The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  I paused a second, asking myself the same question. For some reason, after I’d seen the pictures, I’d envisioned us operating our business in one of those spaces. I’d created a mental vignette. I’d quickly lost myself in how we’d be viewed in the San Antonio business community. But in reality, at my core, I didn’t care about that stuff. I cared about helping those who had no voice, the boys and girls who were suffering, privately or otherwise. Based upon the hell I endured during my seventeen-stop foster-home tour as a system kid, I only wanted children to feel safe while they figured out their lives. Perfection could be left up to others. It broke my heart every time I saw a child of any age neglected or abused…or even worse.

  “You’re right.”

  She did a double-take on me. “Did you just say I’m right?” she asked, poking her chest.

  “Ha-ha.” I tried to give her the evil eye, but it quickly turned into a smirk.

  Danny tapped his phone, ending his conversation. “Sorry about that.”

  “That’s okay,” I said, turning the laptop to face me while taking one last look at the pictures of my top choice. It even came with furnishings.

  Stop it, Ivy. Get your head out of the clouds.

  I cleared my throat. “That phone call gave me a moment to rethink which direction would be best for ECHO, for the kids we try to help.”

  “Hot damn!” He smacked his hands. “I was hoping you’d come around. I didn’t want to have to go to the trouble of working over some building manager just to get him to drop the price twenty percent and then you guys miss your rent three months down the line.”

  I bit the side of my cheek, just so I wouldn’t bite his head off.

  “Sorry if I offended you.”

  I tried to move past it. “Let’s hit the reset button and look at something I gave you in our original budget. Smaller, less opulent.”

  “Your original original budget?”

  I nodded. “Is that a problem?”

  “Not if you want office space in the slums of Mumbai, India.”

  I cocked my head. “Come on, Danny. We need something.”

  “Okay, I could have a couple of options. But you might have to meet me halfway.”

  “Halfway. And what will that take?”

  He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together on the same hand that he wore two gaudy rings. “Mullah. Straight cash, homey.”

  “That’s not what I meant. How much higher do I need to go? We’re doing well and all, but the business isn’t raining money.”

  A second later, I heard a metal clink and turned to see a white-haired man emptying a satchel onto our table. Cash quickly engulfed my laptop, and bills fluttered nose high.

  Cristina grabbed a bill and held it in front of my face. “I think we can get that office space now, Ivy.”

  The man whose lips curled inward pointed at me. “You’re Ivy Nash, and I want to hire you to find my grandson.”

  It was time to get down to business.

  5

  Before we engaged in any conversation about casework, I asked the gentleman to gather up the loose cash and stuff it back into his bag. He smacked his lips a couple of times, rocking back and forth in his scuffed boots, and then he finally began to scoop the bills into the bag. I motioned for Danny to join me near the front of the shop. I waved Cristina over as well.

  “Damn, ECHO is on a roll, baby,” Danny said, stomping a loafer against the floor. “I’m happy as hell for you, Ivy.”

  “What about me?” Cristina said, taking a step forward.

  “Yeah, you too, I suppose,” he said.

  I jumped in before it got out of hand. “You mentioned a couple of options?”

  “Sure did. I was on the phone with an agent buddy of mine who has two properties that just hit the market. He thinks he’ll get offers within two, three days max.”

  I glanced at the man, whose name I still didn’t know, hunched over our booth, stuffing the cash back in his bag. His blue T-shirt had a line of sweat down the middle of the back, turning it a shade darker.

  “This one might take me a while,” I said, motioning to the older man. “But this is what bothers me. Having conversations about missing grandsons in a smoothie shop. It’s tough enough for loved ones to deal with this crap, and then to do it in public…that’s almost insulting.”

  “And it’s not really easy on us either,” Cristina added.

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “Will you go with Danny here and take a look at the two options he’s talking about?”

  Her big, brown eyes popped open. “Are you kidding?”

  “Whoa, ladies. Did I forget to shower or something?” He chuckled nervously.

  “There’s no problem,” I said, turning to Cristina. “Right?”

  Her eyes got even wider. “Ivy,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “It will be fine. You know we need this space.”

  “Why can’t I stay here with Gramps and get to the bottom of his case? You know I’m capable.”

  “You’ve got a lot of skills. That’s why I trust you to be my eyes and look at this space with Danny. Can you do this for me, please?”

  She pinched her nostrils shut and said, “Let’s go, Danny boy.”

  He shrugged his shoulders and followed her out the door.

  I flipped around and found the old man a foot in front of me, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Don’t you want my damn money?”

  “I’m sorry. I just needed to wrap up—”

  “Seven thousand two hundred forty-three dollars,” he said, patting the satchel. “This is all I have from Vera, my wife of fifty-six years.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he seemed to catch on to my misunderstanding.

  “Vera died four months ago after a long bout with double pneumonia. The insurance money just came in. And this is everything I’ve got. Seven grand. It’s yours…take it.” He thrust the bag at me.

  I held up my arms. “I’m sorry about your wife, but I’m not taking any money until we discuss your case. It’s not how I operate. I don’t even know your name.”

