Ulterior Motives

by Terri Blackstock

  Larry came into the room, and started at the sight of them. “Excuse me,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

  “I was just massaging her shoulders,” Tony said, letting her go. “No big deal.”

  Larry glared at him for a moment. “Can I have a word with you, Tony? In the dining room?”

  “Sure.” Tony stood up and winked at Sharon as he followed Larry out of the room.

  Larry was fuming by the time they reached the dining room. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

  Tony looked around innocently. “What are you talking about?”

  “Sitting in there with her like that, rubbing her shoulders . . .”

  “She’s tense and upset. I was trying to help”

  “You were trying to seduce her, Tony,” Larry whispered. “And I think that’s reprehensible. Her child has been kidnapped, and she’s not thinking straight. How could you even think of taking advantage of a woman in that state of mind?”

  Tony couldn’t believe his ears. He gaped at his partner as his face reddened. “You’ve got a lot of nerve. If I remember correctly, you’re the one who gets involved with victims, not me. Check out that ring on your finger if you’ve forgotten!”

  “I’ve never taken advantage of anyone, Tony. I don’t hit them when they’re down.”

  “No, but you’ve sure offered your shoulder for them to cry on. How come when I do it it’s womanizing? Did you ever think for a minute that I might feel genuine compassion for her? That I might have some of the same instincts you’ve had, to comfort someone who’s at her wit’s end?”

  “Don’t get involved with the victims, Tony. That’s what you’ve always told me.”

  “Yeah, and when’s the last time you listened?” Tony turned around to start out of the room, but stopped at the door and turned back. “You make me sick, you know that? You think just because you’re some big Christian, that your motives are pure and mine aren’t. You think that if you comfort someone, it’s because you’re a good Samaritan, but if I do it, I’m trying to get them into bed.” Furious, he shoved a chair under the table, then lowered his voice to a harsh whisper and went on.

  “Well, here’s a news flash for you, pal. I can feel the same compassion you can! And my motives can be just as pure! That woman in there is broken and hurting, and anyone who took advantage of her right now would be the scum of the earth in my book. I’m not going to let your paranoias keep me from giving her a little comfort when she needs it. Look around and tell me if there’s anyone else in this house who can give it to her!”

  Larry only stood there, his hands in his pockets, staring at Tony. After a moment, he looked down at his sneaker-clad feet. “All right, maybe I jumped to conclusions. This case has me in knots.”

  “Think how she feels,” Tony said, and headed back to the den to find Sharon.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Emily was wailing, and Christy put her arms around her and pressed her sister’s face against her chest. The car was going over something rough, like railroad tracks, Christy thought as they took the jarring jolts in the trunk.

  “Shhh, Emily,” Christy whispered. “He told us to be quiet. He’ll kill us if we’re not.”

  “He’s gonna kill us anyway,” Emily cried against Christy’s shirt. “Christy, Daddy’s not coming, is he?”

  “Yes, he will,” Christy said. “And if he doesn’t, my mommy will. She won’t let anything happen to us.”

  “But your mommy doesn’t like me,” Emily moaned.

  “Who says?”

  “My mom. She says your mommy hates us. That’s why she didn’t want me going to church with you.”

  “My mommy doesn’t hate anybody!” Christy said.

  The car came to a stop, and quickly, Christy put her hand over Emily’s mouth. “He’s stopping. Emily, if you get another chance, run again. We’ll go in different directions. He can’t come after both of us.”

  “But I’m scared!” she whimpered. “I want to get out of here. I want to go home.”

  The car started rolling again, this time on gravel, and Christy shook her sister’s shoulder. “Hush! You sound like a baby!”

  “But he hurt my arm when he grabbed me, and I can’t move in this stupid place.”

  “Where did he hurt your arm? Show me.”

  Emily turned over on her back and, in the darkness, took Christy’s hand and ran it along her arm.

  “Where does it hurt?”

  “All over,” Emily said. “It hurts bad.”

