twenty-one

An hour later, I still waited for the chief. An hour in which he did not call and the pictures did not arrive. My lack of patience had me bubbling. I had to move, to do something. As I stood in the gazebo and brushed off the seat of my jeans, Maddy pulled into the driveway.

She stopped the car, got out and walked toward me, wearing an apologetic smile. When she was close enough to talk, she said, “Guess I came across like a horse’s ass when we talked last.”

Those were hardly the words I expected to hear. However, if she wanted to talk, listening was better than doing nothing. “Yeah. You did.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that the police seem so much more qualified than you. Even Chief Elston told John he was making a mistake. And those two detectives—Bannon and Sargent—they keep saying the police should be handling it. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, but—”

“You don’t need to apologize or explain to me,” I exploded at her, forgetting my desire to listen first. “However, you do owe Bannon, Sargent, and the chief an apology—the sooner the better. They’re working their asses off for John and Ashley under guidelines John imposed. Do you think they enjoy sitting around and waiting while the kidnappers dictate? Do you think they enjoyed having John tell them they had to provide me with any information that comes their way? That they do nothing without clearing it with me? I don’t think so. If he hadn’t intervened, they’d have announcements and posters all over the place by now—TV, roadside, radio, every restaurant, and gas station in South Florida. Every cop in the state would have Ashley’s picture and statistics in his pocket. Your brother called them off, and they’re living with it.”

I mentally grabbed myself, trying to rein in my emotions. After several deep breaths, I said, “If you don’t have any more canvassing to do to solve the case, I suggest you get your skinny butt inside and tell whoever is on duty you were out of line. I’ve known females like you all my life. You’re spoiled, selfish, and have no grasp of real society. You’ve lived in your own little world of privilege, a world where everything is fun and games. I don’t need your apologies, the police do.”

She glared at me, her cheeks flushing red. With apparent effort, she studied her fire truck-red fingernails while taking several deep breaths. I was ready for her to lash back at me or storm into the house, but instead, she said, “I accept what you said.”

She stopped talking, and I stayed ready for an assault. I figured she was not a woman to allow another to belittle her and get away with it. She fooled me again. “What are you going to do? Can I go with you?”

I’m sure surprise showed on my face as my adrenaline flow returned to near normal. “No. If you really want to help—both me and the cops—take care of John. He needs you more than I do. I’m afraid he’s about to unravel. And we just cannot allow that to happen.”

“You’re right. I should do that. I can do that. I will do that.”

Maddy headed for the house, and I sat and stewed. Inaction was driving me nuts. When I considered the way I attacked Maddy, I wasn’t proud of myself. There had to be something productive I could do. Maybe I should team up with Dot and hit the neighborhoods where the three survivors had lived. I could at least discover if their families were still in the area. And, if I were double-down lucky, someone might come forward who saw something out of the ordinary, a witness who had seen Ashley.

I took out my phone and called Bobby’s Bar. Yes, Dot was there and would be ready to roll when I arrived. I smiled. Already I felt more relaxed.

_____

He drove down Hammonds’ street, not sure how he would learn the identity of the woman he saw at the soccer field. If he didn’t come up with her name, he’d never hear the end of it. His partner was not one to take I don’t know as an answer.

He pulled to the curb, lowered the windows, and killed the engine. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll come by. I sure don’t know any place else to look. He settled down in the seat, his eyes on Hammonds’ house.

A white car sat in the driveway along with what appeared to be an unmarked police car. There were human-shaped shadows in the gazebo, but he couldn’t make out any details because of the distance.

A woman left the gazebo and walked at a quick pace toward the house. Not the one from the soccer field. Taller, thinner, and the hair was longer. He squinted. There was still a person there—could be another woman.

A moment later, someone else walked out of the gazebo and headed toward the white car. He grabbed a pair of binoculars laying on the passenger seat. That could be her. Size, hair, the way she walks. Yep, that has to be her.

She entered the white car and backed from the driveway.

He started the engine, then allowed her to open space in front of him before falling in behind. I’ll just follow along and see what she’s up to. A lot better than going home with empty hands.

