Chapter Ten

“That’s ridiculous!” Abigail’s voice came through loud and clear on my cellphone, which I positioned in the middle of the boardroom table. Solomon, Lucas and Delgado all took their seats and waited patiently while I explained what I’d found to her.

“Is it?” I asked, unable to keep the skepticism out of my voice.

“Objectively… not entirely,” replied Abigail with an audible sigh. “Tiffany came up with a lot of hare-brained ideas for publicity. She knew how to court the media but she would never do something that stupid. Plus, she was badly injured! She wouldn’t do that to herself!”

“Assuming it was she who got injured,” I said. I wasn’t sure what to make of the crime scene or the video. It all looked real but was it? “It could have been faked.”

“Really? How can someone fake losing that much blood?” asked Abigail. “Plus, Tiffany hates the sight of blood. She’s so squeamish.”

“Some perps use blood donations to spray around a scene to enhance the drama and urgency,” said Solomon. “Thanks to the clotting factors in old, degraded blood, it’s now pretty easy to disprove. The police will test for that and for DNA.”

“Is that all true?” asked Abigail.

“Yes,” I said.

“But they specifically warned no police involvement. They were very explicit!”

“They had to know the police would respond to the crime scene, since it was committed live onscreen and due to the comments on her video. The kidnappers don’t care about the crime scene technicians processing the scene.” I tugged my ponytail in frustration. “Okay, assuming it’s all bona fide, I’m pretty sure they meant no involvement with the ransom. They don’t want you to tell the police about it and you haven’t. We informed them very discreetly a few minutes ago.”

“It is bona fide. Tiffany would not deliberately hurt herself,” Abigail insisted. “You already said she discounted most of those crazy publicity schemes. We have regular content meetings and I always rule out anything so stupid. So would her PA! And even Jonathan!”

“Are you sure about that? There’s already a lot of publicity,” I pointed out. “Not the least of which was her kidnapping in front of tens of thousands of people.”

“I believe that she considered faking a kidnapping, but I am one hundred percent positive she wouldn’t hurt herself to accomplish it. Tiffany is Tiffany’s favorite person! She would never deliberately injure herself, not even for fame!”

“There was a lot of blood,” mouthed Delgado. He threw his hands in the air, clearly exasperated. I knew why: he firmly believed Tiffany was shot. I must admit I was leaning that way too, which made the whole thing even more puzzling.

A knock sounded at the door and one of the guys stuck his head around to see whom it was. Solomon held up a hand and the guy nodded. The man stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click, and waited patiently for us to finish. I glanced at him, assuming he was the guy Solomon recently hired. He’d been quite pleasant so far but I didn’t have the opportunity to speak to him personally.

“We have to go but thanks for taking the call,” I said.

“Is there a new development?” Abigail asked hurriedly.

“Not yet. But if you can urge Grace again to call me, it really is imperative that I speak to her. As Tiffany’s PA, I imagine she knew a lot more about Tiffany’s daily activities.”

“I left her another voicemail. I’m still working on the money too, just in case,” Abigail added.

“No further instructions from the suspects yet?”

“None,” she said and this time, all the fight seemed to drop out of her voice. I felt bad for calling her and positing the theory that Tiffany might have created this mess herself, but after the evidence in her notes pointed to it, I had little choice. “Your associates just got here and they’re setting stuff up so I guess they’ll let you know?”

“They will,” I assured her. When the screen went black, I reached for the phone and tucked it into my jacket pocket.

Solomon turned in his chair, leaning back and looking over at the patient man. “What’s up, José?” Solomon asked.

“Something weird showed up on the helpline,” said the waiting man, José.

“Something weird always shows up,” said Solomon. “What made this one stand out?”

“The woman said she was Tiffany’s mom. She’s called in seventeen times already.”

“Tiffany’s mom died when she was young,” I said. “She talked about it online a few times.”

“Well, this woman is pretty insistent. She says her husband is Tiffany’s father too. I spoke to them both the last time and they were pretty convincing except…” José hesitated.

“What?” asked Solomon.

José shook his head, a flash of embarrassment crossing his face, like he regretted bringing it up. “It’s just that they both called Tiffany by her surname, Rose, and when I corrected them, they insisted I was wrong and they had her birth certificate to prove it. They could be making it all up. She isn’t the only woman calling claiming to be Tiffany’s mother.”