  “It’s probably bruised. When Daddy comes, he can look at it.”

  “He’s not gonna come, Christy,” Emily said, her panicked voice rising again. “He can’t find us, anyway. Maybe he’s not even looking.” Her crying grew louder, and Christy searched her brain for something to quiet her sister.

  “Hush,” she said again. “Just listen. I’m gonna teach you a song. It’s a real hard song, so you have to listen hard. And I have to whisper so he won’t hear.”

  “I don’t want to sing,” Emily whined.

  “You have to,” Christy said. “It’ll help you stop crying. Now, listen. It’s a song about the states. It goes, ‘Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas . . .’ Now, sing it with me. Whisper. ‘Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas . . .”

  “I don’t want to,” said Emily.

  “Do it!” Christy insisted. “Alabama, Alaska . . .”

  “Arizona, Arkansas,” Emily finished on a whisper.

  “Good!” Christy said. “The next part is ‘California, Colorado . . .”

  Emily was listening, trying now to sing along. The effort of learning the song took her mind off of the cramped quarters of the trunk, the merciless way the wheels bounced on the gravel or over potholes, or the fear of what the man would do with them when they stopped.

  They were up to the state of Hawaii before the car finally stopped. They heard the man slam his car door and start back to the trunk.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The phone rang, and everyone sprang to attention. In the kitchen, Ben put his hand on the phone and looked into the dining room, waiting for the signal. Tony nodded.

  Ben picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “May I speak to Detective Danks, please?”

  Everyone in the house let out a weary breath as Tony picked up and Ben hung up. “It’s for them,” Ben told Anne, who had run into the room with Bobby on her hip.

  “He’s never gonna call!” Anne said, kicking the chair. “When’s he gonna call?”

  Leaning wearily against the kitchen wall, Sharon watched silently.

  Tony was on his feet, reaching for his coat, as he hung up. “We’ve had a break!” he shouted. “They found the car the girls were abducted in. It was left back at the rental company with the keys in it last night. It was paid for in advance with a credit card. You’ll never guess whose name it was in.”

  “Whose?” Larry asked.

  “Ben Robinson.”

  “What?” Ben asked. “I never left the house last night! Everyone saw me!”

  “Don’t panic. The guy who checked the car out to him gave us a description, and it matches the kidnapper, sans hat and glasses. He’s talking our artist through a composite sketch right now.” He stopped at the door and turned back. “If this pans out, Ben, then we know how he got a gun in your name.”

  “But none of my credit cards were stolen. He would have needed it days before the murder to get a gun.”

  “He probably had counterfeit IDs and credit cards made. It happens.”

  Sharon let out a long-held breath. “Thank goodness, we’re getting somewhere.”

  Tony started out the door. “Larry’ll stay here in case the kidnapper calls.”

  “I’m going with you,” Ben said.

  “No! You have to stay here in case he calls! As soon as we get a composite done, I’ll bring it back to you.”

  “Fax it!” Sharon said. “Maybe Ben will recognize the guy!” She ran to grab
a piece of paper and a pen. “Here’s my fax number. It’ll come straight into the house.”

  Tony grabbed the number. “I’ll fax it as soon as it’s done. Larry’ll call me if you guys hear anything.” Not waiting for an answer, Tony rushed out.

  Albert Gates was a forty-two-year-old car rental agent who hadn’t seen such excitement in years. He would never have dreamed that the polished gentleman who had come in here a week ago to rent a car would turn out to be a kidnapper. He couldn’t wait to tell the boys at the pool hall.

  Albert was suddenly important, someone whose words the cops were hanging on, someone who could make a difference, and he was enjoying every minute of it. Any minute now, the news teams would probably show up.

  “The car was really dirty when we got it back,” he was saying as the policemen took notes and the artist tried to sketch the description he’d already given. “It looked like he’d been driving on dirt roads. Red clay all over the fender.”

  The detective who’d just bolted in asked, “Is it still on the car?”

