by Nancy Brophy
“Was the car dusted for prints?”
“No, the crime scene had been compromised by inexperienced law enforcement. Neither of the officers wore gloves. The body was moved before the ME arrived. No autopsy was ordered and when I insisted, it was too late. The body had already been released to the funeral home for burial.”
“Why?”
“The local boys confessed to the crime and an autopsy would waste taxpayer money according to the deputies.”
“The local boys?” He pointed toward Fred and Charlie’s photos.
“They’re claiming consensual based upon her position. Which I’m sure was Elijah’s intention. Except the girl regained consciousness before they finished, surprising them by fighting back. Charlie Hagger put his hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming while Fred Baer finished raping her. According to both men, Charlie hadn’t meant to suffocate her.”
“Meth, rape and murder and somehow they think it’s not their fault?” Skeet rubbed the back of his neck.
“They’ll be joining all the other innocents in prison. But they have agreed to testify which should give us enough to convict Cain and Eli for intent.”
“What about the girl? Will she testify?”
John stared out the window, seeing only his reflection staring back at him. Would she? Would her family let her? “I would like to see her used in a different capacity. I want the Bureau to hire her.” Skeet’s head shot up, his cool reception to the idea was reflected in his ice blue eyes. John back peddled. “At least for the duration of this case.”
Skeet shook his head. “Do you ever read those emails I send you about budget cuts? The Bureau will never agree. If they drag their feet, the President won’t authorize it. Plus she’s got no education, no qualifications and is a potential victim.”
“Our unsub’s threatened her.” His justification sounded weak even to his own ears.
“Since when do we protect people by making them employees?” Skeet scoffed. “Come up with another plan.”
The plane banked sharply to the left and began its descent. “Here’s the list we need to interview. Maddie and Harold Cox are the one’s who called us. You see them. I’ll hit the hotel they used.”
# # #
Biloxi, Mississippi
A stiff wind could have blown Maddie Cox into the next county. The frail woman with disheveled white hair patted the adjacent seat on the ancient couch and gestured for John to sit next to her.
Her husband, Harold positioned his bulk on the edge of the green and brown striped recliner. The chair protested with a groan. John couldn’t help but notice the black duct tape on the seams. Harold rested his forearms above the patches on the knees of his overalls, his worn and calloused hands clasped together.
“Tell me about your missing granddaughter.”
Maddie opened the photo album on the coffee table in front of him. Arthritis crippled her fingers. John exhaled silently, hoping their fears were unfounded. And the girl’s disappearance was what it seemed, although the tingle on the back of his neck told him a different story.
The photos showed a pretty brunette, not a homecoming queen beauty, but one that definitely fit the profile. A weight settled on the bottom of his stomach.
“Since Hurricane Katrina, jobs have been in short supply around here, but Tiffany answered an ad on one of those websites. Somebody’s list. Here, I kept a copy of it.” Maddie unfolded the paper and handed it to him.
John read. “Wanted. Athletic men and women between the ages of eighteen and twenty-two. Must be free to travel immediately. Great money. Fun and adventure awaits the right applicant with customer service skills. Imagine working on a private yacht, seeing the world in luxury and making over 100K a year. Call for phone interview.” A phone number followed.
Maddie jabbed at the paper. “She called that number, spoke to a man for quite a while, then he invited her to a group interview at the Holiday Inn.”
“What questions did they ask her?”
“Could she leave right away? Did she have responsibilities at home, which meant she couldn’t be gone for the entire year? That kind of thing.”
John schooled his face to passive. “They told her she’d be working on a private yacht and gone for a year?”
Maddie’s head bobbed. “The job provided room and board and a weekly stipend, so the girls could have some spending money. Instead of a paycheck they’d be paid in quarterly increments, which was fine with Tiffany. She wanted to save her money. They made an offer to several girls, but eliminated them if they couldn’t leave the next day. Tiffany wasn’t chosen in the first tier. When others dropped out, she was beside herself with excitement.”
Harold spoke for the first time. His deep voice rumbled, “So was Maddie.” Blotchy red patches appeared on his wife’s cheeks. “Called it a sign from God that the two men in charge had Biblical names - Cain and Elijah. But I was more suspicious. Tiffany had lots of promises, but nothing in writing. Plus she wasn’t allowed to bring a cell phone or any kind of electronic equipment like a computer. I worried about her, so I purchased a GPS tracking device and slipped it into her luggage.”
John nodded, his respect increasing for the canny older man. “What about a passport? Wasn’t that a requirement?”
“Not really. They worked with the government and had developed a fly-through system to get passports in record time.” Harold said. John made a mental note to check government records, but he doubted anything would show up.
“So what happened?”
Maddie pushed a bunch of photos across the coffee table. “We went down to the hotel to see them off. The first ten days were in San Francisco training.”
John flipped through the photos of the eight girls. The vehicle was a passenger van wrapped with an advertising banner that proclaimed the company to be Adventures Ahoy and included the number from the ad. The license plate caught his attention. Miss N. He’d seen it before - on a photo taken in Armadillo Creek.
