He doubted that anything significant would be found given the obvious cleanup. Besides, she clearly wasn’t up to the task at the moment. As they walked down a long brick path leading away from the main complex of buildings, he saw a small, private post office. Deciding that Maria’s recent mail might yield additional information, he excused himself. She nodded, still tearful, saying she would wait for him in the car.
The post office was little more than a collection of drop boxes, the room measuring no larger than fifteen feet on a side. Shiny aluminum doors covered one wall in long rows and columns.
The small room was empty except for a single well-dressed man who was struggling to open his mailbox. He looked to be a typical executive, matching gray jacket and trousers, red striped tie, and white long-sleeve shirt. The stranger looked up at Adam, smiled, and offered a neighborly nod.
Adam returned the gesture as he began to search for Maria’s box. The businessman continued to fumble with a large ring of thirty or more identical keys, trying each in his mailbox lock. With each key that didn’t work, he would shake his head and give a carefree laugh.
As Adam got closer, he looked up and saw the number on the box that the man was trying to open. Box 254. Maria’s mailbox.
Not wanting to give away any potential advantage, Adam pretended to continue looking for another box while he sized up the stranger. The man stood at about six feet and weighed maybe two hundred pounds. After only a moment of indecision, Adam moved in close as if reaching to open a nearby mailbox.
“You sure you’ve got the right box?” Adam asked, wondering if it could all be a simple mistake.
“Oh yeah,” the man replied with the same calm smile. “This is it.” He worked another key into the lock.
“That’s strange,” Adam said, straightening to face him.
“What’s that?” he asked, a note of caution creeping into his voice.
“It’s just odd that you’re opening 254, and here I thought my good friend Maria Sativa had that box.”
The man’s frame stiffened, and his face quickly lost the smile. “You must be mistaken.” His tone was no longer that of a neighbor who might stop by to borrow a cup of sugar.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said, watching the man carefully.
“Look, bub,” the man growled, “this would be a good time to mind your own business.” He pulled aside his jacket to reveal a holstered handgun in his waistband. It was a Smith and Wesson revolver hanging in a straight-draw brown leather holster. The restraining strap on the holster was still fastened. Depending on his training, it would take only a second or two for the man to have the gun in hand.
Adam moved a few inches closer. He’d never been one to wet his pants at the sight of a firearm. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Just then, the stranger’s key opened the lock, and the mailbox swung open. Neither of them turned to look at what was inside. Both men were now completely fixed on one another.
“Okay, hero,” the stranger threatened, “but you’re making one hell of a mistake.”
“Maybe. But you’ve made one too.”
“Yeah, and what’s that?”
“You let me get way too close.”
Adam seized the man’s right sleeve and left lapel, driving him backwards. Instinctively, the stranger leaned forward pushing hard against his attacker, his other hand striking out ineffectively against Adam’s shoulder. For an instant, the two men pressed tightly against one another with just enough force to prevent the other from moving.
Soften the target, Adam thought. The man looked like he was about to speak when Adam suddenly released his lapel and slapped him hard across the face. Before he could react, Adam had once again found his grip on the man’s lapel.
The blow didn’t inflict serious injury, but it did cause the man to growl angrily in a fit of rage. He attempted to advance by leaning forward and putting all his weight behind him.
Adam resisted until he felt the pressure grow strong and then suddenly gave into it, twisting his hip in tight against the man’s abdomen. Taking advantage of the forward momentum, Adam flipped him high over his hip, executing the sweeping loin throw, haria goshi. The man’s legs smashed against a small panel of windows along one wall, and his head and back slammed into the concrete floor, sounding like a slab of beef hitting the butcher’s table.
The man let out an agonizing groan, and one of his legs began to twitch involuntarily. Adam saw that the handgun had fallen from its holster and now lay a couple of feet away. He kicked the pistol into the corner and dropped to one knee, sliding in behind his stunned opponent.
As the stranger tried to sit up, Adam reached around his neck while simultaneously bracing the back of his head with the other hand. With a powerful jerking motion, he set the choke. He was careful to apply the choke only to the sides of the neck, pinching both carotid arteries without introducing the danger of suffocation.