  “No,” Albert said apologetically. “I had it washed first thing. That’s what I always do, to get it ready to go out again.”

  “Where is the car?” Tony asked. “I want to see it.”

  “It’s the blue Taurus parked by the curb just outside the door.”

  Tony started back out of the room. “How long before that composite is ready?”

  “We’re almost there,” the artist said, still sketching.

  “All right. I’ll be right back.”

  Tony went outside and looked the car over. Just as Albert said, the car had been washed clean. One officer was inside it, dusting for prints, so he leaned in the window. “Find anything?”

  “Yeah, I’m getting some prints. But this car’s been rented out four times already this month. Plus the agents here and their clean-up staff have all been through it. These prints could be any-body’s.”

  Tony sighed and looked in the backseat. Nothing had been left. He reached through the driver’s side window and punched the button to release the trunk. He walked back there and pulled the trunk open.

  Nothing.

  He stood back and tried to think. Dirt roads. Red clay. He got down on his knees and looked under the car. Just as he’d hoped, it was still dirty. Red clumps of clay still clung to the belly of the car. He reached under and scratched some off.

  There were only a few rural places left in St. Clair. Like so much of the Tampa Bay area, it had been overbuilt. He got up and sat back on his heels, examining the red clay on his fingers.

  It could be from a building site, he thought, but that was doubtful. Most of the building sites were too visible. Besides that, a single lot wouldn’t be large enough to get that much mud caked on the car. It had to be a rural area.

  He thought of the few farms still remaining on the east side of St. Clair, and the cover of woods that surrounded some of them. Maybe the kidnapper had taken the children there.

  Dusting his hands off, he went back inside to ask about the mileage. Maybe it would give him some clue as to whether he’d left town.

  “His eyes were a very pale blue,” Arthur was saying. “He was a nice-looking man. And his nose was a little different than what you’ve done. . . .”

  The artist followed the descriptions and made the necessary changes on the sketch.

  “Yeah, that’s real close. Only I think his lips were thinner. And his eyebrows were thicker.”

  Tony waited, watching, as the face emerged.

  “That’s it,” the man said finally. “I’m sure. That’s what he looked like. Isn’t it amazing that you can do that just from my description? I’ve always wondered how that worked.”

  Tony leaned over the desk. “You’re sure? Absolutely positive?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “It’s him.”

  “All right.” Tony held out a hand. “Let me have it. Where’s your fax machine?”

  “Over there,” Albert said, getting more excited. “Who are you faxing it to?”

  “Somebody I hope can identify him,” Tony said. He took the sketch and pulled the number out of his pocket. Quickly, he dialed Sharon’s fax number, and fed the picture through.

  The moment the fax machine rang in Sharon’s study, they all dashed for it.

  They watched, breath held, as the face slowly emerged.

  Ben waited until the machine had cut the page, then inverted it and studied it. “Oh, it can’t be . . .”

  “You know him?” Sharon asked.

  Anne pushed closer to see the picture, and her face paled. “Ben, is that . . . ?”

  “Nelson Chamberlain,” Ben said, turning back to Larry, who stood behind him. “It can’t be him! He was Louis’s best friend. He’s the one who posted my bond. Why would he help get me out of jail if he’s the one setting me up?”

  “Because you have something he wants,” Larry said. “You obviously couldn’t give it to him from a jail cell.”

  “But he’s been in England. He couldn’t be the one—” He blew out a helpless breath. “He knows Emily. She knows him—”

  “That’s why she went with him!” Anne cried. “Ben, don’t you see?”

  “But I trusted him.” He studied the face again. “It just doesn’t make sense. If he’s the one who planted all that evidence against me, he was hoping I’d take the fall for the murder. Why’d he post my bond? He stood to lose that money.”

  Larry picked up the phone and dialed the car agency. “That was a small investment compared to what he stands to make. And it threw us off his scent for a while.” The phone was answered, and he asked for Tony.

