The Accidental Audience

by Faith Wood

  She dripped confidence.

  Colbie watched as she disappeared through the front door, then shifted her attention to the car next to her. The Outback was an older model, matching the description Ryan gave during their marathon brainstorming session. She pegged the car to be a ‘97 or ‘98, its passenger side rear bumper creased by something narrow and slender, and a long scratch etched the driver’s door. Clearly it was a car belonging to someone who cared little about its appearance—strange, especially since the young woman dressed with class.

  She scribbled down the license number knowing the guys on the force would run it immediately. As she pulled away, her Spidey sense alerted her to the necessity of further investigating the tall, sleek woman.

  Chapter 5

  Colbie stopped by the precinct on her way home. No sense waiting—if there were something interesting about the young woman in the green Outback, she wanted to know immediately. Her gut told her the woman knew something about Brian, but her brain held back. After all, she didn’t have anything concrete, and if it were anyone other than Sergeant Rifkin, her intuitive abilities wouldn’t count for much.

  She sat on the bench outside of his office, thinking about the tall woman.

  “I didn’t think we’d see you around here again—how’s retirement?” Alvin’s voice behind her grated on her nerves just as much as it did when she had to work with him.

  “I didn’t retire.”

  “Well, I figure it amounts to the same thing.”

  “My life . . .”

  Rifkin’s door opened, signaling her to enter. Sarge never escorted anyone through the door, inviting them to sit down. If the door opened, that was the cue to get her ass in there, and don’t waste his time.

  “Gotta go!” Grabbing her purse, she headed for the door.

  Alvin’s annoyance was clear—he needed more time to grill Colbie about Brian. News of Brian’s disappearance grapevined through the precinct and, even though he could care less about her boyfriend, it was wise to be up on important cases. Based only on the fact that Colbie was in Rifkin’s good favor, it was a given that anything to do with her or Brian was going to be top priority. At least for a while.

  “I hope you find him . . .”

  “How do you know about that?” Colbie pivoted, squarely facing her long-time adversary.

  “Everybody knows—any luck?” Colbie couldn’t quite grasp his sincerity, and she wasn’t sure it suited him well.

  “No—nothing yet.”

  “I’m sorry . . . well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  You’re sorry? Colbie muttered her thanks, stunned at Alvin’s concern. But before he had a chance to say more, his cell vibrated—he gestured goodbye and dismissed Colbie with an arrogant wave, answering only after she was out of earshot.

  “Hey, Baby . . .”

  Rifkin impatiently motioned Colbie in and closed the door behind her, watching closely as she chose a familiar chair.

  “What?” He knew that look.

  “What do you mean, ‘what?’”

  “You always chew your lip when you feel something, and you were chewing your lip just now. What’s buggin’ you?”

  “I don’t know—something is off.” Her conversation with Alvin quickly rewound in her brain.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing—I chew my lip?”

  “Yes. Now, why are you here?”

  Colbie launched into a recap of her surveillance of the parking lot, the green Outback, and the stylish woman.

  “Plate number?”

  “Colorado 758 XDN.”

  “Colorado? Interesting—I wonder what she’s doing here?”

  “I don’t know, but she’s interesting enough that running the number might be just what we need to learn something about Brian.”

  Rifkin agreed, rapped on the glass, and held up a piece of paper containing the license number. The officer on the other side acknowledged, copied the number, and turned to his computer—within moments, he was knocking on Rifkin’s door.

  “It’s registered to a Nicole Remington. Age thirty-five. Blonde.” The officer handed Rifkin the information, waiting for further instructions. At Rifkin’s direction the officer retreated, closing the door quietly behind him.

  “Well? What do you think?” Colbie couldn’t wait for Rifkin’s response. “May I?” The sergeant handed her the printout.

  “That’s her. She has bright pink—kind of a cherry color—in her hair now, but that’s the only difference. I figured she’s in her thirties. She’s tall, but holy crap—5’ 11”? She was over six feet in those heels!”

  “You know we don’t have any reason to investigate her, right? All you know is she was late to work, and that’s not exactly the best reason to launch an investigation. You don’t even know if she were late—could be she was right on time. And, you don’t know if she knows Brian . . .”

  “I know. I know! But, I feel it. Somehow, there’s a connection, and I think we need to dig deeper into . . .” Colbie glanced at the printout. “. . . Nicole Remington.”

  “Okay. For now, we’ll keep an eye on her. But, if within a week we don’t have anything, we’ll need to move on. You know that.”

  “I know. That’s okay. I’ll do an investigation of my own, and I’ll keep you apprised of what I learn about our mystery woman.”

  “Mystery woman?”

  “Yep. I’m thinking there’s much to learn about Nicole Remington—I know there is.”

  Agreeing to keep in touch, Colbie left Rifkin’s office with renewed motivation and resolve to find out about the woman driving the green Outback, and how she connected to Brian. Maybe she doesn’t have anything to do with it, she thought as she pulled onto the street.

  Then again, maybe she does.