“Sounds like they saw the news report and got it stuck in their heads that Rose was her name. It’s a common girl’s name so it’s not hard to see how they tripped up,” said Delgado.

José nodded. “I figured something like that. It just seems weird that they keep calling. When I spoke to them last, they said they were going to the papers instead.”

“If they call again, take down their number and tell them someone will call them back,” said Solomon.

“I tried that but they wouldn’t leave a number.”

“They’ll call back if they’re that insistent. If they claim to have evidence, we should verify it before ruling it out.”

“Wait,” I said, holding up a hand, “did they ask about a reward?”

José shrugged. “Yeah. Most all the callers have. I told them there isn’t one.”

“They probably aren’t viewers and don’t know her family background. I bet they crossed their fingers and hoped there was something in it for them,” I said. “Thanks for bringing it to our attention.”

“I’m sorry for wasting your time.” José stepped towards the door and patted the door frame as he paused, clearly uncertain whether he was being dismissed.

“Not in the slightest.” I offered him a warm smile. “Hopefully, something will come up soon.”

He hesitated. “There is one more thing… but again, it might be nothing.”

“Go ahead,” said Solomon.

“We got a call a few minutes ago from a young woman with a possible sighting of Jonathan Brett. He’s Tiffany’s boyfriend, right? She said she saw him in a bar downtown and he looked drunk.”

I checked my watch. “At this hour?”

“Some people like to get a headstart,” said José, holding back a smile at his joke.

“Did she say where she saw him?”

“No, just downtown. She also mentioned a reward. I told if there was a reward it would be for information leading to Tiffany’s location. We had a brief debate about the value of spotting the boyfriend and I told her the boyfriend was merely a person of interest. We hope he might provide more leads. Then I asked her to give me the location first. She demanded money again and then told me where to go before she hung up. Sorry.”

“Did you get her name?”

“No. She declined to give it after calling me a few choice appellations.”

“I think she gave us enough information to conduct a search downtown,” decided Solomon. “Why don’t you take a break, José? Get a coffee.”

José nodded, heading out of the boardroom.

“We anticipated a lot of crackpot callers,” said Delgado. “I’ve seen it ten times worse when a big reward is offered. Money always brings out the lucky-strikers, wannabe-detectives, and the trying-to-be-helpful-but-hopelessly-deluded types.”

“Maybe we should offer a reward? The last caller José mentioned really didn’t tell us anything. We already guessed Tiffany’s boyfriend was still in town,” I added.

“But now we are a little more sure of that,” said Solomon. “Delgado, start hunting through the downtown bars and see if you can find him.”

“Why don’t we just call all the local hotels? He has to be staying at one of them,” I suggested.

“We did that already,” said Solomon. “If he is at a hotel, he’s using a pseudonym, which isn’t uncommon for people with high profiles. Plus, there’s a bunch of private apartment rental agencies. What we need is a confirmed sighting.” He gave a pointed look to Delgado.

“On it,” said Delgado, rising. “I’ll find a headshot of him and go bar-hopping. I’ll call you when I find him.”

“If,” I countered.

“When,” said Delgado, a confident tone in his voice. “If he started drinking already, he must be holed up somewhere. I’ll find him.”

While we were talking, my thoughts popped back to the ransom video. “You know,” I started, as I formulated my point, “the kidnappers never mentioned the tip line.”

“Perhaps they don’t know about it. The major news outlets haven’t mentioned it either. They only offer their own tip lines.”

“If they did know about it, wouldn’t they be pissed? They don’t want Abigail to notify the police but how about all the civilians calling in with potential information about them? Could they be under an electronic blackout? Maybe they’re lying low somewhere and don’t even know that Tiffany was livestreaming!” I paused, confused by my fast stream of thoughts. “But Tiffany knew she was broadcasting. If this were a publicity stunt, surely she would want as many people involved as possible to raise the significance of the ordeal? She would love to think a tip line went crazy!”

“If she’s faking it, maybe she’s pretending that it’s real. Any kidnapper would demand no police involvement. It would be weird if they didn’t. But, despite all the concerns raised in this meeting, I don’t like the look of her injuries. We need to keep treating this like it’s real until we find evidence that says otherwise,” said Solomon. “Lucas, locating Tiffany is still our highest priority. Cross reference your search with any buildings that might not have WiFi access or anything similar.”

“On it,” said Lucas, standing up. “I’ll call as soon as I have something.”

