Ulterior Motives

by Terri Blackstock

  “No,” Ben said. “Of course not. I didn’t know he was going to call.”

  “He already told you that Sharon tried to get a trace started, Tony. She got put on hold,” Lynda pointed out.

  “Did anyone pick up on another line and hear any part of the conversation?” Tony asked.

  “No, I don’t think so,” Ben said. “Why?”

  “I just wondered if there were any witnesses.”

  “Sharon saw me talking to him.”

  “Oh, that should hold up in court,” Tony said sarcastically. “‘Your honor, my wife saw me on the phone.’ Case closed.”

  “She’s not his wife,” Anne clipped. “I am.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Tony said. “He lives with both of you.”

  The statement only further inflamed Ben, and he stood up, knocking his chair back with a clatter. Leaning over the table, he asked, “What do I have to do to prove that he called?”

  Tony glanced at Larry, who seemed to be deep in thought with his hands clasped in front of his face. “Well, we checked the phone records,” Tony said. “There is a record of a call that came to that house at about that time, but it was from a pay phone. It really doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Why not?” Ben asked. “The guy obviously didn’t want the call traced.”

  “Because it could have been anyone,” Tony said. “How do we know it wasn’t a salesman or something? You could have played this out to throw us off your scent.”

  “Then come with me tonight,” Ben said. “I’ll deliver a black garment bag just like he said. Someone will pick it up, and you can get him. Then you’ll see.”

  “What will you put in the garment bag?” Tony asked. “Your story is that you don’t know what he wants, remember?”

  Ben wanted to break something. “It’s not a story, man! This is all so crazy, why would I make it up?”

  “Why?” Tony laughed and glanced at his partner, who didn’t join in his amusement. “Well, let’s see. You’ve been accused of murder. All the evidence points to you. You’re probably going to spend the rest of your life in prison—I don’t know, Larry, can you think of any reason he’d want to make this up?”

  “It’s a pretty common ploy,” Larry said matter-of-factly. “Cast suspicion on someone else. Try to get the magnifying glass off you.”

  Ben threw up his hands. “I don’t have to make it up! I didn’t do this! And I can’t believe you morons are sitting on your duffs while some murderer is walking free out there. It hasn’t even occurred to you that you could be wrong—that if I’m telling the truth, the trail of the real killer is getting cold while you just sit there. That’s what’s wrong with our criminal justice system. It depends on idiots like you!”

  Lynda had stood up halfway through his outburst, and now touched Ben’s arm to calm him down. “Come on, Ben. This won’t get you anywhere.” She looked back at the two cops, who looked more stubborn and determined than ever. “Gentlemen, if we have to tell a Grand Jury that we gave you the opportunity to catch the real criminal, and you declined, it isn’t going to look good. And the fact that my client just called you idiots shouldn’t change the way you investigate this crime at all. His temper may be on edge right now, but I’d say ours would be, too, if we’d been accused of a murder we didn’t commit.” She sat back down and leaned on the table to face Larry. “What do you say, Larry? Tony? Can’t you at least escort him to the airport tonight? See what happens?”

  Larry glanced at Tony and shook his head. “Lynda, if we jumped every time a suspect pointed us to someone else, we’d never get any sleep. I left before dawn this morning to investigate a shooting in a bar, and I’m tired. Besides, I have a wife at home who’s expecting me for dinner.”

  “She understands what you do for a living,” Lynda said. “If I know her as well as I think I do, she wouldn’t want you to pin a murder on the wrong guy just so you could be on time for dinner. And we both know that you’ve gone without sleep to get the job done before this. What about you, Tony?”

  Tony laughed under his breath. “So let me get this straight. After working fourteen hours today, I’m supposed to go with this guy to the Tampa Airport—which is roughly an hour from here—so that he can respond to a phone call he can’t prove, by leaving an empty bag by a window so that an imaginary person can pick it up?”

  “Forget it!” Ben said, shoving the chair again. “Just forget it. I’ll go myself.”

  “No, you won’t, pal,” Larry said. “You’re not allowed to leave town until you’re cleared.”