The man struggled to free himself, grabbing at Adam’s arm and pulling with what strength he had left. His fingernails gouged into Adam’s forearm, drawing several thin streams of blood, but the added pressure served only to further cut off what little blood his brain was receiving. In less than twenty seconds, he lost consciousness and dangled limply from Adam’s grip.
Still maintaining a light choke using one arm and his body as a brace, Adam patted the man down for identification. He found a small black leather wallet, which he immediately flipped open. The man’s name was Stephen Dorny, but it wasn’t his name that made Adam’s heart skip a beat. It was who had issued the ID—the Central Intelligence Agency. Uncertain of exactly what that implied, he stuck the wallet into his jacket pocket for later consideration. Searching further, he found only a set of car keys. He tossed them into a nearby waste can.
“Now what?” he asked himself.
A clear answer didn’t immediately come to mind. He wanted to ask the man why he’d been breaking into Maria’s mailbox, but it was a little hard to do that now.
As if in answer to his question, a woman suddenly appeared in the mailroom doorway. She looked to be in her fifties and was wearing a red-and-blue fleece jogging suit. As she focused on Adam hunched behind the unconscious man, she covered her mouth in obvious fright.
“Please help me,” Adam said quickly. “I’m trying to revive him.” He began lifting the man’s arms up and down along his sides in flamboyant flapping motions, simulating what he thought could pass as a resuscitation attempt. “He grabbed his chest and fell to the floor a minute ago. I think he may have had a heart attack.” It was a reach, but he hoped she bought it.
“Oh … okay.” the woman said, her face shifting from terror to one of bystander concern. “What can I do? Should I run call someone? The paramedics, maybe?”
“Yes, please. I’d hate for him to … well, you know. I think it would be best if he had some professional attention.” Adam continued the flapping.
“Okay, I’ll go. Just keep …” She seemed at a loss for his peculiar form of resuscitation. “Keep doing whatever you’re doing. I’ll be right back.” Then she turned and sprinted away.
Given that he’d just assaulted a government agent, it seemed like a good idea to vacate the premises before emergency services arrived. Adam laid the man over on his side and quickly went to Maria’s now-open mailbox. Inside, he saw two standard white envelopes and a small, poly bubble envelope. He grabbed all three before closing the box. Next, he removed and pocketed the small brass key that fit Maria’s mailbox, tossing the crowded key ring into the garbage can. He then quickly retrieved the revolver from the corner of the post office, dumped the bullets in the trash, and placed the gun back in agent’s holster.
Time to go. On his way out, he took one last look at the subdued man’s face. The stranger was still far away in dreamland. Adam grinned as he hustled towards Lara’s waiting car. He’d always loved a good fight.
* * *
By four that afternoon, Adam once again sat in the red leather chair opposite his brother’s desk. Elliot stared wide-eyed at the bloody tooth and three opened envelopes lying on his desk. His face had lost what little color daytime usually supplied.
Lara had returned home at Adam’s insistence and with a promise that he would call her later with a complete update on anything he and Elliot discussed. Before they had separated, Adam had described his encounter with the man in the mailroom. Together they had opened Maria’s mail and found an unexpected surprise.
“I didn’t think it was going to turn out like this,” Elliot said, touching the tooth gently with an expensive designer pen. “I had a bad feeling … but not like this. This is barbaric.”
“Never underestimate the cruelty of man,” Adam answered.
Elliot swallowed with an audible gulp. “What now? I mean it may be too late to help her. She could be …”
Adam could hear a squeak of pain in his brother’s voice. His feelings for Maria had been brought to the surface with the sudden realization that she was very likely injured. Or worse, rotting alongside a remote hiking trail somewhere. “This is your show. You get to decide when it’s over. I’ll stay as long as you need me.”
After a moment of consideration, Elliot seemed to find a glimmer of hope, “I’m not ready to give up. Maria’s clearly in trouble, but it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s dead.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“But what can we do from here?”
“I guess the first thing to do is verify that the tooth is Maria’s. In this business, you can’t take anything for granted. Her dentist should be able to do that for us. Lara gave me the name of one they both used several months ago.” Adam tossed a yellow slip of paper onto the edge of the desk. “He should have records that can positively identify the tooth as Maria’s.”
