CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

DELIA

Paolo’s right where I left him, at Lena’s, the only change being the empty plates in front of him. I glance in Lena’s direction as I sit down. She’s holding a carafe of coffee which she raises along with her eyebrows. No words necessary, I nod once and she comes over.

“Anything to eat, honey?”

“No, thanks.” I’m not offended by the familiarity. All Lena’s customers are honeys. I wait until she fetches a mug and fills it, then take a sip. It’s not rancid, like the coffee inside the squad room, but it’ll have to do.

“Okay, Paolo, first thing. You investigate on your own again, I’ll arrest you. I’ll arrest you and convince a judge to keep you locked up until the . . . the situation is resolved. From this minute forward, you don’t do anything without my okay.”

Paolo’s interested expression doesn’t change, but I don’t think he’s all that impressed. If arrested, he’ll undoubtedly be represented by the kind of lawyers who got OJ off the hook. “Got it, Captain.”

“You think I’m bluffing?”

“Not for a minute.”

“Good.” I lean forward. “You told me that you discovered where the kidnappers stayed when they first got here. That’s kidnappers, right? As in more than one?”

“As in two.” Yoma’s gaze never leaves my face and I assume he’s trying to impress me. “Two that I know of.”

“Hold on, Paolo. There’s something else I want to explore before you tell your story. Something that’s been running around my brain for the last couple of days. According to Chip McEwan, Elizabeth was taken from Baxter Park around four o’clock in the morning. And that was after she snuck out through a back window in her home about three-thirty. You with me so far?”

“Yeah.”

“So how did her kidnappers know she’d sneak out on that day at that time?” I run on before he can offer an opinion. “Did the kidnappers have eyes on the home twenty-four seven? Was someone hiding behind a bush, peering through night-vision binoculars? That sort of operation would indicate serious numbers. One or two people couldn’t bring it off. Is that what you found? A large group of conspirators?”

“No.”

“Paolo, you’re Director of Security for the Bradford Group. That correct?”

“Not exactly. I’m Director of Site Security. I work on the company’s projects, wherever they are.”

“What about the family’s security team?”

“Contracted out. Same with security at our offices.”

“Nothing to do with you?”

“Outside of me supervising the electronics, nothing. In fact, my team is relatively small and completely mobile. You can find us wherever the Group has an ongoing project, in the bidding as well as the work phase.”

“What about the guards assigned to the various projects?”

“Broken into two parts. The tech personnel are company employees who work under me. The rest are supplied by local contractors at prevailing rates, which saves the Bradford Group a lot of money when it operates overseas. Remember, we rely on cameras, not people, to secure our sites.”

“You’ve already explained the part about the cameras.” I signal Lena for a refill, then point to a doughnut display and mouth the word glazed. Lena nods and I’m back to Paolo. “I want you to obtain the files on the security personnel working in the house on the night of the kidnapping. The staff as well. Because if there was nobody out there to spot her when she climbed through the window, somebody must’ve spotted her while she was still inside. According to her brother, she’d snuck out before.”

“Don’t you need a search warrant for the files, or at least a subpoena?”

“I might, but not you.” I sit back as Lena walks up with my doughnut and lays it in front of me. Sorry, Zoe. “You work in the company’s security division. Surely, if you suspected an employee of stealing, you’d have access to their employment records. Especially if Henry Bradford personally approved the search.”

Paolo stares at me for a moment, then smiles. “Damn, Captain, if you’re not as devious as I am.”

I ignore the backhanded compliment. “I want to take a look at anyone in the house on the night Elizabeth was snatched. Check that. I want Paolo Yoma to look at anyone in the house. Just the paperwork for now. Anything that looks suspicious, you bring it back to me.”

“No problem, Captain. My password allows access to those files.”

“Great. But let Henry Bradford know what you’re doing and why you’re doing it.” I wait for a nod that’s quick in coming. “Now, you claim you know where the kidnappers stayed when they first arrived. Let’s hear it.”

“When you visited the residence, you raised a question. Where did the kidnappers first live after they moved to Baxter, a city presumably unknown to them? Then you mentioned the seedier hotels in town and that got me thinking. Better yet, it got me working. I started by assuming the probabilities we’ve already established. That the kidnappers’ move to Baxter was sudden, that the city was unfamiliar to them, and that the gang would include a woman who spoke with a strong accent. They’d need a place to stay while they got their bearings and they wouldn’t be eager to use a credit card. True, the Holiday Inn by the interstate accepts cash, but a cash payment would surely draw attention. Along with a likely request for identification.”