  “What if he’s telling the truth?” Lynda shouted, making them all look at her. “What if—just what if—he’s telling you exactly like it happened? Whoever was on that phone threatened him if he didn’t deliver that bag! Larry, put yourself in his shoes. What if it happened to you? What if you tried to tell the police everything that had happened, but they wouldn’t listen?”

  Something about those words softened Larry’s face. He looked up at Ben, his eyes lingering pensively on him. Tony kept scribbling.

  Anne stepped forward, her eyes full of tears. “I’ll go.”

  Everyone looked up. “What?” Lynda asked.

  She cleared her throat. “Somebody has to go. I’ll do it. I’ll take the bag and leave it where he said, if Ben can’t leave town. Maybe that would be okay. And we can stick something in the bag. Even if it’s not the right thing—what he’s looking for—maybe it would be enough time for the security cameras to get a picture of him as he takes it. Or maybe I could take a camera and get his picture somehow . . .”

  Ben slammed his fist against the wall. “No way! This guy’s a murderer! I’m not letting my wife do this.”

  Larry shook his head.

  “I can get permission from the judge to let Ben go,” Lynda said. “But to do that, I’ll have to explain how the police force refuses to cooperate.”

  Larry looked up, rubbing his fingers down his face, leaving it red. “Forget it, Lynda. I’ll go with him.”

  “You will?” she asked.

  “Yeah. And there’d better be something to see.” He looked wearily at Tony, who rolled his eyes as if he couldn’t believe his partner had caved in. “Are you in, Tony?”

  Tony blew out a breath heavy enough to puff his cheeks. “I guess so.”

  “All right,” Lynda said, getting down to business. “Now, I want you two to start thinking like cops. Think you’re up to that?”

  Neither of them appreciated the question, and neither answered.

  “What should he put inside the bag? How does the man intend to get it without being seen? And why would he want such a specific brand of garment bag?”

  “It’s obvious,” Tony said with a sigh. “It’s the most common garment bag sold. This alleged criminal is probably going to bring one just like it and make a quick exchange. If he doesn’t, we’ll know that our friend here was pulling our strings all along.”

  Ben disregarded that. “What should I put in it? He didn’t give me a clue about what he’s looking for. It could be anything.”

  “It’s obviously something that would look natural in a garment bag,” Lynda said. “Maybe you should just pad it with pillows or something. You’re just going to have to wing it.”

  Ben sighed. “All right. He said to set it beside the window next to Gate C–23 just after the last flight from Atlanta lands at 10:30.”

  “You’d better mark the bag, so that you can prove that he took yours. And guys—” She turned back to the two cops, who looked less than enthusiastic. “At the airport, shouldn’t you be watching for anyone who has a bag like this? Maybe searching them?”

  “Lynda,” Tony said impatiently, “if there’s a guy waiting to make an exchange, the last thing we’d want to do is alert him to the fact that we’re there. Besides, if we catch him before the exchange, there won’t be any clues that he’s the guy. We’ll call Tampa PD and Airport Security and let them know what’s going on, and make sure a security camera is taping in t
hat spot. If he makes the exchange, we’ll be there, and we’ll see him.” But he didn’t sound as if he expected to see anything.

  “You’ll have to get him immediately after the exchange,” Ben said. “Otherwise, he’ll see that he’s been had, and he’ll retaliate.”

  “Retaliate how?” Larry asked grudgingly.

  “I don’t know,” Ben said. “But frankly, I’m not real anxious to find out. He’s messed my life up enough as it is.”

  As Ben and Anne drove back to Sharon’s house, Anne was quiet, brooding, and he knew what she was thinking. She was blaming him for all of this, and he supposed she had every right to.

  Christy and Emily were sound asleep when they got in, and Jenny was upstairs working on something in her room. Sharon was closed into her bedroom as if she’d had enough of them all.

  Quietly, they made their way through the house and put Bobby down into the crib.

  They went to their bedroom, but the tension in the room was too stiff for either of them to relax. It was like the tension before he’d left Sharon, when she’d known he was having an affair: so thick you could slice it open.