Elliot retrieved the note. “I’ll get John to check on this right away.” He glanced at his watch. “Crap, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow morning. The dentist is probably getting ready to head home.”
“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to wait. Call the dentist’s office, and tell them it’s a medical emergency. Insist that you need to see him right away, but don’t answer any questions. Just tell them you’ll be right over. My guess is he’ll wait for you.” Being a private investigator required being pushy at times.
“Okay, right. That should work.” Elliot quickly called the dentist’s office and did as instructed. After a brief conversation, he hung up the phone.
“They said the dentist could stay until five-thirty. I think John can make it if he leaves now.” He hit a button on his phone, and a few seconds later the oversized assistant lumbered in. Elliot gave him the tooth and instructions. John seemed neither surprised nor overly interested in being handed a human tooth. Moments later, the steroid-slurping legal assistant was en route with a mission.
“After the trip to the dentist, you might want to have him make a few calls to the local hospitals and city morgue,” Adam suggested. “Just in case she’s being treated, or worse, about to be buried as a Jane Doe.”
“Right,” Elliot agreed, his face betraying his discomfort. “What else?”
“Take a look at the rest of the mail.”
Elliot turned his attention to the contents of the three envelopes. The first was a monthly statement from First American National Bank. It showed a balance of $2,314 and some change in her checking account, and another $30,850 in savings. The statement offered little else since the transaction log ended a week before Maria’s disappearance and showed no signs of any emergency withdrawals.
The second piece of mail was an electric bill. He set the bank statement and bill aside, as they didn’t seem to warrant further study.
Next, Elliot turned his attention to the small, poly bubble envelope. Inside, he found a note and an orange plastic-topped key with the identifier T1276 imprinted in the plastic. He unfolded the handwritten note and read silently.
Dear Lara,
I’m sure you’re going to find this amusing, but I’m in trouble again and am sending you this key for safekeeping. Please don’t ask what it goes to or why I feel the need to hide it. Just park it somewhere safe for me. I’ll get it from you next week when things cool down a bit. If anyone asks whether you’ve heard from me, say you haven’t. Whatever you do, don’t mention the key to anyone. I’m onto something big, really big.
Love your sis,
Maria
“I don’t get it. Why was this in Maria’s box?” Elliot asked, holding up the note.
“Look at the envelope,” Adam prompted.
Elliot turned over the envelope and saw it was stamped Return to Sender, Insufficient Postage in bright red ink.
“Best I can figure,” Adam said, “her precious package sent out for safekeeping has been floating around in the hands of our postal workers for the last two weeks.”
“So it would seem,” Elliot agreed, turning the key over slowly. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what this fits?”
“It looks like a locker key to me. One of those rental types. The locker could be anywhere, though. I didn’t see any identifying marks on the key other than the number.”
Elliot nodded. “I’ll wager that Maria has hidden that map that she discussed with me. Given the desperate tone of her note, it also seems likely her disappearance is related to it.”
Adam nodded. “It does seem like a hell of a coincidence.”
Elliot stood and moved to the small bar, saying, “This is getting more and more complicated. A map, a key, a missing girl.” Without asking, he popped caps on two cold beers and handed one to his brother.
Adam nodded his appreciation and took a long swig. As he set the bottle down, he said, “Something’s not right about this.”
“Of course, something’s not right,” Elliot said, clearly agitated. “Maria’s had a tooth ripped out and God knows what else done to her.”
“No, you don’t get what I mean. This wasn’t the work of an ex-boy-friend or a ripped-off businessman. This was the work of several people, at least one of whom was a professional.”
Elliot looked at Adam, his expression changing from frustration to curiosity. “Go on.”
“First, consider the tooth. Why would someone do that to her?”
“Could be the sadistic work of a scorned lover who didn’t want her quite as beautiful anymore.”
“Doubtful, but possible, I guess. Consider another motive. Information.”
Elliot rubbed thoughtfully at his chin. “To reveal where she’d hidden the map.”
“Exactly.”
“It just seems so … so heavy-handed. Surely there would have been a better way to get her to return the map. Pulling her teeth … come on. That’s too much for anyone.”
