Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

by Karen Rose

  Joseph had to fight the urge to grind his teeth. Blaming her. As if she hasn’t been through enough. ‘We’ll send a tech to their residence to monitor any incoming calls, just in case this really is about money and they get a ransom demand. If there’s nothing else, we’re adjourned. I’ve got a date with the Millhouses.’

  Tuesday, December 3, 3.05 P.M.

  Daphne inhaled deeply as she left her room. Mama’s baking cinnamon buns. Her mama always cooked when she was upset. From the sound of it, most everyone had gathered in the kitchen.

  Everyone except the two agents in her dining room waiting for a ransom call and the two cops patrolling her property. And Clay.

  He stood at her front window, staring out at the gray sky, his handsome face completely expressionless. Daphne worried about him on the best of days.

  Today she’d worry about him more than usual. Because then she wouldn’t be thinking about Ford out in this weather. The forecasters were calling for a bitterly cold night. He’ll freeze to death. And . . . I’m not thinking about that. I’m worrying about Clay.

  ‘I’d have to say as days go, this one has sucked,’ she said. ‘Epically.’

  ‘I’d have to say I agree,’ Clay replied evenly, not looking at her.

  She tugged at the sleeve of the black T-shirt he wore. ‘You join up after lunch?’

  He looked down at the big BPD in block letters on his chest, then shrugged. ‘JD had it in his car. I ripped mine.’

  ‘Making bandages and a tourniquet for Stevie. I saw. Is she out of surgery yet?’

  ‘No.’ A muscle ticked in his cheek. ‘And it’s been way too long.’

  She chanced touching his arm. He flinched, but didn’t pull away so she kept her hand there, gentling him. ‘If it was bad news, we’d know. You probably saved her life. She would have bled out if you hadn’t helped her.’

  Clay said nothing for a long moment. ‘Her name is Kimberly MacGregor.’

  ‘Ford’s girlfriend? I know. He told me about her.’ She rubbed her temple. Her headache was worse. I should have let Paige do that pressure poking thing.

  ‘I don’t think he told you nearly enough.’

  ‘Clay, I don’t have the energy for puzzles. Whatever you have to say, say it.’

  ‘She has a record, Daphne. Felony theft. You cut her a deal.’

  Daphne gaped at him. ‘What?’

  ‘She stole a diamond ring from the woman whose house she cleaned. You cut her a deal for two years probation and five hundred hours community service. I assume Ford didn’t know. He’s not the kind to hang with criminals.’

  ‘No. He’s not.’ Cold fury started to bubble in her stomach. ‘Exactly when did you find this out?’

  ‘This afternoon. I ran a background on her.’

  ‘You mean you hadn’t before?’ Her voice had grown louder with each word. She consciously lowered it to a hiss. ‘Zacharias had been following Ford for two weeks and you hadn’t checked out the girl he was seeing?’

  ‘He said he had.’

  She tried to stay calm. She knew Clay wouldn’t and couldn’t check up on everything his employees told him. And maybe it doesn’t mean anything. ‘So she had a record. I might not want to meet my boyfriend’s prosecutor mother, either.’

  ‘Her little sister went missing last night. Pamela is fourteen.’

  Daphne opened her mouth but no words came out. Breathe. ‘And?’

  Clay braced his shoulders. ‘Kimberly’s French teacher hadn’t assigned any movie.’

  Breathe. ‘She . . . she set up my son?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  Oh God. Oh God. ‘This changes everything,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I’m s—’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry,’ she said, rage making her voice tremble. ‘This could have been avoided if your trusted employee had done his job. Your friend is responsible.’

  He turned, his dark eyes flashing. ‘No, whoever killed my friend is responsible.’

  Daphne took a step back. ‘I can’t talk to you right now.’

  ‘Guys?’ Paige asked from behind them.

  Daphne didn’t even acknowledge her. ‘Does Joseph know?’

  ‘I’ve sent him a text, an email, and left him a voice message,’ Clay said tersely. ‘If he’s picked up any of those things, he knows.’

  ‘All right. I want you to tell Detective Rivera about this. And then I want you to go.’

  ‘Daphne . . .’ Paige put her hand on Daphne’s shoulder.

  ‘Not now, Paige.’ Daphne turned away from them both. ‘Not now.’