  “William P. Cooper.” He pronounced the last name like “Cupper,” and I guessed he was from the piney woods of east Texas.

  “That’s a good start, William. Thank you.”

  “Some people call me Will, some call me William. I guess you can call me William.”

  He seemed to be a little scattered. “Okay. William it is. Nice to meet you.”

  He lifted a feeble hand, his face scored with wrinkles like a dried-out plum. “Everything I’ve read, everyone I’ve talked to said I could trust you with my life.”

  “Thank you…I guess.”

  He shuffled a step closer, hoisting his bag of money higher on his shoulder. “But this isn’t about my life. I’m eighty-four, in bad health. I’m on my way out.” He pulled a red bandana from his back pocket and wiped a sheen of perspiration from his forehead. “This is about the most precious life of all, my ten-year-old grandson, Billy.”

  His namesake. I stayed quiet another moment.

  “Can I trust you to save my boy?” Tears welled in his eyes.

  I placed my hand on his elbow and guided him to the corner booth. “I can see this is really painful for you. I’m sorry.”

  He set the bag on the bench next to him and took in a deep breath. “Apologies aren’t necessary. It’s not about me. It’s about finding my little Billy.”

  I opened my computer so I could take notes, then looked up. I could see hope in his red-rimmed eyes.

  “Ask me anything you want. I’m ready to help,” he said.

  “When did he go missing?”

  “He was kidnapped, that much I can guarantee you.” He pointed a knotty finger in my direction.

  I stayed with the basic facts for now. “When did this occur?”

  “Last night around dinnertime.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was at Target with his foster mom and two siblings.�
��

  I shifted my eyes from the computer screen to William. “Why is he with a foster family?”

  He rubbed his whiskers for a moment. “Sad story. His mama, my daughter Clara, fell on hard times. Lost her job. Her husband ran off with some tramp, and then Clara couldn’t deal with the pressure. She got involved in drugs and just had a hard time staying clean.” His eyes became moist. “She’s in prison right now.”

  I nodded, knowing he probably had a thousand stories he could share about his daughter’s issues, but I didn’t want to get sidetracked. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Did you and Vera consider taking him in?”

  “We wanted Billy and his brothers to live with us. We tried like hell to make it happen. But with all of our health problems, the court just wouldn’t give us custody. Another sad day for the Cooper family.”

  I was surprised to hear the court had gone in that direction. The Texas court system usually found any feasible justification to place kids with extended family, even if living conditions weren’t ideal. Which probably meant that William and Vera had some rather severe health issues, maybe money issues too. “Billy, though, at least had his brothers at the foster home, right?”

  “Hell no. They placed them in separate homes, sons of bitches,” he said, looking through the window, squinting into the bright sunlight.

  “Back to last night. Billy was at Target with his family.”

  “Foster family.”

  “Right. And?”

  “His foster mom lost track of him. She’s a bit of a scatterbrain, so that’s not hard to imagine. When she realized he wasn’t around, they looked everywhere in the store for him. Store security got involved, and they couldn’t find him. They actually locked down the store. But it was too late.”

  He pulled out his bandana and dabbed his eyes.

  “I’m assuming the police were called to the scene?”

  He nodded. “They found Billy’s stuffed longhorn in the parking lot about the time I got there. But I still had hope. I was thinking they could look at the store video footage to get an ID of the person who kidnapped little Billy.” He squeezed his eyes shut, making his crow’s feet even more pronounced.

  “What happened? Did they not get a good picture of the kidnapper?”

  “Late last night they told us the video feed got scrambled somehow. The video servers or some such were down for about an hour, inside the store and out.”

  I nodded, chewing my lower lip for a moment. Were authorities suggesting the video system was hacked? I decided to ping Stan, a detective friend of mine, later to learn more. “At the time of the kidnapping?”

  “Apparently, yes.” He swallowed hard. “And get this shit. They started asking me all sorts of questions, acting like I kidnapped him! Can you believe that crap?”

  I kept a straight face, my eyes shifting to stare at my laptop screen while running through a series of why questions in my head. If the same person who kidnapped Billy somehow jammed the video signal, why would someone go to that much trouble? Typically, kidnappers were interested in money or had some sick fetish. Why would Billy in particular be targeted? And why would detectives regard William as a suspect?

  “William,” I said, looking up to see a trail of tears down his face. I took a purposeful breath, giving him a second to gather himself. “I have a lot of questions, but please realize that’s normal in these types of cases.”

  His eyes lit up. “So you’ll take the case?”

  “Honestly, we can’t do much more than what the detectives are already doing…sometimes far less. I don’t have the same resources.”

  He smacked both hands on the table. “I thought you were different, dammit!” He grabbed his bag and began to scoot out of the booth.

  “You didn’t let me finish.”

  He ceased movement, and instantly I could see a glimmer of renewed hope. I just didn’t want it to be false hope.

  “We’ll take the case, but please know we’re not miracle workers.”

  He reached over, put his hand on mine, and said in a quiet voice, “Thank you. Hope is all we’ve got.”