Adam shrugged. “Some people threaten. Others do worse. Also, consider that it would have taken more than one person. It would be hard as hell to yank a grown woman’s tooth out while she was conscious and lacking the desired effect if she was knocked out. That means there were at least two people in on it. One to hold; one to work the tools.”
“Couldn’t he have just tied her up?” Elliot countered.
“Even tied up, do you think you could force a person’s jaw open while using a pair of pliers in the other hand?”
“I … I wouldn’t know,” Elliot said, his voice shaking. “But no, I guess not. And that leads you to think it was a professional, someone specifically hired to interrogate her.”
“That’s part of it, along with the unnatural condition of her apartment. Whoever did this cleaned the place up real nice. They’d done this sort of thing before and were careful not to leave any evidence of what went down. If it wasn’t for some of that dumb luck I told Lara about, we’d never have found the tooth.”
Elliot took a sip of beer, collecting his thoughts. “Okay, so let’s recap. What are our clues?” he said, thinking out loud. This was a game not so different from his legal profession, a game of putting pieces together into a cohesive case, and he was beginning to get into character. “We have a tooth removed by force. We have an apartment that has been sanitized to cover up the struggle. And we have a key. Not just any key, but one that we’re guessing leads to a map she considered very valuable. If it wasn’t all so utterly horrible, it would be … fascinating.”
Adam nodded, deciding it was time to let Elliot know just how “fascinating” it really was. “We have one more thing.”
“Oh?”
“When I went to get Maria’s mail, there was a man trying to get into her mailbox.”
“What?” Elliot asked, his eyes widening. “Who was he? Did you talk to him?”
“We didn’t have a chance to talk.” Adam couldn’t help but smile. The powerful adrenaline from the fight was still swimming in his veins.
“What are you saying? You … you beat him up?”
Adam laughed. It wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that Elliot hadn’t been in a physical competition of any sort since early childhood. “Yeah, Elliot, I beat him up.”
“But why? Couldn’t you have just called the police?”
That struck Adam as a reasonable question. One that he didn’t have a great answer to. “It all went down rather fast. Before I knew it, we were pushing and shoving.” He didn’t bother adding the fact that he’d initiated the fight.
“Why—” Elliot stopped himself.
Adam looked at him. “Go ahead. Say what’s on your mind.”
Elliot took a breath. “I’m just wondering why everything always turns physical with you. It’s like you think you’re some kind of gladiator running around fighting the evil empire. We live in a civilized society. You know that, right?”
Adam wasn’t surprised by Elliot’s condemnation. He had never understood that every man had to do what he could. Adam said only, “We live in different worlds, brother. In my world, a man has to fight.”
Elliot’s unchanging expression hinted at just how unsatisfying the answer was. “But even if the fight was necessary, why not call the police afterward? You blew our one good lead. Tell me there was a good reason for that.”
“There was a good reason.” Adam tossed the thin black wallet onto Elliot’s desk.
Elliot immediately opened it. As he studied the contents, his face turned ashen. “You’re kidding me.”
“Afraid not.”
“The guy you assaulted works for the CIA?”
Adam smiled, drawing some pleasure out of his brother’s discomfort. “So it would seem.”
“Shit,” his brother said uncharacteristically. “This can’t be good, Adam.” Elliot’s hands were trembling.
“CIA or not, if he’s the one that put the pliers to Maria, he deserved a hell of a lot more than I gave him.”
“I suppose, but …” Elliot mumbled.
“You suppose?”
“That’s not what I meant. Don’t turn my words on me.” His face was turning red.
“I just don’t want you to forget why we’re here.”
“I haven’t forgotten. But I can’t believe that the CIA would torture Maria. Certainly not in her bathroom.”
Adam shrugged. “I’ll admit it leaves questions. But we don’t have much else.”
Elliot sat quiet for a long time before speaking. “What do we do now?” He looked like a kid who had just been sent to the principal’s office.
“We could follow your suggestion and go to the police. What was that detective’s name in the newspaper article—Conner, Carver, something like that?”
“Carter,” Elliot answered. “Do you honestly think that will do any good now?”
Adam suddenly felt weary. Weary from having to think about why someone would torture a beautiful lady in her own bathroom. Weary from having to quibble with his brother. Weary from having to beat the hell out of a government asshole. He took another long drink and used his thumbs to slowly rub his temples.