  Chapter Eight

  Tuesday, December 3, 3.15 P.M.

  Clay watched Daphne walk away, his heart in his throat. ‘That went well.’

  Paige stared at him, bewildered. ‘What just happened, Clay?’ He told her and her eyes slid shut. ‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘What the hell was Tuzak thinking?’

  ‘I don’t know. I know he was tired. I should have found somebody else for the job. His report on Kimberly said her background check came in clean. I believed him. He’d never lied to me before.’ That I knew about.

  ‘Does Phyllis know?’

  ‘No. She gave me everything she found in his pants pocket when she did the wash yesterday. There was a to-do list. “Take Phyllis’s car in for service, pick up milk. Do background on KM.” Plus about ten other things. He’d crossed off everything but the background. I think he kept meaning to do it. And just didn’t.’

  Her eyes had narrowed. ‘Tell me you’re not about to make an excuse for him.’

  He shot her a cold look. ‘No. I’m not even trying to understand why he lied to me, because it doesn’t matter why. That he didn’t do the background check is bad enough. That he deliberately falsified his report . . . He made me believe that Kim was no threat to Ford. And now Tuzak’s dead and Ford is taken.’

  Paige sighed heavily. ‘God, what a nightmare. Let’s tell Rivera. He needs to know.’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to Carter, so I assume Rivera knows.’

  ‘You spoke to Carter? In person? Not just by text?’

  ‘In person on the phone. Turns out Carter knew already.’

  ‘So he didn’t tell Daphne either.’

  ‘No, but Tuzak wasn’t his responsibility. He was mine.’

  Paige ran her hand over his back, a gesture of comfort. ‘Let’s go fess up to the Feds. Just in case Joseph hasn’t had time to tell them yet.’

  ‘You don’t have to go with me.’

  ‘You’re my partner,’ she said simply.

  ‘What if Ford dies?’ he asked, barely able to say the words.

  ‘I’m not going there. Neither should you.’ She walked with him a few steps then looked up, brows knit. ‘You didn’t tell Daphne that Joseph already knew. Why?’

  ‘Because he’s . . . got it bad for her. I didn’t want to fuck it up for him.’

  ‘You’re a sentimental fool, Clay Maynard,’ she said softly.

  ‘You’re half right,’ he muttered.

  He had finished telling Rivera everything he knew when Simone came into the dining room carrying a wicker basket covered with a red-checkered napkin.

  ‘Cinnamon buns,’ she said, her expression grave, and he knew that she’d heard how he’d failed her daughter and her grandson. ‘Daphne insisted you take them, so don’t think of saying no.’

  His young assistants, Alec and Alyssa, filed in behind Simone, waiting for direction.

  ‘It’s time to work,’ Clay said, because he didn’t know what else to do.

  Tuesday, December 3, 3.30 P.M.

  Daphne glanced up when Paige slid into the seat across from her at the kitchen table, then resumed reading the top page of the stack in front of her. ‘They’re gone?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you in there,’ Daphne murmured. ‘It was wrong of me.’

  ‘It’s okay. Just give me the white Chanel suit and we’ll be even.’

  ‘It
’s yours.’ Daphne sighed. ‘Look, I know Clay didn’t mean this to happen.’

  ‘But Ford’s your son. How could you not have reacted the way you did? We have a big responsibility when we promise people to keep their loved ones safe. Tuzak lied to Clay. Clay can’t change that, but he’ll do what it takes to find Ford.’

  ‘I know he’ll try.’ Daphne sighed. ‘And I’m upset, but I don’t blame him.’ She returned her gaze to the stack of papers in front of her and tapped them. ‘This is my file from the Millhouse case. Grayson made me a copy. The original’s with the Feds.’

  Paige came around the table to sit next to her, her eyes going wide. ‘Wow. You’ve got everything here. I wish Clay had a copy. This would save him a lot of time.’

  ‘He has one,’ she murmured.

  Paige’s eyes widened. ‘How? When? Oh . . . The cinnamon buns. Why the subterfuge?’

  ‘Coppola. They’re marked confidential and she’s a by-the-book girl.’

  ‘Can you get into trouble for giving them to Clay?’

  ‘Probably. If it helps us find Ford, it’ll be worth it. If it doesn’t . . . it won’t matter.’ Squaring her shoulders, she gave a portion of the stack to Paige. ‘I wanted Clay to have a copy so he could help.’

