Something told her not to mention the rest of what she’d heard through the door, as he put down the cassette and moved with a kind of menace around the desk. “Look, there’s nothing you can do about any of this. And I want you and your hysteria out of here. I’ll handle this.”
“You’ll handle it?” she screamed. “Goddamn it, Steven, she’s my daughter! She came from this body. I want to hear all of what’s on that tape!”
They were close now, and he ducked his face only inches from hers.
“You’re talking nonsense. Now get out of here before you get hurt.”
Without giving ground, she turned to her father-in-law. “Before I get hurt! That’s some boy you got there, Dad. How can you sit there and say nothing when he threatens me like that? You’re as evil as everybody says you are. You’re both scum!”
Her husband slapped her hard across the face, then shoved her and followed as she reeled back toward the doorway. “You ever talk to either of us like that again, and I’ll kill you. Now get out, and don’t come back.”
She was stunned for a moment, pain and then numbness spreading across her left eye. He had never struck her before. But now he was close enough to land another blow, and she backed away, glaring at him between her hands, raised in front of her face, with fear and rage.
Turning to leave, she glimpsed his father staring stoically into a corner.
Chapter 57
With the door and both office windows boarded up, there were no lights visible at the old Giordano cheese plant as it sat silent in the summer darkness. The black Ford was parked close to the building.
Inside the office he lounged on the couch with a single light on, a floor lamp glowing over his shoulder as he jotted in the red spiral notebook a list of things to do. They included: “Groceries—for Megan: hot dogs, buns, mustard, bologna, white bread, ketchup, potato chips, root beer.” Finally stretching out on the couch, he put the notebook and pen on the floor, reached back to snap off the floor lamp and stared at the dark.
Behind the padlocked bathroom door a Donald Duck nightlight glowed softly in a corner. On the cot Megan curled herself in a tight ball, her eyes wide open.
Chapter 58
Tense with anxiety and impatience, she lay on her daughter’s bed waiting for those three electronic digits to line up on Megan’s Sony clock radio. The three and two zeros aligned would be her moment of release, her permit to join the battle, to fight back with all the strength and cunning she could muster.
Her husband and his father had come up to bed just before two, Steven to their bedroom and the old man to what they called the guest suite, but which really belonged to her father-in-law, the closet filled with his clothes, his personal belongings on the shelves and in the drawers. Still in her dressing gown on the narrow bed, she had faced away from the door, knowing her husband would soon leave their bedroom to check on her before trying to sleep.
A few minutes later, hearing his step in the hall and the door to this room opening, she had felt her body go rigid with fear, no longer certain of what this man might do. Her breath held tightly, even though he’d surely be more easily reassured by deep, even breathing, she had fought off terrifying images of a knife in his hand and her gown soaked with blood.
The door had finally closed, followed by the sound of his walk back to their room, and she had breathed again.
Now the wait for three, zero, zero. Ever since her banishment, with eyes wide open and tears long since dry, she had thought meticulously about every step, every move she would make. Steven usually had no trouble sleeping and, once in bed, was not likely to rise again until the morning. His father was much more likely to prowl during the night, his sleep disturbed by the aches and pains of age, or by who knew what qualms of conscience or horrific memories. But the guest room was at the opposite end of the hall, and despite constant vigilance she had heard not a solitary sound. With any luck, even if he were awake, she could negotiate the staircase without alerting the old man.
Three, zero, zero. She was up from the bed quickly, her senses keen, to leave the room. Every move—closing the door, turning the handle so there was no click, walking with bare feet in the carpeted, low-lit hallway—no matter how normally inconsequential, she executed with special care.
On the darkened staircase, she reminded herself to move slowly down the outside curve where the steps were wider and, she knew, the small creaks were less frequent. Even so, those tiny noises reverberated in her brain. She could only hope they were much louder there, than in the silence of this big house. She ignored the urge to move faster, to get the descent over sooner.
When she reached the bottom, she turned, half expecting to find Steven or her father-in-law at the railing above, pointing a gun at her. There was no one. She moved quickly toward the soft light coming from the den. It was unlike Steven to leave a light on. Maybe she’d missed something, dozed for a minute while he had returned downstairs. Maybe he was sitting there behind his desk, waiting for her. She moved forward, nonetheless, and peered into the room. It was empty.
Closing the door behind her, she moved to the tape deck in the cabinet behind the desk. Pushing the eject button, she found no cassette in the machine. She tried the large tape container with four drawers on a self nearby and searched them carefully. Having checked every tape, she gazed around the room, then sat at the desk and began trying drawers.
Slowly, carefully, she pulled each one open, examined its contents, then pushed it closed. Finally, she tried the large drawer on the lower right and, as she expected from past experience, could not open it. She tried again more vigorously. Obviously it was locked, but with no keyhole and no apparent way to open it.