  “Why don’t you go on to bed?” he asked. “I’ll wake you when I get home.”

  She shook her head and sat down on the bed with her feet beneath her, looking like a little girl. “I won’t be able to sleep until I know what happened.”

  He sat and put his arms around her. “It’s gonna be okay. Tonight we’ll catch the guy who’s doing this to us, and by tomorrow they’ll drop all charges against me.”

  “Then can we move out of this place?” she asked.

  “Yes. I’ll get Lynda to get a court order to get my paintings out of the gallery, and I’ll find another gallery to display them. We’ll be back on our feet in no time, and we won’t depend on anyone else.”

  She seemed to relax.

  The doorbell rang. Ben kissed her gently and got up. “Time to go,” he said.

  She looked so pale and tired that he hated to leave her. “Good luck,” she said. “And be careful. Please be careful.”

  “I promise.” He hurried out into the hall and saw Sharon on her way to answer the door. She was wearing a long robe, and her feet were bare beneath it.

  “It’s for me,” he said in a low voice. “Tony Danks and Larry Millsaps. We’re going to make the delivery. Did you get the bag?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s on the couch.” She followed him to the living room and answered the door as Ben examined the garment bag.

  “Hi,” she said to the two men as she let them in.

  Tony Danks smiled at her. “Did we get you up?”

  “No,” she said. “I was waiting to see what came of this. You guys have a long drive to Tampa. Are you gonna make it?”

  “If we leave now,” Larry said, checking his watch. “It’s 9:00. We should be there by ten.” They stepped into the living room and saw Ben stuffing the garment bag with some wadded paper grocery sacks.

  “What are you doing?” Tony asked.

  “Filling the bag up. It has to at least look like it’s holding something.”

  The two cops just stood back, hands in pockets, looking as if they couldn’t care less whether the bag looked convincing or not.

  “I’ll drive in my car, in case he’s watching for me,” Ben said. “You guys can follow me.”

  “You try to get on a plane, Ben, my boy, and we’ll drag you off before it’s even off the ground,” Tony said. “Got it?”

  Ben’s face hardened, and he shot Sharon a look. “They don’t believe me,” he said. “They think this is all a hoax.”

  Sharon caught her breath. “Then why are you going?” she asked the cops.

  “Just doing our jobs,” Larry said.

  She moaned. “I can promise you that it’s not a hoax. Please—don’t drop the ball on this.”

  Tony smiled reassuringly. “We’ll do the right thing, Ms. Robinson. You don’t have to worry.”

  She looked at him uneasily. “All right. I guess you’ll just have to see for yourself.”

  Ben lifted the bag. “I marked the bag with this yellow thread on the shoulder strap, so that if we don’t see him take it, we can catch him with it afterward. It shouldn’t be noticeable.”

  “Good thinking,” Larry said, obviously humoring him.

  Trying not to let their obstinacy distract him, Ben headed out the door and got into his car.

  The two cops started to follow, but Sharon grabbed Tony’s arm and stopped him before they were out the door. He towered over her, but she looked up at him with determination in her eyes. “I’m his ex-wife. I haven’t been a fan of his in six years. But I can promise you that he’s not lying. Please take this seriously.”

  His blue eyes softened, and he smiled slightly as he patted her hand where it still held his arm. “Don’t worry,” he said.

  She stood at the door and watched as both cars pulled away.

  At the airport, they parked in the short-term parking area. After watching to see that Larry and Tony were behind him, Ben got out and took the garment bag from his backseat. Carrying it by the hook at the top and slung over his shoulder, he headed into the airport.

  He paused at the flight schedule monitor and scanned it for the last flight coming in from Atlanta. It was ten minutes late, he saw, and coming in at Gate C–23.

  Tony followed him up the stairs, then watched him stop at the security gate to lay his bag on the belt. As it made its way through the X-ray, he glanced around.

  He grabbed the bag when it reached the end, headed to the C terminal, and counted off the gates.

