Veiled Threat

by Alice Loweecey

  “Yes,” Frank said. “Meaning I agree with you and we should discount that as a possible connection.”

  “You’re quick to shoot down an idea, but slow to help us look for possibilities.”

  Frank raised his eyebrows. “You’re channeling Sister Mary Regina … don’t tell me …”

  “Mary Regina Coelis.” Giulia bit off each word. “But you remember who won the FA Cup the past five years.”

  Jimmy said, “God help us, don’t get him started on soccer. Frank, I don’t know what’s up your ass about this case, but can you get with the program here?”

  “Fine.” He pulled over two printouts. All three of them studied the papers onscreen or on the desk for a few minutes.

  “Hey.” Frank scooped up the rest of the printouts. “Here,” he set one aside, “here,” another, “and … yes, here it is again.” He set those three pages on top of the rest. “They all went to someplace called the Wildflower.”

  “They did?” Giulia ran her index finger between the documents on the screen. “You’re right.”

  “Isn’t that a resort on Raccoon Lake?” Jimmy said.

  “Yes,” Giulia said. “Even though it’s less than half an hour from here, it’s very private. It’s hidden away on a cove, doesn’t advertise or anything. If you have to ask, then it’s not for you, you know?”

  Frank and Jimmy looked at her.

  She huffed. “It’s for gay people only. Technically for lesbians only.”

  Frank whistled. “They must get lots of rubberneckers during trout season.”

  “Will you be serious? I said it was secluded. Captain Reilly, may I use your computer?”

  Jimmy traded chairs with her and she typed the name in a search window, then clicked on the correct link. “See? Ten-foot-high privacy fences all around, private beach, private everything.”

  “People from Akron would come all this way just to stay on Raccoon Lake for a week?” Frank shook his head. “There’ve got to be resorts closer to home.”

  “Not single-sex resorts. Don’t you get it? Didn’t your family ever go to a favorite vacation spot, no matter how far it was?”

  Jimmy said, “My parents drove us to Hershey Park every year when we were in grade school. That was the car ride from hell. We loved the park, though.”

  “Exactly. Trust me, same-sex resorts are rare enough for people to make Odyssean journeys to reach them.” Giulia shuffled the printouts. “The Akron couple was at the Wildflower six months before they got their baby in April of last year. The Erie couple went the week between Christmas and New Year’s last year, and got their daughter this past February.” She reread Laurel’s information. “Laurel and Anya went for Thanksgiving week, but that wasn’t their original plan.”

  Jimmy had pulled the keyboard in front of himself and was typing almost as fast as Giulia talked. “Why did they change?”

  “The baby’s mother had complications from high blood pressure, and they scheduled a C-section two weeks before her due date. Laurel and Anya had already paid for their week and wanted one last romantic getaway, just the two of them, before they became parents. The resort wasn’t full and switched their reservation. I remember, because Laurel had to scramble for coverage at the soup kitchen—it’s always packed on Thanksgiving.”

  “That’s why you turned down my invite for dinner at Mom and Dad’s,” Frank said.

  She nodded. “I worked Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday that week.”

  Jimmy said, still typing, “It has possibilities.” He saved his document and scrolled to the pages on all three reports that mentioned the resort. “Someone could’ve traced their credit card history and pinpointed that as a good place to get to know the three couples.”

  “Wait.” Giulia sagged. “A Bible-spouter isn’t going to stay at a gay resort.”

  Jimmy frowned, forehead wrinkling. “It’s unlikely, I admit. However, if these kidnappers are all about getting the kids, then they might be willing to suck it up and pretend to be a couple.”

  “I don’t want to sound like Frank, but not any extremist I’ve ever met.”

  “Thanks,” Frank said.

  Jimmy grinned. “I like you. You keep his ego in check. About—shut up, Frank—the amusing image of a Bible-thumper in a gay resort: I’ve seen them crash a Gay Pride parade in full Jesus regalia.”

