Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  “I should’ve never gotten you involved in this,” Madeline lamented.

  “That’s bullshit. I’m glad you did. You know I’d do anything for you.”

  “Really?”

  “Of course, you already know that.”

  “Then please drop the coming to rescue me idea,” she said.

  “No.”

  “You just said you’d do anything for me.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Mike protested.

  “So, you’d rather give me one more thing to worry about than do as I ask.”

  “No, of course not. I just want to protect you.”

  “And exactly how are you going do to that? Right now, we don’t even know for sure if I have any reason to be afraid. You could spend thousands of dollars and the equivalent of a day and a half traveling for nothing. And honestly, I do feel safer now that I’ve changed hotels. Let me find a P.I. and then I’ll know for sure if I’m being hysterical or not. Okay…?” The line was quiet. “Mike?”

  “Okay, I see your point. But you can’t blame me for being worried. Look at all that’s happened to you…this is some spooky shit. I mean, this kind of stuff doesn’t happen to the average person. You’d think you were some CIA operative, not a charity fundraiser, for Chrissakes.”

  “Believe me, I know. The last two weeks have been completely surreal. But I just don’t think there’s any reason for you to come rushing to save me yet. I may need your help when I get back to Santa Barbara, but it seems highly unlikely anything is going to happen to me while I’m here. So, sorry I woke you up and got you all worried. I’ll call you tomorrow at a more reasonable time once I’ve got something newsworthy to report. Okay?”

  “Alright,” Mike relented. “Call me tomorrow, and don’t forget.” Madeline assured him she would and hung up. She sat with phone in hand, hoping she hadn’t been too glib. For all she knew, her sense of security could merely be an illusion.

  FORTY-THREE

  After Madeline hung up with Mike, she resumed her research. Unfortunately, the listings for private investigators on Guam were fairly scant. The same agency held the first seven of the eight listings on her search. She would’ve felt more comfortable with a larger selection, but she checked out the Hobart Detective Agency anyway. It was a respectable enough site, but it was a fairly large operation. That had put her off when choosing a P.I. in Santa Barbara.

  Thinking of the lone P.I. brought her mind back around to Burt. She bit the inside of her lip as she fought back the tears. She felt in her bones that she’d been the catalyst to his death. That would haunt her for the rest of her life.

  The only way she could assuage her guilt was to avenge his death. The only way she could do that was to find out who was responsible. That would hinge on being able to find another private detective in S.B. And she probably couldn’t even begin the interview process for another 36 hours. Her stomach churned at the thought of all the daunting tasks ahead of her.

  She backed out of the Hobart site and scanned the search results again. The only other listing shown was PIs.com. She gave it a try, finding what she had expected: a countrywide map, including Guam, for clicking on. But as she moved her cursor to the tiny dot on the map, the left-hand panel caught her eye. She then realized this site was meant for industry use as well as public use.

  She became more intrigued as she read down the available options. She was able to search by specific need: infidelity specialist, background investigations, missing persons, etc. As she scrolled down the side bar, she came across something that really piqued her interest. She stared at the “Espionage Store” link for a couple of seconds before its potential registered. She clicked on it and a page of electronic equipment appeared showing items she’d only been marginally aware of through watching spy capers.

  But as she read over the descriptions of this bounty of spyware, her pulse started to race. Here, for purchase, was the answer to her most pressing concerns: a multi-functional portable sweep device, roughly the size of a walkie-talkie. And it could be hers for a mere $500.

  As she read through the description of the instrument’s capabilities, she was awakened to the complexities of the P.I. game. This one gadget could detect wired and wireless cameras, mics, phone taps, and computer bugging devices.

  She sat back, suddenly wary of her computer. She had felt smart ditching her old iPhone and replacing it with one under her maiden name and social; her old phone had been on Steven’s account under his SSN. He wouldn’t have access to her new account, and that gave her a sense of security. But she had been oblivious to the danger of having her movements tracked through her computer.

  She regarded her laptop as she digested all this new—possibly invaluable—information. If she could arm herself with her own equipment, like this sweeping device, she wouldn’t need to hunt around for two different private detectives. That would resolve so many issues for her. But she felt uncomfortable making a purchase like that on her computer, just in case it had been bugged, or worse yet, hacked. The thought had never occurred to her before.

  She consulted the hotel’s directory of services and amenities. As she suspected, there was a business center that was open all hours to accommodate their international clientele. Perfect, Madeline thought, as she slipped into a T-shirt and jeans, and went in search of an anonymous computer.

  Because of the hour, she had the place to herself. She typed in the URL and went right to the “Tools of the Trade” section. She already knew what she wanted, but she became fascinated by all the handy devices that made modern-day sleuthing a whole lot easier.

  As she read one product description after another, she had to wonder if Burt had an arsenal of this kind of gadgetry stashed in his home or office. As with every time she thought of him, a horrible mixture of anxiety and guilt resurfaced. She couldn’t get past their last conversation, when she thought she was being resolute instead of fainthearted; in reality she had been cavalier with Burt’s life.