  There was no avoiding it—Colbie had to contact Brian’s parents and sister about his disappearance. She never did get in touch with his mom and dad the week before, and the conversation with his sister didn’t go well. Even so, she owed it to Brian to do as much as possible, and she knew he would want her to reach out to his family.

  She dialed.

  “Good morning. May I speak to Mr. Cauldwell, please?”

  The voice on the other end spoke in broken English making it difficult for Colbie to understand, and after a few minutes of getting nowhere she gave up, no wiser about how to get in touch with Brian’s parents. She left her cell number with the housekeeper, knowing she wouldn’t hear from her. Now, with hope gone for Brian’s parents informing his sister, she took a deep breath, and pressed enter to connect. His sister’s phone rang five times before patching into voicemail. Colbie left a message, stressing her concern about Brian, and asked for a return call as soon as possible.

  Now, she was on her own. Knowing the workings of a police precinct, she understood help from her fellow officers would decrease soon, and eventually Brian would fall off the grid. As of now, she had to do as much as possible, as soon as possible, and she’d start by staking out Nicole Remington.

  She eased left onto a city street lined with Victorian brownstones and bare-branched trees. Still early spring, trees were only thinking about budding—but Colbie imagined the street when trees were in full bloom. Impressive, she thought. And, expensive!

  Several years passed since she was in that part of town as an officer investigating a domestic dispute, and it changed little since then—the only differences in the row houses were varying shades of brick caused by years of weathering. Yet, it was a pricey area, making her wonder what Nicole Remington did for a living, and how she could afford such extravagant digs.

  Inching the car down the narrow street, she scanned each brownstone for the address she memorized when in Rifkin’s office. Officers at the precinct wanted to help as much as possible, but the fact was
they had old and new cases to investigate, and it would only be a matter of a couple of weeks before they put Brian on the back burner. It was up to her to generate leads in an effort to keep the officers engaged and in her corner.

  Colbie skillfully maneuvered into a small parallel parking spot only slightly up from her targeted address—a perspective from which she could see the comings and goings of nearly everyone on the block. A shadowy feeling nudged her to believe the row of brownstones would be the first break in the case—how and why she didn’t know. But, she felt it.

  She settled in for a long wait, rifling through her purse for a sandwich bag filled with peanuts. As an officer, whenever a stakeout was necessary she expected to miss meals, so peanuts and a couple of slices of cheese kept her going. Same deal for her current surveillance. It was already four o’clock, and she suspected Ms. Remington would show up sometime after five—if she were lucky. Having a bite to eat now meant she could wait several hours in her car if she had to—still without guarantees her suspect would come home.

  Questions knotting in her mind, she jotted them down as they came to her—how can she afford such an expensive place? Who pays for it? Does she pay for it on her own? If someone pays rent for her, then who? Who owns the building? Clearly, her suspect must earn a hefty salary in order to afford such a high caliber residence. The understated elegance of the brownstone fit her Ms. Remington’s personality—what she knew of it so far, anyway. The cut of her clothes. The expertly applied color in her hair. The way she walked. Each belied a born elegance and breeding—if she did have something to do with Brian’s disappearance, it wasn’t a slipshod operation. It probably took money—and, connections.

  That thought concerned her.

  It was a risk, and Colbie hoped she had enough time to check out the names by the building’s intercom callboxes before Remington got home. The street wasn’t brightly lit, nor was the entrance to Remington’s flat—better for sleuthing. In less than a minute, she stood in front of the list of names seeking confirmation of Remington’s living there. Let’s see—Brownburg, Jamison, Carson, Marshall, Vincent, Remington. Pay dirt! Colbie memorized the list of names, and hurried back to her car to settle in for what could be a long evening.

  Before long, residents trickled in and lights flickered on, sheer curtains drawn to protect privacy. It wasn’t until five o’clock that Ms. Remington zipped into a parking space four down from her front door.

  Different car.

  This one was a late model BMW the color of melted milk chocolate, meant for taking corners at high speed, thereby eluding anyone who may be in pursuit. Colbie knew little about cars, but she knew enough to know the car cost bucks. Lots of bucks. Ms. Remington’s wasn’t the type of car afforded by a moderate budget, so she obviously made a mint in her job, came from money, or both.

  Colbie scrunched down in her seat just enough to maintain a view of her target and the brownstones as the suspect took her time getting out of the car, chatting on her cell and completely unaware of any surveillance. Colbie previously lowered the driver’s side window a tad to avoid fogging, and she clearly heard Remington’s voice as she passed in front of Colbie’s car.

  “Friday? I think that works . . .”

  Excellent! Plans for Friday! Catching that snippet of conversation provided another link to the case—who was she meeting? Are they involved in a personal relationship? Business? Colbie watched as Remington energetically mounted the steps of the brownstone. Odd, Colbie thought. I don’t have that much energy when I finish a day’s work—did she work today?

  A fine drizzle froze on her windshield as the temp plunged below freezing. Such cold temperatures in early spring weren’t unusual, but Mother Nature’s timing could use a little work—the defrost worked only sometimes, and within a couple of minutes damp condensation formed on all windows. By five-thirty, it was time to pack it in. It wasn’t a sure bet Remington was going to stick around in her brownstone for the rest of the evening and, with the weather turning, she figured there wasn’t much more she could do that evening—until Remington emerged from the brownstone looking like a model from the best red-carpet runways.