“Speaking of finding things,” I said, after Lucas left, “when we searched the apartment earlier, I noticed a telescope in a window opposite Tiffany’s building. It might be nothing but it’s been bothering me ever since I saw it. Maybe it belongs to an amateur astronomer but I think we should check it out anyway.”

“Let’s go.” Solomon pushed back his chair. “We have a little time to kill until Delgado locates Jonathan Brett.”

“I need to find the building first. It’s within a couple blocks of Tiffany’s address and I know which direction.”

“Let’s narrow it down.” Solomon reached for his phone and pulled up a map.

“That’s Tiffany’s building,” I said, tapping a fingernail on the screen and briefly admiring my pale pink manicure. “Her apartment is over on this side, so the telescope owner resides somewhere around here.” I circled several buildings.

“Did you happen to count which floor it was on?”

“Tenth. And it was the closest building to hers. I think it might be this one,” I said, sliding my finger to the right.

Solomon tapped the screen and read out the address. “Something about that sounds familiar,” he said, frowning. He swiped the map away and called up the browser, inputting the address. “Ahh,” he said, tapping the screen. “I thought so. This building is uninhabitable due to the constant code violations. It’s currently unoccupied and up for sale for development.”

“That’s what I thought. So definitely no one is living there.”

“Unless it’s a squatter.”

“With an expensive telescope?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Point taken. When did you notice it?”

“When Abigail took me around earlier today. I just happened to look out the window.”

“We should make haste. If it has something to do with Tiffany’s kidnapping, we need to get there before they clean house. It’s amateur-level stupid to leave something like that behind, assuming it belongs to the kidnappers.” Solomon tucked his phone into his pocket as he rose. “I’ll grab my gun from the safe. Be ready to go in five.”

“I’m ready now,” I told him. “I still have Lily’s car.”

“We’ll take mine and I’ll get someone to return Lily’s.”

“Works for me.”

We jogged down the stairs a couple minutes later, a sense of urgency hastening our pace. “Isn’t it strange that, if they were observing Tiffany, they didn’t remove the telescope prior to her abduction,” I said as we buckled our seatbelts in Solomon’s SUV. “If I committed a crime like that, I would be sure to avoid returning anywhere near the area.”

“It could have been a crime of opportunity. They were observing her patterns while planning a pretext to reach her, and when they saw she was alone, they decided to go for it. Perhaps they were running out of time to execute their plan, for whatever reason.” Solomon backed the car out of the space and accelerated towards the exit. “Assuming that’s all correct, it’s still amateur hour. They had to assume the police would assess the scene.”

“I suppose it’s hard to rehearse a kidnap.”

Solomon shot me a look. “I’d rehearse the crap out of it if I planned to get away with it. Wouldn’t you?”

“I certainly wouldn’t do it live on camera.” I paused, thinking about that choice. “Although, you’re right, they might not have known that. If they were watching her, they might have thought she was talking to herself or had her phone on speaker. They might even conclude she was practicing for another video.”

“Amateur not to check,” replied Solomon.

I slumped in my seat. “Okay, so if all the assumptions we’re making are correct, it should make it easier to find them, right? Amateurs usually make fatal mistakes.”

Solomon glanced across at me. “Let’s hope they make another big one.”

As he drove, I fidgeted, anxious to get there. When we finally rolled past the building, it was surrounded by six-foot-tall chain link fencing. Signs of “No Trespassing” were hanging on the fence at regular intervals. I stared, but found no evidence of contractors at work. Apart from a tortoiseshell cat basking on the sidewalk near the entrance, there were no signs of life at all. Not even a security guard.

“We can rule out any legitimate residents,” said Solomon as he flipped on the blinker and guided the car onto a side street. A couple of blocks away was where he parked.

“Maybe there’s a superintendent living onsite?” Even though I knew it was unlikely. A superintendent in a derelict building, who just happened to pick an apartment overlooking Tiffany’s, and had a penchant for stargazing? “You know,” I added. “It could just be a Peeping Tom. Tiffany is an attractive female and her drapes don’t look like they were ever drawn.”

“Could be,” agreed Solomon as he stepped out. I followed him around to the back of the car. “But I think on the scale of probability, it’s unlikely.”

“I think we should head straight up there, take a look inside the apartment, and get out as fast as we can,” I said. The idea of creeping around a derelict building gave me chills and I was glad Solomon came with me. I’d seen all the horror films: no one goes into the basement, attic, or derelict building and survives. There was one factor in my favor: it was daylight. Having been in plenty of sticky situations by myself, I knew the importance of clear vision and backup. “Plus, we don’t know if the building is dangerously condemned.”