  ‘You know he will.’ Paige began sorting her pile of papers. ‘Reggie, Bill, Cindy, George . . . Huh. You have financials on the whole family. How?’

  ‘We got a tip that Reggie had robbed other motorists and hocked their valuables. I found two pawnbrokers who’d said they’d bought jewelry from him. Since he was only a senior in high school, I convinced a judge that he had to have the help of an adult. I was able to subpoena the entire family’s tax and banking records for the last three years.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Bill and Cindy’s accounts were okay, but Reggie’s weren’t. I matched his deposits with receipts from local pawn shops. He’d robbed other people, so his self-defense plea didn’t hold water. The testimony of the pawnbrokers turned the trial.’

  ‘There’s a reason we always follow the money,’ Paige said briskly, sorting papers as she spoke. ‘You want me to start reading? Or sort your piles?’

  ‘You sort, I’ll read. We’re looking for anyone who appears in major cash transactions – salary, deposits, personal checks. We can then identify any businesses and property those people might own. They have to hide Ford somewhere and Bill would only trust someone in his circle.’

  ‘What businesses am I looking for?’ Paige asked.

  ‘Start with anything connected to the defense fund Bill started for Reggie. They raised a hell of a lot of cash. Bill made a point of saying he was keeping his hands off the funds, to keep everything on the up-and-up. Somebody’s managing it. Following the money will lead us to Bill’s most trusted associates.’

  ‘Wouldn’t relatives be the most trusted? All the uncles and cousins and aunts?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Bill Millhouse used Reggie’s arrest as a platform to push his own agenda. In the months between the arrest and the trial he drew a very devoted following, preaching that the country’s going to hell in a hand basket because we’ve become so politically correct that we’re weak.’

  ‘I know. I watched him on the talk show circuit. He makes his argument seem almost . . . mainstream when he’s on camera.’

  ‘He’s very savvy. He’s made himself appealing to a disturbingly broad group, challenging “ordinary people to take back their country”. He preaches a return to core values and a simpler way of life.’

  Paige froze, blinking at one of the bank statements. ‘When you said a hell of a lot of cash, you weren’t kidding. My God.’

  ‘Some of that cash was earmarked for Reggie’s defense fund. The rest goes to support “taking back their country”. I wasn’t really surprised that he had all those guns in his trunk. Bill’s been edging closer to militia-type statements since the trial started. I think that’s his true agenda.’

  ‘Any thought on who his right hand is?’

  ‘I got the sense that nobody was. He doles out info on a need-to-know basis.’

  ‘Not even his wife and sons?’

  ‘Bill doesn’t trust Cindy with money. She spends too much.’

  ‘What about the sons? Either of them the right hand?’

  ‘Reggie would be, if he hadn’t been in jail. Bill doesn’t like George. He uses him, but doesn’t trust him. Because Bill doesn’t trust anybody.’

  ‘So on top of being a racist, he’s a paranoid sonofabitch.’

  ‘Paranoid, definitely. Sonofabitch? Absolutely. But it’s more than that. At the beginning, long before the trial started, he thought “the cause” was a means to an end and if people were dumb enough to donate, they deserved to be taken to the cleaners. As the trial progressed, it seemed like Bill believed more and more of his own rhetoric. He stopped playing a role and starting becoming that voice in the wilderness, the one who’d lead armies to victory.’

  ‘Culminating with his bringing weapons to the courthouse today.’

  ‘Exactly. Bill has always been a paranoid sonofabitch and that caution has probably kept him out of jail.’

  ‘Till now.’

  ‘Exactly. Because now he’s graduated to being one crazy sonofabitch.’

  Tuesday, December 3, 3.45 P.M.

  ‘That Bill Millhouse is one crazy sonofabitch,’ Joseph said as he walked into the interview room where the aforementioned crazy SOB waited. Bill sat a few feet from the table, wrists and ankles manacled, wrists behind his back. The manacles were chained to the chair, which was bolted to the floor. Behind him stood two armed officers. No one was taking any chances.

  Bill Millhouse was a large, hulking man and he’d passed his size on to both of his sons. His face was bruised, his left eye swollen nearly shut, his upper lip split nearly in two. He kept his eyes forward, not acknowledging anyone’s presence.