_____

The light in the upstairs window went out, leaving the house in darkness, except for the external illumination. There was enough of that to discourage a platoon of infantry. A sure sign of a woman living alone.

“She’s gone to bed,” Mom said. “Is that it? Can we leave now? We’ve been sitting here for close to an hour. What did you learn?”

I stalled by pretending to study my watch. Eleven-thirty. “Dot should be about ready for a pick up. I need to move the car.”

“This sure isn’t what I expected,” Mom said. “Are all your cases this boring?”

She’d been jabbering for the past four hours, asking the same dumb questions over and over again. Things like, “Is this all you do? Let’s go bang on the door. What do you do when you need the bathroom? Why don’t you just tell the police what you suspect?” And several variations with the same theme. At least my conscience was no longer nagging me. In fact, I felt like nagging it for convincing me I needed to pick up Mom and take her with me while I cased the three houses.

After calling Dot, finding her at the bar, and telling her I’d like her help, I swung by, and she climbed into the car with me. On the way to the Lively-Wesler neighborhood, I came up with the bright idea of inviting Mom along, telling myself she’d enjoy the adventure. No one ever said I was a harvest moon on a dark night. It turned out to be the dumb idea I mentioned above. Chatter, chatter, chatter when quiet, quiet, quiet would have pleased me.

We hit the first neighborhood about six-thirty, cruised around the block a couple of times, then parked a few houses away and stared. What we saw was an upscale neighborhood and a well-maintained house and grounds. A few people passed, walking dogs of various sizes. The smallest, a red, mini-Pomeranian couldn’t have weighed more than five pounds. The biggest, a black and brown Rottweiler, easily outweighed the lady who held his leash. When they passed the car, the dog stared at me—eye to eye—as if memorizing my features for a lineup. It might have been the only time Mom stopped talking. And yes, I cringed. Couldn’t help myself.

Dot asked my plan.

“Well, I thought I’d knock on a few doors. Ask which house belongs to the Lively-Wesler’s. Maybe that’ll open the door to a couple more questions, like has anyone seen a new five-year-old girl in the neighborhood. Basically, I’ll play it by ear and hope for a break.”

“Uh-huh.”

Dot’s response was as tepid as mine had been. The bottom line was I had no plan, and she recognized it. In fact, I didn’t have a clue. “What would you do?” I addressed that to Dot, but at the last moment, tried to include Mom.

Mom’s answer came fast. “I’d kick the door in and see if the kid’s there. If she is, I’d call the cops. Case closed.”

“And if she isn’t?” I said. “She’ll be the one hitting nine-one-one, and we’ll all be comforted with the county’s hospitality for the night before meeting a judge in the morning. Not a good plan.”

Dot had stayed quiet while Mom and I blathered. When I looked at her, she appeared deep in thought. “Dot? Do you have an idea?”

“Your idea’s not bad, not bad at all. The problem is everybody’s gonna remember you asking questions. You’re too proper, too easy to remember. If she is the kidnapper, it could go bad for the kid. Take me a couple of blocks away and drop me off. Let me work the neighborhood. Nobody pays no attention to us homeless people. They act like looking us in the face will make them one of us. They just hand out money to get rid of us as fast as they can. But I seen the insides of plenty of houses while the woman runs around looking for her purse.”

No one said anything for a moment. Even Mom kept her lips zipped. I had to admit Dot’s idea was better than mine. Even if someone remembered a homeless woman at her front door, no way they’d recall enough to identify her. With me, it could be the opposite, and that could be trouble. “Okay, Dot, you’re on. Assume your undercover look.”

I let her out two blocks away, then returned to a spot where I could watch the house. The only thing I saw that added to what I knew was Dot working her way down the street. She had adopted a whole different persona—defeated, stooped from the waist. Her frizzled hair flew in every direction. Her blouse was out, hanging over the top of her pants. A second look revealed the buttons were misaligned, giving the shirt a skewed look. All she was missing was a shopping cart. She already had a sack hanging over her shoulder. I didn’t want to guess where she’d found that. Every step sang homeless, helpless, and faceless.

As she said, no one would remember what she looked like. She’d be safe from the police.