Leaning down in the chair to check the desk’s underside, she looked for a lever, a button, something that looked like it shouldn’t be there. Nothing. Perhaps the sides. No. And finally every square inch of the top, moving everything—a calendar, his penholder, the blotter. Again nothing. Leaning back in the chair, she very slowly surveyed the room. She had prepared herself to be stymied this way, puzzled and frustrated. She had expected it. So now she gave herself a silent exhortation: Stay calm, let your imagination roam, put yourself inside Steven’s head, be absolutely determined.
Despite the little speech, nothing in this room suggested itself for further scrutiny. The knife-edge of panic began to press against her.
Then for some reason, on the shelf to her right, perhaps because to her eye it seemed slightly out of place, too close to the edge and too far from the photos of Steven’s parents, she found her gaze resting on the carved rhino in the business suit and carrying an attaché case.
Steven had decorated and furnished this room himself, and in fact she had never spent much time in it. Once, a year ago he had been out of town with, she was quite certain, female entertainment, and she had rummaged through this desk, not really sure what to look for and perhaps not really wanting to find it. That lower right hand drawer had been locked then as well.
She had never really taken a good look at the rhino, and, curious now, she reached up to lift it off the shelf. In her hand it was heavier than she expected.
Looking closely at the dark carved wood, she focused on the rhino’s head with its large horned snout. Was this how Steven saw himself? A tough, rugged beast in the civilized armor of corporate America? As she stared at the head, she finally noticed a very fine line around its thick neck. Did that mean the head moved? She tried twisting it clockwise. It didn’t budge. Then without thinking, as she was about to place it back on the shelf, she twisted it back.
The head moved smoothly and easily, and her eyes widened as the attaché case popped open. Glancing up at the den’s closed door, then down at the open case and its small button ready to be pressed, she waited for a few seconds for her husband to barge into the room. When that did not happen, she put a finger on the button and pushed firmly.
A soft thud came from inside the desk. Could this be? Could she trust her hearing? Carefull
y pressing the button again, this time she heard a snap. One more press of the button and it was the thud again. Her heart beating fast, she reached down and tried the large lower right hand drawer.
It slid out easily. And there, tucked in next to a metal cash box, was the red-labeled cassette she had seen in her husband’s hand just hours ago. On the label she read in somebody’s handwriting, “Listen Carefully.”
Short of breath, she reached in, took the cassette and pushed the drawer closed. Should she check the cashbox? No, she can do that later. She pushed the button, heard the snap and, closing the tiny attaché case, put the rhino back on the shelf.
With the cassette in a pocket in her gown, she left for the trip back to Megan’s room.
Upstairs, behind her daughter’s closed door, she opened both tape compartments of the Sony player/recorder, placed the red-labeled cassette in one and a new white-labeled cassette in the other. Knowing she will not breathe normally again until the red-labeled tape was back in her husband’s desk, she pushed both the play and record buttons with the sound set so low it was barely audible.
“Listen to this carefully, because these are the conditions for your daughter’s safe return...”
Chapter 59
At 8:35 Thursday morning Anna was working at the sink as Catherine, with maybe two hours sleep, walked into the kitchen and looked out a window toward the backyard.
“Anna, have Mr. Monelli and his father left yet?”
“Si, Signora, a little time ago.”
Catherine turned from the window. “Just leave the sink for now. There’s a lot of ironing to do in the basement.”
“Si, signora.”
Not that she really had to worry about Anna. But now that she had finally decided what she needed to do, after hours of nervous, dry-mouthed wrestling with it, she wanted no one anywhere near her when she made the call.
Chapter 60
In the Nova, as he drove up Woodward toward Tex’s Unisex Barber Shop on another of the city’s failing commercial strips, the phone did its musical flutter.
“Charlie Watts.”
He listened for a while and slowed the Nova as the signal light ahead turned amber. “All right. I’ll meet you in front of the fountain in a half-hour.”
As Charlie brought the car to a stop, he watched a woman on the corner hit an old man in the head with her purse and then kick him in the ankle. “Okay, see you then.”
Chapter 61
On this quiet back highway, he’d seen maybe 10 other cars and small trucks over the past two days. And it was empty again as he neared the cheese factory and listened to the news on the Ford’s static-laced radio. Again no mention of a missing girl or a kidnapping. He slowed as he approached the turn off, then swung in and stopped in front of the gate. Out of the car he walked up to unlock and push it open. As he turned back to the Ford, he spotted a police car coming from the opposite direction on the road’s weathered gray pavement.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered with fear in his throat. Then he quickly told himself to look busy and act like he belonged here. If he didn’t even look at the car, and the cop would just pass right on by. But within a few seconds his stomach sank as the car—actually it was a Macomb County Sheriff’s cruiser—slowed and turned in to park behind the Ford. The deputy climbed out of the cruiser and walked over.
“Morning.” He was tall, middle-aged, with an amiable face, but he wasn’t smiling.
His stomach churning, John tried to look and sound friendly. “Hi, how you doin’?”
“Okay. This your property?”
“Yeah, it is. Well, it’s my mother’s really.”
The cop tipped his hat back a bit and cocked his head. “I haven’t seen you out here before. Haven’t seen anybody out here. And I been coverin’ this area almost ten years.”