  Joseph had read the Millhouse profiles in Daphne’s file, read their testimony in the trial transcripts, and reviewed a few tapes of Bill on some talk shows. Joseph’s interview plan was pretty simple. He’d get him to talk about the guns he’d brought to the courthouse and why he had so many. From there he’d try to lead him from the pistols in his car to the tasers in the alley and from there to Ford.

  He picked up a chair and placed it a calculated distance from Bill. ‘One crazy sonofabitch.’ He sat down, casual only on the outside. ‘That’s what they’re all saying anyway. The media, that is. Not that I blame them. Seems crazy to try to break your son out of jail. I mean, who does that anymore? Well, obviously you do. Gave it the old college try anyway.’

  Millhouse didn’t flinch. Didn’t say a freaking word.

  Okay, so we can play it this way, too. ‘You gave it the old college try. Can’t say the same for your team.’

  The tiniest twitch in Millhouse’s cheek.

  Now we’re talking. He’d considered the guns in Bill’s trunk carefully as he watched the talk show tapes, with all of Bill’s ‘take the country back’ rhetoric. There was no way Bill could have used all those guns. Joseph guessed that Bill had planned a bigger party, but he’d been caught by JD before he could arm his followers.

  ‘Not like you didn’t give them every opportunity. Could’ve done some serious damage with ten assault rifles. Bunch of cowards if you ask me. They ran, just when you needed them most.’

  No response.

  That’s not the team he’s angry with. Or maybe Bill didn’t have followers lined up to fight. Bill had definitely had a plan inside the courtroom, though.

  ‘I don’t suppose those rifles would have made any difference, though, since your wife and sons failed to accomplish the mission inside the courtroom. Although Reggie did do some damage to a deputy with that blade you smuggled in.’

  Millhouse’s eyes stayed forward, but his lips curved, a deliberate fuck-you.

  Fuck you too. But Joseph kept his expression congenial. ‘But Reggie failed too. It’s fascinating that the most serious damage was done
by a girl with a modified Glock.’

  Again the smirk.

  ‘Of course, she’s dead. Your only casualty.’

  The smirk disappeared abruptly.

  Oh, yes. ‘Marina took seven bullets altogether. Six in the extremities. Whoever came up with the idea of her wearing the pregnancy pad . . . kudos. It worked. Mostly. The seventh bullet, though, hit her right between the eyes.’

  Millhouse’s chest rose and fell with the deep breaths he now took.

  ‘Maybe you’re wondering who killed her. Who could have been a big enough sonofabitch to shoot a pregnant girl right between the eyes? To put a bullet right through her brain? To blow her head right off her shoulders?’

  Millhouse’s chest was pumping like a bellows. A little bit more would push him over the edge. But getting Millhouse angry at Stevie would be a waste. She wasn’t here for Bill to attack. But I am. Joseph didn’t think Stevie would mind if he borrowed her glory.

  He spread his arms wide. ‘I’m the sonofabitch who killed your brave soldier.’

  Millhouse turned his head then, his eyes so full of hate that Joseph might have been nervous had the man not been shackled with two rifles pointed at his head.

  Joseph smiled. ‘Yep, it was me. And I’m glad I did it. The look on her face right before I pulled the trigger . . . It was fear, Bill. She begged me not to shoot, but I did anyway. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Right between the eyes.’

  The only warning was the subtle tensing of muscles before Millhouse sprang. Because Joseph had been expecting it, he didn’t flinch, just remained in his chair, arms loosely crossed while Millhouse came crashing to the floor. His head landed only inches from the tips of Joseph’s shoes.

  The uniforms had their rifles cocked and aimed at Millhouse’s head before it hit the floor. Millhouse lay breathing hard, his cheek pressed into the concrete, his body fully extended, his feet at awkward angles to the legs of the chair, the bolts of which had held. Thank God for that.

  ‘My engineering degree always comes in handy at the strangest times,’ Joseph said blandly. ‘Like when I calculate the exact trajectory a body will take when it’s hurled through the air toward me. You disappoint me, Bill. You’re predictable. Now your little girl, Marina. Not predictable. I wonder if she was supposed to open fire like she did. What possible purpose could that have achieved? I wondered this. I did.’