  Tony slowed his step as Ben reached the gate where a couple of dozen people milled around, waiting for the plane from Atlanta to arrive. Ben went to the window where the caller had told him to leave the bag, and keeping it hanging over his shoulder, looked out into the night for the plane.

  Tony could see no sign of it yet. In the window, he saw the reflections of people behind Ben. No one looked suspicious. No one carried a bag like Ben’s. Milling by, Tony went into the terminal, looking like anyone else about to catch a flight. His eyes scanned the faces there: those of women walking by with strollers, couples holding hands, tired, rumpled businessmen waiting to catch their flights home. Was one of them really a killer, or was this all some grand hoax?

  He spotted lights to the north as a plane began to land. It touched down, slowed, and turned. As it taxied toward their terminal, he heard the announcement that Flight 438 from Atlanta had landed.

  He could see Ben’s hands trembling as he set the garment bag, doubled over, down beside the window. He looked around, then crossed the corridor and headed for the men’s room. Neither Tony nor Larry followed. Tony ambled closer to the bag to peer out the window, waiting for something to happen. He knew Larry kept his eye on Ben as he came back out of the rest room.

  The ramp door opened and passengers began filing off. A crowd quickly formed in the hall outside the gate, blocking Tony’s view of the garment bag.

  Concerned that the bag may have been switched while view was blocked, he pushed through the crowd and headed back toward the security gate, looking for anyone who carried a bag like Ben’s with a yellow thread tied to the shoulder strap. He saw several similar bags, but none with the yellow thread.

  He looked back up the corridor, wondering if Larry had seen anything. Slowly, the crowd by gate C–23 began to thin out, and he saw the bag still lying there, the yellow string still tied to it.

  He saw Larry on the other side of the gate, still looking casual in his windbreaker and jeans. The perfect time to switch the bags would have been when the crowd was crushing in. The fact that it hadn’t happened might mean that something was wrong.

  Frustrated, Tony started toward the men’s room, caught Ben’s eye, and nodded for him to follow. Tony didn’t acknowledge him as he came in. He went into a stall, pulled a notepad out of his pocket, and wrote, No one’s made the switch yet. Go home and we’ll keep watch. There�
�s another cop parked beside you in the garage. He’ll follow you home. Don’t try anything stupid.

  He shoved the paper into his pocket.

  Ben was washing his hands when Tony took the sink next to him. He reached into his pocket, pulled out the note, and set it on Ben’s sink without looking at him. Then he dried his hands as Ben read it, watching as the artist closed his eyes in frustration.

  Tony found a seat next to Larry at one of the nearby gates, in perfect view of the garment bag, which lay there by itself, waiting for anyone to pick it up. It would probably be taken, all right, Tony thought, but not by the killer.

  He watched as Ben came out of the rest room and trudged back down the corridor toward the main terminal.

  Sharon was asleep on the couch in the living room when Ben got home. The door woke her, and she sat up. “What happened?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “He didn’t come. At least, not while I was there. Have you heard from Larry and Tony?”

  “They weren’t with you?”

  He shook his head and dropped into a chair. “I left them there. They had another cop follow me home. They could still be waiting, for all I know. If this guy doesn’t show, they’ll be convinced that I made it all up. They’re pretty much convinced, already.”

  “Did they jeopardize anything?”

  He rubbed his face. “No. Actually, they did a pretty good job. No one would have known they were cops or that they were with me.” He dropped his hands and shook his head as he leaned it back on the chair. “I just can’t figure out what happened.”

  The phone rang, and they both jumped. “I’ll get it,” Ben said, snatching up the extension on the table next to him.

  “Hello?” His face reddened as he listened to the response, and Sharon got up and stepped toward him.

  “I took the bag like you said,” he insisted. “I put it exactly where you told me.”

  She held her breath, certain he was talking to the killer. Ben sighed heavily. “Okay, so I faked it. But you have to believe me. I have no idea what you’re looking for, or I would have given it to you. There’s nothing I know of that’s worth a murder rap.”

  Sharon covered her face with her hands. The killer knew he’d been set up. Now what were they going to do?