  Frank leaned forward. “Remember the crazy lady who broke up a PFLAG meeting screaming about defending traditional marriage?”

  “The one who’d been divorced four times? She was a prize. Tried to bite me when I cuffed her, if I remember right.”

  “Didn’t you dress up like her for Halloween that year?”

  Frank laughed. “Your face was priceless. Anyway, we’re off track. Why do you think there are two?”

  “Come on,” Jimmy said. “You’ve worked kidnapping cases. Have you ever seen a kidnapper go solo?”

  “I’ll give you that one.”

  Giulia poked her pen through the top paper. “That must be the connection. Should we look for religious actors? The kind that do religious plays for Advent and Easter Week?”

  Frank gave her a blank look. “Why?”

  “Because actors would be able to hide their feelings. Regular extremists might not.”

  Jimmy tapped a finger on his mouse. “I wasn’t thinking along those lines. It’s a little far-fetched.”

  Frank shook his head. “We’d better hope it’s not actors, because it’ll take forever to track down the ones who specialize in Passion Plays and the like. Let alone getting them to give us their church affiliation. I can hear complaints about Big Brother already.”

  “Wait a minute.” Giulia navigated the resort’s website with the mouse. “I thought I remembered Laurel telling me something about entertainment … Here. On Friday nights after dinner, the employees put on a lip-sync and funny skit show for the guests. Laurel said it was hokey and silly, but most people got into the spirit of things.” When Frank and Jimmy stared at her, she said, “Everyone they hire must be required to have some kind of acting talent.”

  They blinked, practically in unison.

  “What?” Giulia gestured at the screen. “Memorizing. Practicing. Becoming someone else, even if only for three minutes at a time. In other words, pretending to be someone they’re not.”

  Jimmy opened his mouth, then closed it. “All right. I’ll talk to the owner about even letting us see parts of her employee files. Subpoenaing their guest records of the resort is going to take a couple of days as it is.”

  “Oh no—we don’t have a couple of days.” Giulia’s voice almost squeaked. “Where’s the timeline for the other kidnappings? Here. Day One: they take the baby and call the parents. That was two days ago. Days Two through Four: gather the ransom money. Day Five: the kidnappers call with the location for the parents to leave the ransom. Day Six: the ransom is dropped off. Day Seven is when the dead two-year-old was left, and when the call saying the first baby was with a new family.” She fixed her gaze on Jimmy. “This is already Day Three. If they decide Katie isn’t worth saving, they’ll do it in less than three days.”

  NINE

  FRANK AND JIMMY LOOKED at Giulia. Jimmy turned back to his monitor a moment later.

  “You may be right. I spent more time on the police reports.” He clicked page after page, reading pieces of each.

  Giulia drummed her fingers on her lap. Frank finished his Coke. Giulia restrained her desire to kick his shins. She still couldn’t fathom Frank’s less-than-urgent attitude.

  Jimmy leaned back. “All right, I concede your timeline. This puts us in a miserable position. We don’t have time to run down the other possibilities: the bank accounts, the hospital databases. The resort fits the potential timeline of targeting the first two victims and learning their movements. The time elapsed between your friends’ vacation and their kidnapping is short by comparison, but”—he forestalled Giulia’s protest—“that could have been triggered by them changing their vacation dates.�
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  Giulia didn’t care if her face showed her relief. “How can we help?”

  Frank made a restless movement next to her.

  Jimmy said, “This is actually the point where the police take over again. Please don’t think I’m dismissing you, Giulia. Without your insistence, Poole’s negligence would have relegated this investigation to his back burner. Now we’ll be able to do our job.”

  “Then I’m glad you invited us here,” Frank said. “Thanks for lunch, Jimmy. Call me or Giulia if you get any more news?”

  “Of course.” Jimmy stood, holding out his hand to Giulia. “Thank you again, Giulia. This case is mine personally now. I’ll do everything I can to get your friends’ baby back safely.”

