The Empty Place at the Table

by Jode Jurgensen John Ellsworth

  "Mr. Baedeker--"

  "I go by Grant, Miss."

  "Grant, we're here about a black Escalade titled in your name. Do you know which vehicle I'm talking about?"

  "Yes. I don't have it now."

  "You mean you've loaned it out? Or did you transfer the title?"

  "Sold it. Title transfer is pending until the buyer's check clears."

  "And when did this happen?"

  "Saturday."

  "Just this past Saturday?"

  "That's right."

  "Mr. Baedeker, your vehicle was seen parked several days in a row in the vicinity of Abbott and Oakland. Does that location ring a bell?"

  "No. I wasn't in that vicinity, don't even know what town you're talking about."

  "We're talking Schaumburg. Not far from Golf Road."

  "I haven't been to Schaumburg in--oh, I don't know, a year? Two years?"

  “Did you leave the vehicle behind a 7-Eleven?”

  “Are you kidding? I’d never do that with a Caddy.”

  "Are you married?"

  "Divorced."

  "Kids?"

  "One grown daughter in East Moline. We don't talk except for a call at Christmas. Long gone."

  "Have you loaned your Escalade to anyone in the past week?"

  "Nope. That car is my pride and joy. Nobody drove it except me."

  "Why did you sell?"

  Baedeker slowly nodded. "Yes. Down-sizing. But don't mention it around my people inside. Things have been very slow since Christmas. Cash flow problems so I couldn't keep up the payments. Figured it was better to sell and get something for myself rather than just turn it back."

  "Turn it back?"

  "You know, give it back to the dealer."

  "Mr. Baedeker," O'Reilly said from just behind the subject's ear, "how do you explain your vehicle being seen in the Schaumburg area over the past several days?"

  "I don't."

  "You don't what?"

  "I don't explain it. I wasn't there, so I don't know what somebody saw. Who says they saw my car there anyway?"

  "That's confidential, and there's an investigation underway, so we can't say," McMann came back. "Do you know a woman by the name of Sellars? Melissa Sellars?"

  "Melissa Sellars? Not that I know of. I mean, she might have been a customer, but I wouldn't remember that. I'm usually not even around the shop."

  "Yes, we understand you usually come in once a day, hit the drawer, then disappear to a titty bar," McMann said smoothly. "Does that sound like you?"

  Baedeker laughed. "No law against tits is there, officer?"

  O'Reilly leaned his face up just behind the subject's ear. "Talk nice, ducky. You're outnumbered here."

  "Sorry. I just don't think it's CPD's business where I spend my time."

  "Maybe not, but when your vehicle was seen three days running in the vicinity of a crime victim's home, we're sure as hell going to ask any and all questions we damn well need to ask. No law against that, is there?"

  "No, ma'am. I didn't mean--"

  "Forget it. Have you been to Belmont hospital recently?"

  "No. I've never even set foot in Belmont."

  "You didn't go to the pediatrics floor in the past week?"

  "Is this about a kidnapping? Jesus, you've really got the wrong guy."

  "How do you know it was a kidnapping?"

  "Well, I--I--"

  "Mr. Baedeker, my partner in the back seat, has a DNA collection kit. Will you give us permission just to take a sample of your hair from the back of your head?"

  "Sure, just don't make a huge mess, that's all."

  O'Reilly immediately plucked several hairs and tucked them inside a sample jar before the subject could change his mind.

  "What's it all about?"

  "Just being cautious, Mr. Baedeker. Now, would you mind taking us to your home and letting us look around?"

  "Yes, I mind. Get a warrant."

  Baedeker's face had suddenly clouded over, and his voice dropped an octave. Clearly, he was no longer the innocent, cooperative owner of a lube shop. His entire demeanor had changed with McMann's request.

  "We can do that. We can get that warrant."

  "Good. Just let me out of here."

  "No, I think I'll keep you right here with me, Mr. Baedeker, while Detective O'Reilly obtains the warrant. Or do I need to lock you up for my own safety while we execute the warrant?"