  Her sense of anxiety and loss made her feel morose. She stared at the computer with unseeing eyes. What was she playing at? Did she really think she was any match for Steven and his gang? Even with all the new evidence to the contrary, it was hard for her to replace the image of the man she’d loved for thirteen years with his calculating, heartless alter ego.

  Subconsciously, she kept reverting to the hope that this was just a bizarre aberration in Steven’s character and would soon pass. But as she tried to take the fantasy to the next level—a tearful reconciliation and the simultaneous departure of the divorcée from Boston—she knew she was clinging to a life that had simply ceased to exist.

  She berated herself as the sting of tears warned of another breakdown. But it was no use. There was so much hurt, loss, anger and resentment burbling up inside her. The only way to expel it was through a torrent of tears. Even as she succumbed, she felt the tandem urge for physical violence; crying her eyes out repeatedly wasn’t going to give vent to all her feelings of frustration and rage. She thought of the gym, but that fell short of her desire to inflict pain on her persecutor.

  Oh, Steven—if I had you in front of me right now, I would rip your eyes out, she swore to herself. But instead of making her calmer, the curse only made her feel more frustrated. Steven wasn’t there, and the likelihood of ever having the opportunity to get even with him was remote. She turned back to the computer screen and tried to focus on her reason for being there.

  The image of Burt rose up in her mind’s eye, this time bringing her strength and determination. Think like Burt, she prodded herself. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, willing her body to relax and her mind to sharpen. After a couple of minutes, she opened her eyes, alert and eager to proceed.

  What Burt would do was use every bit of his intelligence and every tiny clue to figure out Steven’s game plan. He had laid out all the pieces she
had given him and saw right away that Steven’s actions were linked to financial dealings gone awry. She had the benefit of Burt’s insight and she had access to this website, which would give her the tools she needed to catch Steven at his own game…if her mind didn’t cave in to her emotions.

  Mentally refreshed and stimulated, Madeline resumed her perusal of all the nifty electronic gear she could arm herself with. Each item she clicked on gave her an education in the world of spy vs. spy. As she added items to her cart, she could feel the wheels of her mind turning, incorporating each new fact into the lacy network of knowledge her brief association with Burt Latham had given her.

  After nearly an hour in the business center, Madeline had five indispensable items in her shopping cart: the portable sweep, a 128-hour digital voice recorder pen, a GPS tracker that fit in the palm of your hand, a 16 GB high-resolution mini camcorder, and a pair of small, powerful binoculars.

  She could’ve kept going, but a new concern occurred to her: how fast could she get the bug scanner? The fastest shipping option offered was second-day air. That wasn’t going to be soon enough. She saw an 800 number at the top of the screen and called it. Her brain was too overwhelmed to figure the time difference; either someone answered or they didn’t.

  On the third ring, a live voice greeted her and asked how he might be of assistance. Madeline explained her desire to purchase the handheld Multifunctional Portable Sweep and asked if they offered a next-day shipping option. She told the customer service rep there were other items she wanted shipped to her mailbox in Santa Barbara, their arrival to coincide with her return from Guam. He placed her on hold for a moment while he conferred with his supervisor.

  “We can get the portable sweep to your hotel in Guam within 24 hours, at an additional cost of $150. Will that work for you?”

  “Yes, that’ll work perfectly,” Madeline said, goose bumps running up her arms as she realized what she had just accomplished.

  Her next task was to arrange for the front desk to sign for the delivery. She sent an email to the Assistant Manager asking her to inform all the front desk personnel of a very important package that would be arriving within a day, and requested that she be sent a text upon its arrival. That taken care of, she shut down the computer and made her way back to her room, thoroughly exhausted but calmer than she’d felt in weeks.

  FORTY-FOUR

  Madeline rolled over and looked at the clock: 4:26. She had only gotten four hours sleep, but she was wide awake and not at all tired. She lay in bed as she reviewed her actions of the last 24 hours. She laughed at the lengths she had gone to evade detection without any evidence that anyone was in fact interested in her movements.

  Better safe than sorry, she thought, though when she recalled her extravagant late night purchases she couldn’t help feeling a little foolish. The portable sweep seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time, but what would she do if she actually found something on her computer or in her other hotel room? It probably came with operating instructions, though she doubted it came with a manual on how to be a private detective.

  This last thought propelled her out of bed. Why didn’t I think of this sooner? she admonished herself as she pulled on her jeans and T-shirt.

  She headed back down to the lobby level and walked along the ghostly-quiet corridors to the business center. Again, she had the place to herself. She wasted no time, typing amazon.com in the search bar. Once in, she selected Books from the dropdown menu and typed in how to become a private investigator and hit Go.

  Instantly, her request brought up 57 results. She waded through the titles, many of which weren’t what she was looking for. But there were a few that looked like they could teach her more than she currently knew about counter-espionage. She put five in her cart, all of them in eBook format, which she could read on her Kindle. She checked out and they were all instantly uploaded to her device.