  Giulia shook his hand. What’s happening? Why is Frank hustling us out of here and why is Captain Teddy Bear acquiescing? What am I going to do? I can’t lock the door and refuse to leave till they make me part of this investigation.

  Frank opened the door for her and she went through the crowded detectives’ room ahead of him. Poole, thank goodness, wasn’t in sight. The pseudo–Bond Girl nodded at them as they buttoned their coats.

  Giulia chose silence on the ride back; lunch traffic and winter roads didn’t lend themselves to conversation. Frank didn’t curse any drivers, not even the city bus that fishtailed when a light turned green and sent the Camry’s anti-lock brakes into overdrive.

  You’re railroading me, Frank. Captain Teddy Bear’s okay with us helping—or he was. Why are you dead against it? She stared at the dashboard, mentally pasting Frank’s and Jimmy’s faces onto it. Did Frank send him some kind of signal left over from their partner days? The Captain was willing to let us help until I pointed out the resort link. It can’t be professional jealousy. I’m a detective—almost. I’ve trained myself to spot connections. The police have multiple cases and emergencies pulling them every which way all the time. I’m focused on Laurel’s baby. It only makes sense that I’d see some details before they would.

  It wasn’t till they got trapped behind a whale-sized SUV apparently driven by someone’s grandmother that Giulia realized her teeth were chattering.

  “Frank, heat?”

  “Sorry.” He diverted part of the blower from the windshield to their feet. He visibly shivered even after the switch, and cranked the heat all the way. “Perfect time for the heater to go on the fritz.”

  Silence filled the car again. The air blowing on Giulia’s toes never climbed above “tepid.” She thought about calling Laurel, but what was the point? They had nothing useful to report. Telling Laurel about the resort connection would only give her and Anya another obsessive hamster wheel to run in.

  Giulia and Frank climbed the back stairs to the office several minutes later, still in silence. She toed off her boots as Frank opened the door. Sidney had her coat on before Giulia reached her own desk.

  “This is perfect timing because my mom’s picking me up so we can try on my dress. Did I tell you I’m wearing my grandmother’s wedding gown? I know I did. The seamstress messed up the alterations the first time, but she called just now and we want to see it ASAP in case something else has to be fixed because it’s Tuesday already and I think my head’s going to explode.” She inhaled like a vacuum cleaner. “It’ll only take an hour, I’m sure. Nobody called when you were gone. See you!” The door closed behind her.

  Frank and Giulia grinned at each other.

  “She is the best hiring decision you ever made,” Giulia said.

  “No. You are.” Frank crossed the room and embraced her. “I know I’m being an ass—sorry—a jerk. I know I’ve been treating you like you’re a computer program I can open and close at will. Let me explain, okay?”

  He turned Giulia’s client chair around and leaned on the back. Giulia sat in her own chair and waited.

  “It’s a lost cause, muirnín.”

  Giulia didn’t say anything.

  “I know you don’t want to think that, but I know what I’m talking about. I worked on four kidnapping cases while I was still a cop, three with Jimmy.”

  Giulia pinched her lips together.

  Frank’s mouth worked but the smile still showed. “You look like Sister Regina, um, Coelis when you do that. Don’t get mad.”

  “Francis Xavier Driscoll, I am not Sister Mary Regina Coelis anymore. I have not been her for twenty whole months. I curse the day we decided that me going undercover in the convent two months ago was a good idea. I could swear you still see an invisible veil on my head.” She ruffled her frizzy brown curls. “See? Hair. And what does any of that have to do with your sudden desire to let me down easy?”

  “I know you want to keep your friend’s spirits up. I know you’re always optimistic, but the plain fact is that kidnappings don’t end well.”

  “Statistics?” Giulia let disdain creep into her voice.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. The general statistic for kidnappings by strangers is 57 percent are returned unharmed and 43 percent aren’t. We both know what happens to the 43 percent.”

  Giulia set her jaw. “You are deliberately applying the worst possible outcome. How many of the 43 percent are infants?”