  "Hey, I won't be a problem. How about letting me hang around my shop while you do this."

  "Fair enough. You still living in the 1800 block of Howard in Niles?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm going to have an officer posted outside your home in about five minutes. Do not go there or attempt to go there until we have executed our search warrant. Do you understand me?"

  "I'll just stay here at the shop until you say so. I've got paperwork to catch up."

  "Really? Where do you do that paperwork?"

  "Usually in my car."

  "Where is your car?"

  "Out front."

  "What are you driving?"

  “A Toyota. Where’s my Escalade?”

  “Police yard. Why do you ask?”

  “I’d like to drive it.”

  "But you told us you sold it."

  "Not until the check clears, officer."

  "So you're still driving it, the title's still in your name, but you want us to believe you've sold it?"

  "That's why I haven't been driving it the past several days. The new owner was testing it out."

  "Wait. Why didn't you tell me you haven't been driving it the past several days?"

  Baedeker spread his hands. All color was drained from his face.

  "Because you didn't ask."

  "And who is this purchaser of your vehicle?"

  "A woman I know. She works at the Kit-Kat Klub on Ina Road."

  "She's a stripper?"

  "A dancer. She would prefer 'dancer’.”

  "Well, I can appreciate that. So, 'dancer' it is. What's her name?"

  "She goes by Hermione. That's her name around the Kat."

  "Do you know her real name?"

  "Nancy Callender."

  "Where is she now?"

  "Probably at the Kat working the pole. She makes two grand a night there."

  "What is she to you?"

  "She's going to be my wife. I hope."

  McMann leaned back against the door on her side. She studied Grant Baedeker for several minutes.

  Then, "Let me take a wild-ass guess here, Mr. Baedeker. Does your friend Nancy Callender know Melissa Sellars?"

  "Who's she?"

  "The victim's mother."

  "Where does she work?"

  "Executive producer on Laura in Chicago.”

  "That must be it. Hermione was a guest on Laura about a month ago. They did a thing on exotic dancers, and Hermione demonstrated her pole technique. She was dressed, of course."

  "And that's where she met Melissa Sellars?"

  "Hey, you said that, not me."

  "Damn right I said that. O'Reilly?"

  "I'm on my way."

  "Mr. Baedeker. You know what' s expected? If you leave the premises before I tell you it's okay, you will be immediately arrested and thrown in jail. Are we clear?"

  "Totally clear."

  With that, Baedeker and O’Reilly climbed out of McMann's Impala and O'Reilly climbed into the next car over and headed for the Kit-Kat Klub and a conversation with Nancy Callender aka Hermione. McMann watched as Baedeker hurried back inside his lube shop. Then she backed out and hit her sirens and lights.

  She had an appointment with a judge who didn't know it yet.

  A warrant was needed. A warrant followed by a search of Baedeker's home.

  Then a conversation with Melissa Sellars.

  If Hermione remembered Melissa, then Melissa would very likely remember Hermione aka Nancy Callender.

  McMann felt like she had just fit one piece of a vast puzzle to another.

&n
bsp; Then she was running Code 3 eastbound on the 290. Dispatch had a judge waiting with an Assistant State's Attorney.

  The warrant was waiting for her testimony.

  10

  I welcomed my in-laws at 4:35 p.m. Charlie Sellars was a strapping ox of a man whose company built steel boilers. His wife, Rebecca, was a fiery woman with a sharp tongue and penchant for shopping on Michigan Avenue too much. They lived in Glencoe, a North Shore Chicago suburb of about nine thousand people, located north of Evanston, north of Winnetka, in a kind of isolation close to the beach and heart-stopping restaurants. Coming to my home represented a huge drop in home prices but Charlie, an old-school Democrat, and a man of the people felt right at home.

  Their driver brought their bags into my guest bedroom and then returned to the family Rolls. He was told to find someplace nearby to put himself up for the night. The man always carried a change of clothes and toiletries in his bag; such requests for overnight stopovers were more and more frequent now that Charlie Sellars was semi-retired and had taken to a little more traveling around.

  They were on their second lemonade in my kitchen when the front doorbell rang.