“If we find anything, we’ll call Garrett immediately,” said Solomon.

“Good,” I said as we started towards the building, avoiding the narrow sidewalk and sticking to the road. The side streets were surprisingly quiet. We passed a laundromat, a taxicab office, and a small grocery store, but there were very few people around. Mostly everyone was at work, I figured, and the few businesses seemed to serve only those local residences. With the stark absence of cafés, delis and boutiques, it wasn’t the kind of area I’d stroll around for no reason. When we reached the end of the street, we paused and watched the building for a short while but didn’t see any security patrols. “There’s a gap between the gates over there,” I said, pointing. “I bet someone’s been exploring the premises aside from our perp. Probably local kids or petty thieves.”

“I would assume the contractors already stripped anything of value. Let’s go.” Solomon jogged ahead and I followed him. He ducked under the chain and padlock before sliding through sideways as the gate jangled loosely on its hinges. I followed, glad the space was far more forgiving for my size. We paused at the main entrance, finding it locked. “Give me a moment,” said Solomon, reaching into his pocket. He slid a thin tool into the lock, adjusted it and smiled as he easily pulled open the gate.

“I need to learn how to do that,” I said. “Even Lily can pick locks.”

“I can teach you.”

“Not on a date night,” I decided. “Maybe on a slow day.”

“I like hearing that you thought I meant it as a date night activity.” Solomon flashed a smile. “Are you trying to say I need to put more effort into our dating plans?”

“No, I enjoy our date nights, but if you happened to pull out all the stops, you won’t find me complaining.”

“How will I find you?”

“Little black dress, high heels.”

Solomon’s eyebrows raised a fraction. “Noted.”

We stepped into the lobby, bright from the daylight flooding the glass entryway and I pressed my knuckle against the elevator call button. “I don’t think there’s any electricity,” I said when the button remained dark.

“Figures. We can take the stairs.”

I glanced up at the ceiling. Several flights of stairs were just my luck but at least I’d worn sneakers to work. Speaking of my footwear, that was happening more often. What became of my fancy heels and smart clothes? Why was I suddenly so comfortable in my sneakers, skinny jeans and cozy sweaters? Had I become — I gasped – indifferent to fashion?

“What’s wrong?” asked Solomon.

“I need a shopping trip. Stat,” I decided, the urgency making me hurry my words into breathless mush.

“That’s what’s on your mind?”

“It’s important. I feel my wellbeing ebbing towards unfashionable.”

“Your wellbeing is… what now?”

“I have become—” I paused, clutching my knuckles to my wobbling lip, “unfashionable.”

Solomon gave me a blank look. I gazed at my sneakers: they were too comfortable. And with that traitorous thought in my head, I walked to the stairwell. I had a job to do and I intended to be incredibly comfortable while doing it, a stage in my life I never thought I’d reach.

“What’s wrong with your clothes?” asked Solomon as the door swung behind us.

“They are very practical.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I know,” I sighed.

“My clothes are practical.”

I wiped away the single tear that slipped from my eye. “Please don’t rub it in.”

“I’m stumped,” said Solomon. He stepped ahead of me, bouncing up the stairs like they were nothing. Over his shoulder, he said, “Let me take the lead since I have the gun, and we’re technically breaking and entering. There’s also the possibility that a kidnapper is lurking somewhere.”

I cheered up at the possibility of action, then soured again. I wanted clues, not a gun fight! I hurried after him, grateful for Lily’s ceaseless insistence on exercise, and by the time we reached the tenth floor, I barely broke a sweat. We entered and paused to look out the long window. “This angle suggests the apartment we’re looking for is at the other end,” said Solomon.

“Let’s go.”

“It’s a quick in, some light reconnaissance, photograph anything we see that looks pertinent, and then we call Garrett if necessary,” reminded Solomon.

“Works for me.” I pulled out a pair of plastic gloves from my back pocket and slipped them on.

“You came prepared,” said Solomon, doing the same.

“It seems prudent, given the level of B and E I’ve conducted lately,” I told him. We jogged to the end of the corridor and the final door and Solomon tried to open it.

“It’s locked,” he said, reaching for his tools once more. “Hardly surprising.”

“We should check who owns the building and whom they allow to access it,” I said. “Perhaps there’s a name on their crew list that’s familiar. Not that I have any suspect names yet.”