  “I’d have to look it up. That doesn’t mean—”

  “It does mean that there is a chance for Katie to come home. A good chance.”

  “No. Listen to me. You can discount teenagers running off together and non-custodial parents never returning the kid from their weekend visit.” He gripped the top of the chair. “I don’t care if the guy who took your friend’s baby quotes half the Bible over the phone while he implies they’ll get the baby back if they come up with the ransom. The most likely outcome is he’s already sold the baby to a hetero couple, if he’s serious about the biblical trash-talk.”

  “So what? You’re a detective. We’re detectives. We can find out who has Katie now and get her back.”

  “It’s not impossible. Whatever we can do on top of what Jimmy’s doing, we’ll jump on it.” He put a hand over hers. “But I want you to face this fact: the statistics are skewed. This is a non-parental kidnapping by perps with a two-part agenda: God and money. It will not end well.”

  “How can you think that?”

  “Real-world experience. Not just mine. Talk to experienced cops. They’ll tell you the same thing—that your friends need to prepare for failure. I know this. Jimmy knows this. It’s not pessimism. It’s realism. We’ll put everything into finding the baby because we’re professionals, but that timeline you worked out? It doesn’t exist. No amount of hopeful prayers will change that.”

  A piece of Giulia that had been twisting into knots all through Frank’s stories finally snapped. He’s right, an evil voice whispered in her ear. Facts can be one-sided, a calmer voice whispered in her other ear. She sat quite still in her chair, imagining angels and demons from old Tom and Jerry cartoons, her hands still under Frank’s.

  “So what exactly have you been doing since I brought Laurel in here on Monday?” she said at last. “Humoring me?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. I’m just trying to let you down easy.”

  “I am not a sixteen-year-old whose boyfriend is dumping her for a cheerleader.”

  Frank said, after a second, “What?”

  “I am not fragile. I don’t know where you got that idea.” She moved her hands.

  Frank tightened his grip. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t think you’re a sheltered kitten who doesn’t know enough to come in out of the rain.”

  She gave him the “Precious Moments” eyes again.

  “Stop that. You’re doing it on purpose now. I don’t want you to break your heart over this. It’s doomed to fail.”

  Her eyes crinkled in the beginnings of a smile. “I don’t believe you.”

  His mouth hung open a moment. “Why the hell not?”

  TEN

  GIULIA LET THE CURSE slide. The Tom-and-Jerry imps on her shoulder popped into nonexistence. She wasn’t fighting a pile of statistics; she
was fighting Frank’s pessimism sinkhole. The way he skewed to the worst possible conclusion no matter what. This was a familiar adversary.

  “Remember how you reacted to those vile Photoshopped pictures Don Falke created of Blake and me?”

  “Huh? What does that have to do with kidnapping stats?”

  “Not with kidnapping statistics, with you. Remember how a character in old cartoons would get a tiny angel on one shoulder and a tiny devil on the other, giving advice? If you were in a cartoon, you’d always be listening to the devil. I’d find pricks from the pitchfork tines in your neck if I looked.”

  Frank leaned back in the chair. “Is this code? Should I have a translation key?”

  “Only if you need to translate the way your own mind works.”

  His cynical detective face morphed into something plain and simple. Giulia loved that face. It was the face of the Frank Driscoll who first said hello to her when she was a barista in Common Grounds downstairs. The face disappeared when he learned she’d been a Sister of Saint Francis, but as they got to know each other, the face had become the familiar one she saw every day.

  “I wish I had a mirror for you to see yourself. Frank, the difference between you and me is which side of a problem we choose to see.”

  “Don’t get all sappy greeting card on me. The world is a darker place than you want it to be.”

  “It’s also a brighter place than you want it to be.” She scrunched up her face. “You’re right. That belongs on a sappy card. Not my style.” Her hands slipped out from under Frank’s. “I don’t agree that because the statistics about kidnappings skew negative, it automatically means this kidnapping will fall into the negative side.”

  “Christ help us, things will not come up sunshine and roses just because you want it to happen.”