A photo showed a man, loading luggage into the van, a suitcase shielded his face. He was burley, bigger than either Cain or Eli. Might be one of the pilots based upon Cezi’s description.
“What happened to the GPS?”
“Let me show you.” Harold pushed himself off the recliner and lumbered to the computer. He banged the mouse a couple of times and the screen saver shifted to a map of southern Mississippi and the Gulf of Mexico.
“Two hours after the van took off, we watched the GPS move from here to here.” He traced a route on the screen with a thick finger ending above the blue water.
“At first I thought the device quit working or the plane had crashed, but nothing’s been on the news. Then as I thought about it more, I wondered why would a plane headed for San Francisco be flying southwest? And why would it take off from here if the airport’s on the other side of town?”
“Can you pull back and give me coordinates on the exact route?”
From the blank look Harold gave him, John knew his question was out of the man’s expertise. John leaned over the screen to narrow the area and jotted notes.
“When did this happen?”
“Four months ago.” Maddie said.
“And you’re just now reporting it?”
Harold grunted from the floor. “When we got the postcard from her, we thought we were wrong and the GPS had malfunctioned.”
“What postcard?”
“Two weeks after she left, we got this.” Maddie handed him a picture postcard with a photo of a cable car on a hill. John reached into his pocket to snap on a latex glove before touching the postcard.
“Having a ball. Everything’s perfect. A job came up right away, so I won’t make it home between assignments. Love, Tiffany.”
“Is this her handwriting?” he placed the card in a plastic bag, then scooped up the photos of the girls and secured them in another bag.
“Yes. But she never would have signed her whole name. Just T. Also money should have been deposited in her acc
ount every three months, but there’s been no money.”
“A second postcard arrived about a month ago. From Egypt, but the writing looks funny.
The postcard photo showed the pyramids. “Having great time. Learning so much. Miss you. Tiffany.”
Apprehension clutched his lower intestines. The letters wobbled. Had she written under stress or had it been a forgery? The fact these guys kept changing their MO made it impossible to pinpoint their next move. John hoped Skeet was getting more info from the hotel where the interviews had taken place. “What about the other parents?”
Harold shook his head. “Don’t know.”
But Maddie clutched the sleeve of his sport coat. “Tell me you think I’m crazy and everything will be okay.”
Her faded blue eyes made the lie impossible. “I wish I could.”
Chapter Seventeen
Armadillo Creek, Texas
Nicholae popped three ibuprofen tablets into his mouth and took a long sip of cold water to wash down the pills. He tilted his head against the cushioned headrest and pinched the top of his nose trying to relieve the pressure across his forehead.
“Headache?”
Nicholae forced his eyes open as his brother took a seat. Before he could comment, Luca knit his brow. “I know that look. What’ve you done?”
“Sent Agent Stillwater back to DC.” He closed his eyes again, so he wouldn’t have to see his brother’s expression.
“Why?”
“Marimé. At lunch yesterday, a shadow fell across the table. The outsider will come between my daughter and me. He will bring government scrutiny on each of us.”
The room was silent for several minutes. “Does Poppy know?”
The creak of the chair and the shuffling of shoes had Nicholae cracking open an eyelid. Why couldn’t Luca sit instead of walking to the opposite corner of the room for coffee? He didn’t want company right now. Couldn’t his brother see that? He sighed, knowing nothing would induce Luca to leave. “I told him this morning, but he already knew. Cezi saw him last night.”
Nicholae rubbed his temples in a circular fashion trying to stop the sharp pain behind his eyes. From the other side of the desk Luca took a noisy sip. Nicholae gritted his teeth.
“What’d Poppy say?”
“Nothing.” Nicolas pictured his brother’s lips purse.
“Nothing? Really?” The blatant skepticism in his tone confirmed Nicholae’s belief. He’d acted rashly.
Luca took another sip of coffee before adding, “I’d have thought he might have expressed an opinion or two about those who interfere with prophesies.”
This was his daughter, the one person he would protect above all others. “All he said was, ‘Cezi will not be the only one having to make changes.’”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” he spat out the words. “I’m going to lose her.”
“Children grow up and leave home.” Luca’s voice was soft, tender even. “It happens. Are you worried she’ll marry the gaje?”
Well, there it was in a nutshell. Was he afraid she’d leave or afraid she’d marry a non-gypsy? Why wasn’t Poppy more worried? “No. Yes.” He sighed, exhaling the breath he been holding and opened his eyes. “I’m worried she’ll have to choose between gaje and familiya.”
Luca tilted his head to the side in the position he used when he searched for answers. “Maybe the Indian won’t return.”
“Oh, he’ll be back. I’ve seen it in my dreams.”
“Cezi’s always been loyal.”
“Which is worse? For her to choose familya and never find happiness or for her to choose an outsider and break my heart.” Saying the words aloud made him realize his problem. He worried for his daughter, but he also worried for himself. When had he become so selfish?
Luca grinned and slapped his knee. “So, you’ve made your decision. What else is bothering you?”