“Probably not,” he answered. “If Denver’s anything like the rest of the country, each detective might have a dozen or more cases open at any one time. I doubt if a missing hooker would get his shorts in a wad, no matter what we’ve found. Besides, if we contact the police, we will be all but delivering the key to the CIA.”
“It’s our only real clue.”
“But can we really do this alone? We’re talking about the CIA. They don’t play games. If we interfere with an investigation they have underway, we’ll end up in jail. If they’re not the ones who grabbed Maria, then someone else is involved. Someone who’s violent and dangerous.”
Adam nodded. His brother seemed to understand the risks. “The bottom line is that we have to watch out for the good guys and the bad guys. Hell of a situation.”
“I can’t ask that of you.”
Adam doubted the fresh brotherly concern and wasn’t about to give Elliot an easy out. “I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”
“It could be dangerous for you.” Then, as if an afterthought, added, “For us both.”
“I’d say it’s likely to get rough,” Adam agreed, wondering if his brother was really going to pussy out.
“The intelligent thing to do is let the authorities handle this,” Elliot said, testing his retreat.
Adam shrugged, trying not to show his disgust. “Like I said, it’s your call. But I think you know what will happen to Maria if we don’t find her.”
Elliot sighed. “I don’t want to think about it.”
“So, what do you say?”
After a long silence, Elliot said, “I suppose Lara had it right. I owe Maria. Besides, if I don’t go through with this, it’ll surely lead to more regret and guilt. Believe me, I don’t need that.”
Adam saw resignation in his brother’s eyes. A decision had been made. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing the right thing.”
Elliot nodded an appreciation. “Let’s talk money,” he said, changing directions entirely.
“Let’s not,” Adam countered. Their discussion of money always led to Elliot adopting a tone of “I have it and you don’t,” and he just wasn’t in the mood.
“Here’s the deal. I want to treat your involvement in this like I would any other business transaction.”
“We’re family. You don’t have to pay me.”
“Please don’t make this difficult,” Elliot pleaded. “It’s been a hard day.”
“Fine. What do you propose?”
“What are your normal rates when you’re working a case away from home? Scratch that, it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t consider that if I was hiring someone else. I’d pay what I thought it was worth. So, here’s my offer. I’ll give you one thousand dollars a day plus expenses. How’s that sound?”
“Like a hell of a lot of money.”
“Before you start bartering on the streets of Baghdad, you might consider reworking your strategy,” Elliot said, grinning.
Arguing seemed pointless. “Fine,” Adam said. “It’s your piggy bank.”
“Good. Then it’s settled.”
“Since you’re so eager to spend money, we might as well get a few things while we’re waiting for confirmation about the tooth.”
“Go. What do you need?” Elliot asked, shuffling in a desk drawer and pulling out a miniature yellow legal pad.
“Let’s start with a gun.”
Elliot looked up alarmed. “A gun? What for? I mean, don’t you already have one?” He set his pen down on the pad, refusing to even write down the questionable item on the all-important “to-do” list.
“I have several, but not with me. I didn’t think that I would need one. I could have one mailed, but that would take a few days. By then, this whole thing might be over. No, I think it would be safer if I arm myself soon as possible.”
“But why? Christ, Adam, do you really need a gun? I’m not comfortable with this.”
“Elliot, listen to me. Maria is probably already dead. If someone’s willing to kill her, they will have no qualms with killing me,” then added, “or you.”
“A gun,” Elliot repeated, considering the implications. Reluctantly he acquiesced, saying, “I guess you’re probably right. This is serious after all. It’s taking time to sink in. That’s all. Frankly, I’m not used to this sort of thing. Maybe I need a gun too.” His eyes darted towards Adam as if he had just licked his finger and was testing a hot match.
Adam knew that Elliot was expecting him to scoff at the suggestion. After all, in both their eyes, Elliot was a levelheaded lawyer, not some gun-toting adventurer. But, then again, there was a bloody tooth, a missing girl, and a well-dressed man with a serious headache just now climbing out of a hospital bed somewhere.
Adam only replied, “Maybe you do.”