  "That should be Colonel Eustice," Charlie said. "Let me get it."

  He returned minutes later with a white-haired, closely shaved, neat-as-a-pin man who walked like a soldier on review.

  "This is Colonel Johns V. Eustice, Melissa. The Colonel is a friend of mine. He's retired Army Intelligence with a stint in the Corps of Engineers as well. He's helped me out several times with internal security matters. The Colonel will be taking over the search for my granddaughter. The police department has been notified. They retain custody of the case, of course, but they are on notice the Colonel is running a parallel investigation."

  "What--what--" I stuttered. "You should have asked me about this, Charlie. No offense, Colonel, but I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this."

  "Hell, daughter," cried Charlie Sellars, "nobody's comfortable! But our baby girl is missing, and that calls for doubling-down. It's the only way to handle these things."

  "Really? How many missing-persons cases have you handled, Charles?" asked Rebecca. "You talk like a goddam war hero yourself. That hoo-rah crap is what got our boy killed, and I want it stopped immediately. Melissa, we didn't come here to interfere. I'm going to ask the Colonel to back out politely and leave this to the police."

  "No can do, ma'am," said the Colonel. "With all due respect, my men are already fanned out through the city giving this case everything we've got. Besides, Charlie hired me, not you."

  Rebecca's eyes narrowed at the Colonel. "But Charlie answers to me, got it?"

  Colonel Eustice's eyes shifted between the Mrs. and the Mr. He wasn't sure which way to jump.

  "You know what?" I suddenly interjected, "I kind of like the idea of a parallel investigation. I'm glad the Colonel is here to help. You may stay, Colonel and thank you for coming. Thanks to you, too, Charlie, for making this happen. Rebecca, the decision is mine as I'm Lisa's mother. Please respect me in this."

  Rebecca turned her head away in a huff. I knew that she was going to be difficult. I had forgotten since their last visit just how difficult my mother-in-law actually was. Now I remembered why they weren't invited for overnights all that often.

  "First thing I want to do is view your daughter's room, Mrs. Sellars," the Colonel said, already far down the road on stay or go. "I need a sense of who she is."

  "Are you serious?" I asked. "She’s just four years old, Colonel. She really isn't somebody yet."

  "Don't get me wrong, Mrs. Sellars, but I have a special sixth sense about these cases. Please humor me."

  I couldn't hide my confusion. Was the man serious that he had a special sixth sense? Or was that just a manner of speaking? I honestly didn't know, but I decided that his viewing Lisa's room couldn't hurt anything. Who could tell, it might even help. At least he said it would, and right then I was so terrified about news that could come any minute about my daughter that the Colonel's request was a very minor sidelight. I showed him back to Lisa's bedroom and left him there. His request.

  Returning to the kitchen, I picked up my phone and noticed a new message. My heart jumped, and I shakily sank back down into the chair I'd occupied since last night. My hands jittered and jumped as I worked the icons to bring up the message. Rye, New York, Coroner's Office, said the sender's ID. I knew I was about to see the picture of a dead girl when I punched the jpg icon. With a deep breath and a silent prayer, I opened the file.

  The picture wasn't all that clear, and the girl's face was severely bruised. But I studied it and then passed the phone silently across the table to Charlie. He took one look, looked away, and passed the phone to Rebecca. She was able to give the photograph more consideration, turning the phone this way and that. Then, "This isn't Lisa. No way it could be."

  "Concur," said Charlie.

  "I agree," I said. "Pass it back, and I'll message them."

  Rebecca handed over the phone, and I typed a message that was half condolences and half commentary about the child not being mine. I sent it off and hung my head as tears came into my eyes, and I shook with relief. "My God," I muttered. "Dear my God."

  Five minutes passed in silence, followed by the doorbell chiming again. I excused myself.

  Bundled in a heavy parka was McMann, who had left her car running, lights on, at the top of the circle drive.

  "Come in!" I greeted her and stood aside.

  "Only got a minute."

  "Would you like to come in and meet Lisa's grandparents?"