Damn. He had made his decision, but didn’t want to face it. Cezi was a woman, no longer a child. Much as it would pain him, he must prepare to let her go. Which brought up another issue. “Nadya wants to give her the marital talk.”
A look of outrage crossed his brother’s face. “Hell, no.” Luca jumped to his feet and stomped back to the wet bar. This time he opened the small refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of private label Russian Vodka, which he poured into two shot glasses. “That talk is nothing more than a long list of what not to do in bed. Those old women harp at young girls, telling them their body is unclean. Sex is only for procreation. Blah. Blah. Blah. Anything beyond the missionary position is evil.”
Nicholae laughed, not disagreeing, as he remembered how sneaky he’d been each time he tried to convince his wife to try something new. “And then they’re outraged their husbands are unfaithful.”
Luca set the liquor on the desk and plopped back in the chair. “Go back to the Indian. Do you like him?”
“He’s strong enough to protect Cezi.”
“But his face,” Luca gestured with the back of his fingers drawing them along his cheek physically tracing the arc of the scars, “doesn’t that bother her?”
Nicholae shrugged. “Not that I’ve seen.”
“What if she refuses to consider an outsider?”
Nicholae smiled in the conspirator manner of their childhood. “We may have to help.”
Luca knitted his brows above his twinkling eyes. “You have a plan?”
“Not yet, but soon, I think.”
“I’ll give it some thought, too.”
Nicolae nodded and raised his glass in a silent toast. Helping a daughter find happiness was what families did. They’d have to be careful. If Cezi thought she was being pushed, she’d balk for sure.
The vodka’s burn at the back of his throat strengthened his resolve.
# # #
Chicago, Illnois
Eli drove, following a Google map Adam had provided. Cain tapped the dash repeatedly banging out a drum solo that would have made any professional drummer proud. Delight practically had him crowing when Eli gritted his teeth and emitted a low level warning rumble.
“What? You got something to say?”
“No.”
Hostility ran high. Either due to their screw up last Friday or because both hated “special assignments” like this one. They had picked up young boys before, but Cain found it harder to wrestle his demons when children were involved. Cain never touched another male. Thinking about it made his skin crawl.
The skate park was fairly deserted on a late Wednesday afternoon, just as they’d anticipated. In Bryant’s blog, he had detailed the best time to skate and his photos made it easy to tell him apart from the other two boys roughly his age.
Eli and Cain watched from the limo. Their kid had some skills, which was why he’d been chosen.
Cain moved inside the park to a bench seat both for a better view and so the boy could see him. He applauded wildly when a trick went well and yelled encouragement.
As expected with an audience the tricks became more elaborate. It was only a question of time before the fall came. When it did, Cain rushed into the concrete pit. The boy lay on his back, the wind knocked out of him, but his eyes were open and he was conscious.
“Where do you hurt?” Cain knelt beside the injured boy.
Silent tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks, leaving a wet streak through the sweat and dirt. “Ankle.”
His clothes were well worn. His jeans were white at the stress points and tattered at the cuffs while his shirt boasted a rip in the neck seam. The puffy ankle had already doubled in size.
Cain untied the boy’s dog-eared sneaker to ease the pressure. “Let’s get you to the emergency room.” At the panicked look in the child’s eyes, he added, “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for it.”
He hoisted the boy into his arms. “We’ll call your mother on the way.”
The look of terror returned as the frantic child shook his head and twisted to scramble to safety. “No, don’t tell
. She’ll make me stop.”
Cain chuckled, tightening his grip. “All right then. It’ll be our little secret. But you may have to lay low for a few days before you can ride again.”
The boy acquiesced and Cain carried him to the limo. Before laying him across the backseat, he checked the location of his friends. Both had returned to skating, totally uninterested in events fifty feet from them.
“I’ll ride up front so you have plenty of room,” he told the lad, closing the door.
Fifteen minutes later the limo pulled to the curb at the edge of the University of Chicago campus. “Now that he’s out, let’s check that ankle.” A broken bone and the kid would be worthless to them, but a sprain or even a hairline fracture could be disguised well enough.
He opened the backdoor to let the gas escape and slapped on a mask to avoid breathing in lingering fumes before stepping inside. It would be impossible to tell without an x-ray but the ankle didn’t feel broken. Eli passed a large first-aid kit through the window. Cain wrapped the ankle in an elastic bandage. On the plane they could pack it on ice.
Cain closed the kit and tossed the mask to the floor pleased this job had gone off without a hitch. They’d be in Mexico in a few hours. He shoved the rear door shut and sauntered to the front door.
That’s when he saw her not thirty feet beyond the car.
She looked exactly like he’d pictured her. Black curly hair danced in the wind. No dress, but pants that hugged her slender thighs. The bounce of her steps and sway of her hips combined to issue an erotic taunt. Catch me, take me. I’m yours.
She cut across the open square, surrounded by buildings. A voice called out and she raised her arm in greeting, but scurried on alone. The chase was on.