  He waited until Tony picked up. “It’s Nelson Chamberlain,” Larry said. “One of the art dealers we’ve been trying to get in touch with. He’s supposed to have been in England.”

  Weakly, Ben lowered into a chair.

  “Red clay?” Larry asked. “What do you make of that?”

  Sharon stepped closer, hoping they were on to something.

  “Yeah, that wouldn’t hurt. We need to search his house, and any other property he owns here. Maybe it’ll lead us to them.”

  Tony was just coming in when Larry’s number rang. He snapped it up. “Yeah? All right, shoot. Okay, I’m on my way. Get somebody over here to relieve us in case the guy calls.”

  He grabbed his windbreaker and jumped up as he hung up the phone. “They found some property Chamberlain owns on the east side of town. It’s a few acres of wooded area. I’ll go over there to see if there’s a building anywhere around there where he could have the kids. Then I’ll check his house.”

  “I’m going with you!” Sharon cried.

  This time, Tony knew they couldn’t stop her.

  “What if he calls?” Ben asked, practically chasing them to the door.

  “Hopefully we’ll get him before he has the chance!” Tony called back. “But if he does, just get his instructions. Play along, like you have what he wants.” He saw the police car already turning into their driveway. “They’re here. They know what to do if he calls.”

  Sharon followed Tony at a trot, and Anne ran out behind them. “Tony, Larry! I’m coming, too.”

  “No, it’s not a good idea,” Larry said.

  “But my little girl could be out there!” Anne cried. “I have to be there when you find her! She’ll need me!”

  Sharon looked beseechingly at Tony. This time, she said, “Let her come.”

  He shrugged and got into the car. “All right, get in.”

  The ride to the other side of town was fifteen minutes or so. Sharon and Anne sat in the backseat, watching out the window, both of them tense and hopeful.

  “Turn left here,” Larry said. “Yeah, that’s it. I think this is the edge of his property.”

  In the distance, Sharon heard a police siren. “Won’t he hear us coming? Shouldn’t they turn off the siren?”

  Almost as if in answer to that, the siren hushed.

  They drove up a long dirt road
, and Sharon scanned the trees for any sign of a structure where the children could be. There were no buildings, no houses, only this red dirt road and the dense forest beside it.

  “What’s that?” Larry asked as they followed the dirt road around a cluster of trees.

  Tony leaned forward. “A shed,” he said. “And there are fresh tire tracks. Bingo!”

  Sharon felt the blood running out of her face. The children couldn’t be in there. Not in a four-by-six dirt shack out in the middle of nowhere!

  “Stay here!” Tony ordered. “It doesn’t look like he’s here, but he could be. We’ll look first.”

  Sharon nodded. Anne sat paralyzed, staring toward the shed as the men got out, wielding their guns, and surrounded the little building.

  The men shouted something, but there was no reply.

  They heard the door being kicked in, and both women jumped.

  After a moment, Tony came back around the building, shaking his head.

  “They’re not there,” Anne said, and started to cry.

  Sharon, too, covered her face and tried to cope with the horror of it. She got out of the car, not knowing which way to go. “But the fresh tire tracks. It’s his property, isn’t it?”

  Tony looked down at the tire tracks. “Somebody was here, all right. Maybe even today.”

  Larry came out of the little shed. “Hey, Tony. Come look at this!”

  They all rushed to the door. “McDonald’s bags,” Larry said. “Two cups.”

  “They were here!” Sharon cried. “He locked them in this dark place? They must have been terrified!”

  “Where are they now?” Anne almost screamed.

  “It looks like they dug a hole under the wall.”

  Tony went back out and checked the other side. “Look, footprints,” he said. “It looks like one of the kids may have gotten away.”

  Anne and Sharon stared down at the beloved little footprint. “It’s Emily,” Anne cried. “She had on tennis shoes.”

  “She’s right,” Sharon confirmed. “Christy was wearing loafers.”

  By now, the other cops were following the prints, trying to trace the steps of the child and the bigger steps of the man who had taken them.