  "Nope. Can't stay. Just have a question."

  "Okay. We can talk right here."

  "About a month ago a stripper appeared on your show. Her professional name is Hermione, and her real name is Nancy Callender. Does that ring a bell?"

  "The show with the strippers, yes. It was a very popular show, and everyone in the audience received swag from Victoria's Secret. Even the men."

  "The woman I'm talking about was a pole dancer. Remember any such thing?"

  "Yes, I do. She gave us a demonstration of her art. Dressed in shorts and a shirt."

  "She was driving the black SUV that was spotted in this neighborhood. I'm not saying she was driving it in this area, I'm saying she had access or custody of the vehicle about that same time."

  "How do we know this?"

  "Grant Baedeker. Turns out he's selling the Escalade to this pole dancer. She works at the Kit-Kat Klub."

  "Why would a pole dancer be in my neighborhood?"

  "Why? Because she learned about you while she was on the TV show. You're the show's executive producer, she put two-and-two together and decided you'd be hot to pay top dollar to get your daughter back. This is total conjecture, but it's my conjecture, and I'm feeling pretty good about it compared to all else we have to go on. So you do remember the incident, the woman on the show? But you don't remember her especially. Is that fair?"

  "Yes, that's exactly fair. It's making more sense. But one thing. Why haven't I got a call about ransom or a note or demand or something?"

  "It's still early in the case. That will come.”

  "I don't know how much longer I can wait."

  "I have a feeling we'll hear from the perp before you turn out the lights tonight. Just keep your phone lines open like I asked. And keep the faith, Melissa. I've got a good feeling about this one."

  "Honestly, you do? You're not just saying that again?”

  "No, I'm not just saying that. I really believe we'll get Lisa back all safe and sound. You develop instincts after awhile in my job."

  "Well, the first day is almost over."

  "Let's just ignore that. We're going to come out of this on top regardless of those old sayings about the first twenty-four hours and all that. Let's just stick to the script. Stay by the phone, answer and agree to anything he demands, call me immediately."

  "I'll do that."

  "Okay, gotta run. I'm going to Baedeker's place with a search
warrant. I'll call you when we're done."

  "Thank you. So much."

  "Okay, so long."

  "Goodbye for now."

  I watched my detective plod off through the ankle-deep snow. I wondered where my sidewalk man was. It wasn't like him not to come and clear the walks and driveway at least a couple of times that day. But so far, nothing. I hoped he was all right and just running late.

  Just as I was thinking about him, who should come through the front gate but the familiar SUV that my driveway man drove. A black SUV. With a snowplow on the front end.

  I shook my head and closed the door.

  I couldn't make everyone a suspect.

  11

  Kendra McMann ran lights and sirens full-on all the way out to Niles, the home of Grant Baedeker. While the man with the black SUV cooled his heels back at his lube shop, Detective McMann and three members of the CPD crime lab were set to go through every square inch of his residence in search of any trace of Lisa Sellars, now missing twenty hours.

  She pulled up in front of the address, a duplex--side-by-side--and waited for the crime lab van to arrive. When everybody was there and assembled, the head CSI took out his lock picks and had them inside the premises in thirty seconds.

  It was dark and smelled faintly of cannabis and damp. McMann was told to wait just inside while photographs were taken and the first round of vacuuming was performed. So, she did as she was told.

  When the photos were all snapped, and the vacuums turned off, McMann had her first look around. She then pulled on latex gloves. First stop, the refrigerator, and freezer where perps often hid money and drugs. If Baedeker had received money for his part in the kidnapping, McMann was determined to find out. She pulled open the doors and peered around inside. Then she opened the meat drawer and then the produce drawer. The man must not eat at home very much, she thought. Nothing in here but brown mold on the back reefer wall and a fifth of vodka in the freezer.

  She then located his bedroom. Up with the mattress and looked beneath. Then to the closet, where she dug her hands into the pockets of his trousers and windbreaker, another common hiding place. The CSI's would already have been inside the toilet tank, normally her third stop. Then something caught her eye. A Holy Bible, on the table next to his bed.