  6

  Upon hearing that my first call would be to a detective friend of mine from the SAPD, William said he would give me some space. He walked over to the counter to order a cool drink.

  Stan Radowski—a Brooklyn native with a fondness, if not an addiction, for all things made with sugar—had been my police liaison during my tenure with CPS. Somewhere under his growing girth, he had an equally big heart. He picked up my call just before I thought it was about to roll to his voicemail.

  “Ivy Nash, haven’t heard from you in a while. I doubt you’re calling to give money to the police charity banquet we’re hosting here in a couple of weeks.”

  “Uh, I had no clue.”

  He chuckled once. “Yeah, it seems like we’re in high school band or something. Have to sell so many boxes of crackers and cheese.”

  “For your police fundraiser, you’re selling crackers and cheese?”

  “What? No. That was band.”

  “What instrument did you play?”

  “Do you really need to ask?

  “Flute.”

  “Funny. Tuba, of course. I actually thought I might get a college scholarship, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

  I heard loud voices in the background.

  “Sorry, let me get out of the detective pit,” he said. The extraneous noise quickly lowered to a murmur.

  “Stan, I’m looking for more information on a child who was kidnapped last evening at a local Target.”

  “I heard Pressler talking about it with Moreno.”

  “Who?”

  “Brook Pressler. She’s a new detective. A transplant from DC. She’s a real firecracker.”

  “Would she be a firecracker if she were a dude?”

  “Nope. Just an obnoxious asshat.”

  I laughed this time. “What have you heard about the missing boy?”

  “Why are you interested?”

  I shifted my eyes to the counter to see William staring intently in my direction, as if he were trying to read my lips. He saw me looking and turned back to face the store employee. Something nibbled at the back of my mind. Despite William’s display of emotion, I wondered if there was any way he could have been involved in the kidnapping. He didn’t seem to be that tech savvy. But what if he were just one member of a larger group—and the one who little Billy would trust enough to follow outside the store?

  But what would William’s motivation be, Ivy?

  “Earth to Ivy.”

  “Sorry, Stan. I was distracted.” I turned around in my seat and tried to ignore the flurry of conspiracy theories dancing in my mind. “So, I’ve taken on a new client, the boy’s grandfather.”

  “Can’t people just work with police on these cases? No offense, of course.”

  “You know I tell my clients to work with the police. You guys have far more resources than we do.”

  “But let’s be honest,” he said, pausing a moment. Then he spoke in a muffled tone, as if he were covering the phone receiver. “I work for a government agency. Good people work here, but it’s a bureaucracy. You guys care, and it’s obvious you’ll do anything to help these kids out, even if it skirts the law.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I see things, let’s just say that. But that’s not the point. The point is…you care. And parents, or grandparents in this instance, need to know that someone gives a damn about their kids.”

  He had nailed ECHO’s mission better than I ever could have. “Can I get you to record a testimonial, then I can load it to our website?”

  “Uh…”

  “Just kidding.” I glanced over my shoulder to find William slurping on a straw and staring at a picture hanging on the wall near the bathrooms.

  “How much do you know about the investigation?”

  “Pressler’s desk is right next to mine. I can’t help bu
t hear her. On top of that, she’s not bashful in thinking she’s working the most important investigation the department’s ever seen.”

  “So?”

  “Bottom line: they’ve got no suspects, and the only evidence is the kid’s stuffed animal that was found in the parking lot, which is why…”

  His voice trailed off. I held the phone away to see if the line had been disconnected. “Stan?”

  “I’m here.”

  “What’s going on? Why did you stop talking?”

  A loud sigh.

  That wasn’t a good sign. “Stan, you can tell me.”

  “Without much else to go on, Brook and team are taking a hard look at your client.”

  Interesting. I wasn’t the only one questioning the grandfather’s sincerity. I was curious to find out why the new detective had made that leap. “At William? An eighty-four-year-old man who’s completely distraught?” I realized I sounded more like his attorney, taking up for his character, and I didn’t know why.

  “Pressler’s not afraid to put in the work, I’ll tell you that much. She researched the trail of custody hearings and learned that…”

  There he went again, trailing off. “She learned what?” I prompted.

  “He threatened to forcibly take back his grandsons if the presiding judge didn’t grant custody to William and his wife,” he said, his voice still muffled.

  “In a court hearing?”

  “Yep. She has the actual transcript.”

  I pondered what he’d shared with me, allowing it to comingle with the theory that was dangling in my mind. I knew my notion was probably nothing. It was just how my brain worked. Question everything about everyone, and one at a time, evidence would surface to throw people out of the mix of suspects. But for Pressler, it sounded like she was building a motive. I wasn’t sure how, but I hoped to get an opportunity to quiz Pressler on her suspicions about William. That train of thought led to my next question for Stan. “Did you hear anything about the video footage at Target?”

  “Oh yeah. F-bombs were flying all over the place around here.”

  “Why?”

  “When companies spend major cash to set up such elaborate security to catch predators like this guy who kidnapped the kid, and it doesn’t work for whatever reason, then it makes our job a thousand times more difficult. If William didn’t do it, we know we only have so much time before the kid turns up—”