Paolo stops long enough to frame his thoughts. “If I had to bet, Captain, I’d bet the kidnappers didn’t expect to succeed. Not given the time pressure. I’d bet they got lucky somewhere along the line. They stumbled onto an opportunity that pulled everything together.”

“Let’s stick with the hotel for now.”

“Okay, so I’m looking for bottom-tier dives that take the money and don’t ask questions. Whatever you write in the register, it’s alright.”

“How did you locate them?”

“Google, how else? I couldn’t network because I didn’t know anyone who’d visited Baxter. So, I accessed the usual suspects first. Yelp, Hotels.com, Booking.com, and Priceline. I found a few one-star joints and saved the addresses. Then I did a general search for Baxter and found a website named BaxterBoosterGirl.”

I’m laughing despite myself. The site’s operated by Deirdre Venson. According to biography long enough to pass for a memoir, she worked the gig economy until she discovered that her annual income didn’t cover the rent. Then she jumped to entrepreneurship and developed BaxterBooster-Girl after the Nissan deal became public. Where to eat, where to stay, where to rent, where to buy prime real estate. Half the brokers in Baxter advertise on the site. She’s a rising city oligarch.

“You’ve heard of it, Captain?”

“I’ve been interviewed for the site.”

“Then you know about the page Voyager Beware?”

“I don’t.”

“Places to avoid in Baxter. Now, here’s the beautiful part. Rather than face defamation suits, she encourages site visitors to post anonymous reviews.” Paolo hesitates long enough to register my impatience. “Okay, to the point. I found three hotels listed, all three accused of being havens for prostitutes and drug dealers. I visited all three, claiming I was looking for a runaway wife who not only abandoned her children, but looted the family savings before she and her lover fled to Baxter. And, oh yes, she speaks with a Polish accent.”

“Not Georgian?”

“I wanted to keep it simple. A foreigner, not a southern belle. As it was, I struck out at the first two, the Harmony Inn and the Power Lodge. That left the Prairie Hotel, where I caught a break. The clerk—or maybe the owner . . .”

“Describe him?”

“In his sixties, probably, with a really sparse gray beard that he’s let grow too long. His eyes are a pale green, almost watery, and the left one has a lazy lid. It comes within a few millimeters of being closed.”

“Yeah, he’s the owner alright. Lives there, too. Name is Donald Grogan. So, go on.”

“Donald seemed half-asleep when I walked through the door, but he woke right up when he spotted the fifty I held between my fingers. After a little back-and-forth, he told me that a woman with a heavy accent, accompanied by a younger man without an accent, stayed at the hotel for two nights in early August. He remembered because he doesn’t get out-of-town guests. The date, by the way, coincides with the article on the company website.”

At that point, I remind myself. Time is not on our side. But at least Yoma’s provided me with a starting point.

“Okay, let’s get moving. You grab those files and review them. Who might be working with the kidnappers? Who might have spotted Elizabeth leaving the house? Let’s try to catch up around noon.”

“And you, Captain?”

“I’m going to have a conversation with an ex-con named Donald Grogan. See what else he might know.”

I haven’t told Paolo that the Prairie Hotel has been on the Baxter PD hit list from the beginning. Based on multiple informants, the affidavits we presented told the same story. Grogan rents to numerous independent drug dealers and prostitutes. The dealers conduct business inside the rooms. The prostitutes service their johns inside other rooms.

Our preparations were meticulous, but not enough to secure a warrant for the entire building. That’s because we couldn’t put a particular dealer in a particular room at a particular time. Grant us a general warrant and we were likely to bust in on somebody’s fiftieth wedding anniversary, or so the judge reasoned. But that reasoning didn’t apply to Donald Grogan. We had informants claiming he kept ecstasy behind the counter and in his office. The information was precise enough for a warrant to search those spaces.

I place a call to Vern from Lena’s. Paolo’s lead isn’t much of a lead, which we both know without saying it aloud, but it’s all we have. “By noon, Vern. We’ll go in quietly. Five of us, three in uniform. Use Cade if he’s available.”

“Got it.”

“And if Caitlin’s working today, could you send her a message? I’ll see her in my office in . . .” I bite into my doughnut, then mumble, “a half hour.”

Caitlin Capuano’s our in-house computer expert. A goodlooking girl in her midtwenties with a quick, bright smile, she doesn’t look at all like a nerd. But in the macho-cop world, all civilian workers are nerds, while civilian computer experts are supernerds.