  She had plenty of reading material to occupy her remaining time on Guam and on the arduous trip home. The downside of this plan was not knowing for certain if she’d be able to put her finger on the specific knowledge she’d need once her scanner arrived. What she really wanted was some sort of private tutoring, though that would be too much to hope for. She’d be lucky if any of the detectives she had contacted would even return her calls or emails.

  As she sat pondering the likelihood of finding a private investigator willing to take on her case, a fragment of memory floated to the surface. “This is what I really need,” she mumbled to herself as her fingers typed in a new search. She received an unwelcomed jolt as Burt Latham’s name appeared along with the other listings for Santa Barbara P.I.’s. It was eerie to see his name among all the others knowing he was no longer on the receiving end of any potential callers.

  But it wasn’t a private investigator she was searching for. She had already exhausted that avenue. What she was interested in this time were the sponsor ads at the top and on the right side of the screen. Her memory hadn’t failed her. There, competing for possible enrollees, were listings for several online courses in the field of private investigation.

  Madeline’s pulse quickened as she chose a site. She browsed through the offerings and the curriculum, then backed out and checked another site for comparison.

  For the sake of thoroughness, she did another search, which included only training courses specific to California laws and requirements, not that she had any intention of pursuing a career. The mere thought of trying to pull off an act like that made her laugh. She could just imagine Burt rolling his eyes at the idea.

  Well, she didn’t need to become a bona fide P.I., but there was no harm in educating herself. At the very least, she would become a better client, more able to assist in her case. And if she couldn’t find anyone to stick his neck out for her again, she would at a minimum be able to recognize—or maybe even anticipate—any traps Steven might lay in her path.

  She browsed through four more sites before opting for the one that seemed the most credible. It was also the only one to offer the price without first having to speak to a “course advisor.” She studied everything about the site before committing to the $785 “full payment” option. She held the cursor over the button, giving herself a chance to back out. She’d been throwing money around like it had no value, which had certainly been her M.O. for the last dozen years. But now she had to get a grip on her spending habits or she’d burn through her half-million severance pay in no time.

  This is the wrong time to worry about finances, she decided as she clicked on the button and began filling out her billing information. She felt slightly giddy and a tad dubious, and she hoped she wouldn’t regret this in the morning.

  Once she was through the process, she was at liberty to start studying. Though she felt shaky from the adrenalin rush, fatigue was starting to catch up with her. But she couldn’t go back to her room until she took a peek at the course materials, just to make sure she had gotten what she was looking for. After skimming through the table of contents, she found exactly what she needed: How to Recognize and Disarm Surveillance Devices.

  “Yes!” she cried out, her hands clenched in victory. She could do this; she could arm herself with spyware and know-how and defend herself. She wouldn’t have to explain her predicament to wary P.I.’s or put anyone else in harm’s way. Steven would never suspect she had the faintest idea of his behind-the-scenes machinations, so she’d have that going in her favor. She could play the ignorant, broken-hearted fool and he wouldn’t give her a second thought. And why should he? As far as he was concerned, she was in the past. Once she signed the divorce settlement agreement, she had sealed her fate.

  She smiled to herself as she closed out of the internet. The game wasn’t over yet. It was her turn to serve.

  FORTY-FIVE

  Wakefulness came on slowly as Madeline fought her way out of a deep, almost paralyzing sleep. Twice she dec
ided against getting up and fell back into a chaotic dream world. She awoke for the third time drenched in sweat, her heart pounding as she tried to snatch the fragments of her disturbing dream before they evaporated like ether. She pulled herself up and looked at the clock. It was already 9:35.

  She struggled off the bed and went in search of water to erase the stale, cotton-like dryness in her mouth and throat. She guzzled a warm bottle of Perrier as she hunted for the room service button. She ordered yogurt, fruit, coffee and dry toast and jumped into the shower.

  She ate her breakfast looking out at the bay. She tried to savor this moment of peace and tranquility, but her mind was too jumpy for relaxation. By now it was 10:15, only seven hours since she purchased her bug scanner and expedited shipping. She couldn’t realistically expect to see delivery for several more hours.

  She had plenty of studying she could do until then, but she had a craving to be outdoors. It was too beautiful a day to waste inside. Like it or not, this was the last “vacation” she’d have for the foreseeable future.

  She drank the rest of her coffee, brushed her teeth and slathered herself in sunscreen before getting into her swimsuit. She threw together a bag of essentials, including her Kindle and her cell phone, and headed to one of the hotel’s five pools.

  Madeline sampled each of the eBooks on private investigating, honing in specifically on anything to do with finding, identifying and disabling audio/visual recording devices. It was fascinating and enthralling reading. Before she knew it, two hours had passed. Her brain was in such a blur, all she could think of was getting the scanner and putting it to use.

  She checked her text messages, but nothing new had appeared. She called the front desk to make sure a package had not arrived.

  “No, Ms. Dawkins, nothing yet. But everyone has been alerted to send you a text message as soon as it comes.” Madeline thanked the woman and hung up.