“Yeah, well, we haven’t done anything with it for a long time. Maybe twelve or fourteen years.”
The deputy nodded. “What is it back there? Can’t really tell from the road.”
John turned to look at the building, hardly visible through the brush and trees. “Just a big old empty building. At one time it was a cheese factory. Back when my father used to run it. But he died, and we just never did anything with it.”
“A cheese factory. You starting it up again?” The guy sounded interested, as if he liked the idea.
“No, I’m a teacher. I’ve been coming out here lately to clean it up a little. Thinking maybe we could sell it or something.”
The deputy smiled for the first time. “Yeah, well, it would make a great hide-out for somebody up to no good. You know, hidden away back there.”
John laughed nervously. “Yeah, I guess so. Never thought of that.”
The deputy tugged his hat down and turned back to the cruiser. “Well, there’s a cop for you. Always suspicious. Anyway, have a good day. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah, you too. Thanks.” He watched as the deputy backed the cruiser on the shoulder and drove off.
Feeling damp all over, he got into the Ford and rolled through the open gate.
Chapter 62
On Belle Isle in the middle of the Detroit River, the large, discolored white marble fountain flowed erratically, some parts of it working fine, others not at all, while a few small children, watched by their mothers, waded in dirty, ankle-deep water. On one park bench a man was on his back with a newspaper over his head, and on another a pair of female lovers were necking. On a third sat Charlie. When he saw the woman with a purse on a strap over her shoulder striding briskly toward him, he got to his feet.
She offered no greeting. “Have you been followed today?”
“I made sure I wasn’t.”
As they both sat on the bench, she asked, “Have I? I mean, is anyone watching us?”
Charlie looked around casually. “Not that I can tell.”
“What about that man under the paper?”
“He was here before I got here. What’s this all about?”
The woman dug in her purse. “The ransom demands are not what my husband told you. I want you to know what they are, so you can have the best possible chance to find my daughter. That’s all I care about. I want her home safe with me.”
Charlie looked into her purse as she groped in it. “So what are the real demands?”
After another moment of searching, she found the white-labeled cassette, palmed it and placed her hand on the bench between them. “It’s all on this cassette. It’s a copy of the one the kidnapper gave my husband.”
Charlie put his hand over hers, feeling it tremble before she moved it away. He slipped the cassette into the pocket of his slacks. “What else can you tell me?”
“Nothing.” Catherine got up. “I don’t know why I trust you. I guess because there’s no one else I can turn to.”
With Charlie also on his feet now, she gazed at him intensely with moist blue eyes. “Please find my daughter.”
“I’ll do what I can.” He looked more closely at the area around one of those eyes. There was a lot of make up he had not noticed last night. “Are you all right?”
She stared at him for a second. “Yes, why?”
“Looks like maybe somebody hit you.”
“He did, but it was worth it. I got that tape.”
He nodded and watched as she turned and walked away. His gaze followed her until she got into the gray BMW and drove off. Then he did a slow, careful sweep of the area as he moved back to the Nova.
Chapter 63
In the bathroom that was her jail she sat on the cot and listened as a car door slammed. She heard footsteps leading to the office door, the sounds of the door being unlocked and opened, then closed and locked again from the inside. She listened as a paper bag was placed somewhere, then more footsteps in the office to the bathroom door, and the door being unlocked and opened. Still sitting on the cot, she glared at him standing in the doorway.
“Hi,” he said. “Com’on out. I got you the things you said yo
u like to eat.”
He stepped back to encourage her to leave her cell, but she didn’t move.
“Hey, if it isn’t the Jerk-off Creep.”
He shook his head glumly. “So instead of reading one of the books I gave you, you spend your time coming up with stupid names.”
And then he noticed those half-dozen books she had kicked all over the floor. And the one she had guessed was his personal favorite, The Catcher in the Rye, with all the dumb notes written in the margins, was more or less destroyed, pages ripped off the spine and some of them now in small pieces.
He looked very unhappy. “Now why would you do something like that?”
“Oh, and why would you just barge in on me like this?” She finally got up and walked out past him. “I could have been on the john with my pants down or something.”
He put the books back in a stack and started picking up the ripped apart pages. Finally, he gave it up. “Well, I’m sorry, but I guess you’re gonna have to put up with things like that.”
“Yeah, well, at least you could knock. That’s what any normal person would do.”
“Okay, from now on I’ll knock.”
She flounced down on the couch. “Maybe you want to catch me with my pants down.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He looked at her closely, as if wondering if she was serious.
“Yeah, well, some guys like to do things to little girls. Is that what you like? Is that why you’ve got me here?”
He looked very annoyed. “No, it’s not why I’ve got you here. But anyway, you’re hardly such an innocent little girl. I’ve seen you drinking and smoking and necking.”
She tossed her head back. “God, you’re disgusting! Spying on people is like totally disgusting.”
Admission of Guilt (The detroit im dyin Trilogy, Book 2) (The Detroit Im Dying Trilogy) Page 15