“You will,” said Solomon as the door clicked open. “Wait here while I clear the apartment.” He slipped inside and I stepped back from the door. A couple of minutes later, he returned and beckoned me inside. “No one’s here and the telescope is gone.”

“Maybe we got the wrong apartment? It’s only been hours since I first noticed the telescope.” Following Solomon into the main living area, I gazed out the window and scanned the opposite apartments, stopping when I realized I could see directly into Tiffany’s unit. I had a pretty good view but the telescope would have been perfect for capturing the finer details.

“See here?” said Solomon, pointing to the ground. “These three round marks in the carpet. They’re faint but I think they came from a tripod or could have. They picked it up sometime between you seeing it and now. Unfortunately, I didn’t notice any live camera feeds covering the building, which is poor security.”

I noted the fine sheen of dust coating the sparse furnishings. “This apartment looks like it hasn’t been lived in for a while.”

“The occupants probably left when the building was condemned.”

“Okay, but I meant it doesn’t look like any squatters took up residence. Whoever was watching Tiffany came here deliberately for that single task.” Solomon was poking around the blinds and I moved over to watch him. “Did you find anything?” I asked.

“Nothing. Not even a discarded candy wrapper. They were smart enough not to leave a trace.”

“Have you changed your mind to the possibility of the perp being a professional?”

He shrugged. “Could be. Or someone that’s simply more sensible than we initially thought. Or they’re very good at cleaning house.”

“I thought they might ask for cryptocurrency for the ransom. That seems professional.”

“It’s possible, although I didn’t get that indication from the ransom video. We’ll deal with that issue if it arises.”

“Okay.” I stepped away, heading toward the open-plan kitchen. It was probably nice once, back in the nineties, but no one upgraded it since that time. Two cabinet doors hung off their hinges, and one of the drawer fronts lay on the floor. The refrigerator was empty and smelled moldy. While there wasn’t any trash, I saw the ominous signs of rodent droppings, indicating an infestation. I wrinkled my nose and moved to inspect the rest of the apartment. The sole bedroom was empty. The bathroom was missing a toilet. All the built-ins were pine. I stepped back into the living area. “Nothing in there,” I told him.

“I think I have something,” said Solomon from where he knelt on the floor.

“What is it?”

“A parking receipt.”

“Like a ticket?”

“No, from a parking garage. It’s dated a week ago. I found it crumpled in a ball over there,” he said, pointing to where the blinds met the carpet. “It might have fallen from a pocket and was too small to notice when they cleaned up.”

“Maybe the garage has cameras?” I suggested. “We could take a look and see if we can narrow down the vehicle and the driver to the date and time on the ticket.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“You know, I can see almost everything in Tiffany’s apartment from here,” I said. “This apartment has a better view into hers than she has out of it. Do you think she realized that?”

“Would she have moved in if she did? She doesn’t seem to value her privacy very much.”

“I don’t know. She’s happy to broadcast her life to an audience she doesn’t know but I guess there’s an element of safety behind the camera. She can start and finish taping when she wants, and clip whatever she doesn’t want people to see.”

“There’s something voyeuristic about watching that stuff.”

“She never crosses into webcamming territory, if that entered your mind,” I told him. “It’s all about her standard of living. Like a fashion or lifestyle magazine, but live. There’s no taking her clothes off like a cam girl would.”

“I didn’t mean that but it’s useful information. There’s still something kind of weird about putting your life online for stranger’s pleasure. It’s like The Truman Show except she’s a willing participant.”

“Hmmm.” I stared out the window into Tiffany’s living room. “Living in a fishbowl is a very different kind of voyeurism. I don’t see her doing that.”

“Then we should assume she didn’t know she could be, or was being, observed.”

“It could be a deranged fan.”

“Maybe… if they just wanted access to her personally, but a ransom was demanded. That smells like something else entirely.”

I thought about it and could see Solomon’s point. A deranged fan might want to get overly personal and insist on a relationship of some kind, but I couldn’t see someone with that mindset giving Tiffany up for any amount of money.

Solomon continued thoughtfully, “So, possibly a stranger who watched her online, knew she made a lot of money, found out where she lived, observed her, and then kidnapped her. Despite her crazy publicity ideas, everything points to money.”

“We should call this in to Garrett.”

“I agree.” Solomon snapped a photo of the parking receipt first. Then he held his phone to his ear. “Garrett, I have some information for you.”