  Colbie’s suspect crammed a letter into the outgoing mailbox, flitted down the steps, eventually folding herself into the BMW. A call on her cell. Checking her makeup in the rear view mirror. Seatbelt. Colbie scrunched further in her seat as Remington eased the sports car from the tight parking space with precision. She’s driven that car before, Colbie thought as the car moved toward the end of the street. Again, her thoughts raced as she considered how the lovely Ms. Remington could afford such luxuries. The car. The brownstone. The sleek, polished style. Perhaps all was not as it seemed—a possible sugar daddy for the long-legged lady? Colbie’s increasing questions warranted further investigation, and she couldn’t wait to discuss the little she knew with Rifkin. But, would her findings be enough to keep her fellow officers on the case? All she could do was hope . . .

  She pulled out after the BMW, hoping Remington didn’t recognize her car as the one beside her in the parking lot where Ryan dropped off Brian. She stayed just far enough behind as not to arouse suspicion, following for a little more than ten miles outside the city, and into a rural area. Where the hell are we? She thought she knew most of the areas outside the metro because of her time on the force, but these roads were unfamiliar—so many turns. Unless a person happened upon the spot by mistake, there was a scant chance of finding it.

  Colbie slowed to a crawl as the BMW pulled into a long lane flanked by bare trees and winter crocuses poking through remnants of snow. Within moments Remington curved out of sight, forcing Colbie’s hand to follow or not. Pursuit at this point was a recipe for disaster—a risk Colbie couldn’t take.

  In the waning light, desperation surrounded her. A cold prairie punctuated with clumps of trees lay before her, lending to the feeling of hopelessness snaking through her body. Except, it wasn’t her hopelessness.

  It was Brian’s.

  Colbie eyelids fluttered, and in her mind’s eye she viewed Brian tied to a straight-backed chair, his head drooping lifelessly against his chest. She felt his misery. His anguish. His despair. The vision intensified as he moved through her, his life force weak and on the precipice of death.

  Time was running out.

  His parents flew in from Spain as soon as they heard the news their boy was missing, his sister a no-show. She had the courtesy to send Colbie a text explaining her reasons for staying put—her parents could hold down the fort and, besides, what could she do except hold their hands? To her, the whole thing smacked of babysitting, and it really wasn’t her style. All Colbie could do was text her with new information, but the truth was her texts would matter little, and she was beginning to think Brian and his sister weren’t really related.

  As her investigation entered its second week, interest in the case at the precinct was beginning to fade. Colbie caught wind of a rumor circulating through the various departments that Brian couldn’t stand being with her anymore, and simply split the sheets. Oh, there were a couple of the guys who still had him on the radar, but by the tenth day of his disappearance, Colbie sensed she was on her own.

  Ryan distanced himself, as well. Private conversations with his friend several weeks ago revealed a mounting dissatisfaction in Brian’s personal life, but he didn’t go so far as to mention making alternative living arrangements. Even so, Ryan entertained the idea it was possible for his friend to make himself scarce until he decided on a course of action. Still . . . it wasn’t like Brian to take such a cowardly way out. It was more like him to face the conflict head on, and deal with the fallout like a man. No, there was an element of truth in Colbie’s words, so he requested she keep him regularly apprised of her progress. But, that didn’t mean he had to spend much time with her.

  So, there she was—solo. Colbie’s first surveillance op on Nic
ole Remington didn’t yield much—all she really knew was Remington had expensive taste in cars and fashion. And, she visited someone out in the boonies. Colbie didn’t dare follow her down the lane for fear of being discovered, but she did make a visit to the City Planner and Zoning Office to pull the plat for the address and surrounding area. She also knew Remington had plans for Friday, offering another opportunity to gather additional pieces to the puzzle. Deep in her gut she knew Remington was in it up to her eyeballs, and she wasn’t going to quit until Brian was safe.

  Chapter 6

  Friday dawned as unsettled as days previous—drizzle, fog, and spitting snow made for good reasons to stay inside, but that was impossible. Colbie still wasn’t sure of Nicole Remington’s employment, and her vision warned of passing time as well as an undesirable result. It was imperative she confirm Remington’s working in the parking lot building—if she didn’t work there, Colbie had much more on her plate. More surveilling. Longer hours. Less time.

  No matter how long she stood at the bathroom mirror that morning, her reflection remained static. Prominent charcoal-colored circles creating a hollowed look to her already thin face belied her confidence that neither police nor she would locate Brian before it was too late. Brian’s parents turned out to be totally worthless when it came to adding a beneficial contribution to the search. After spending time with them, Colbie speculated about where Brian got his intelligence—perhaps genes way down the line. But, in an effort to maintain her sanity, she promised to keep in touch with them throughout each day as assurance of progress. When it came down to it, Colbie and a few cops were the only investigators on the case.