No Good Deed

by Lynn Hightower

  Sam came through the doorway like a tornado.

  ‘You’ve got it?’ Sonora asked. Holding her breath.

  ‘Her name is Joellen Karen Carlisle, and her mother has been looking for her for eight years. She disappeared when she was seven years old, supposedly snatched by the mother’s live-in fiancé, William Butcher.

  ‘Butcher was a welder, steady, no record of any kind. The mother, who was involved with Butcher for eighteen months, lived with him for six, does not think he was molesting her daughter, and felt he took Joelle, Joellen, to get back at her for breaking up with him. She lives in Seattle, and she’s catching the first plane out.’

  ‘Does she know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  All these years looking, Sonora thought. And now it was over. But the woman would have closure, and an end to some of the nightmares.

  ‘The funeral’s tomorrow, isn’t it?’ Sonora said.

  ‘That was the plan.’

  ‘I think we should bring him in, Sam. Right now.’

  ‘We have to time it, Sonora. We’re not getting any help from Bristol on this, and if we use up our forty-eight hours before we get our shit together, we’ll have to let him walk. Just give it a few more hours and we’ll grab him.’

  ‘Let’s go now.’

  ‘Stop worrying, will you? Chauncey won’t miss the funeral. All that sympathy? All those newspaper photographers? He didn’t dye his hair for nothing.’

  ‘We should have kept Delaney and Bisky.’

  ‘That’s up to TRC and they haven’t made their case. Wait, there’s the fax machine. Hang on.’

  She rubbed the toe of her Reebok into the tile floor, saw that the pristine white was now smudged. It made her sad when the new ones started getting dirty.

  William Butcher. It sounded made up. Where had the two other kids come from? Why on earth had he taken them? There were absolutely none of the usual indications of child abuse, child porn, nothing there but solid parenting. Did he just take them to raise? There were easier ways to get a family.

  Or were there? For Dixon Chauncey – unloved, unwanted, timid and afraid?

  She put down her Coke can and followed Sam to the fax machine.

  The papers were rolling out, dark squares that meant pictures. She wanted to snatch them out of Sam’s hands, but settled instead for standing on tiptoe and looking over his shoulder.

  The picture was an old one, but there was no mistaking him – the bent shoulders, the bowed arms, the don’t-kick-me-I’m-just-a-puppy look in his eyes which even came through over the fax, or maybe she imagined it. This guy was getting to her.

  William Butcher. Dixon Chauncey. And God knows who else. But there were two children unaccounted for and the blood tests showed they weren’t his.

  Where had he gotten those social security numbers?

  Sam lowered the fax, so she could read without, being on her toes.

  ‘Sam, can we cross-reference here? Missing kids snatched by a live-in or fiancé?’

  ‘That’d be about ninety per cent.’

  ‘No, not biological parents, Sam. He’s not the real father. I got to talk to Crick.’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Crick was on the phone, but he motioned her in as soon as he saw her hanging shyly by the door. She went in slowly, sat down while he wrapped up the conversation, then got back up again.

  Impossible to be still.

  ‘Catch you later.’ He hung up. She closed the door and sat on the edge of the seat, leaning forward. ‘Sergeant, let me be blunt.’

  She saw the tiny flicker of a smile touch the edge of his mouth. If the two of them had understood one thing about each other from day one, it was that they both preferred blunt.

  ‘I want to go get Dixon Chauncey right now.’

  ‘Now as in this minute?’

  ‘This very second I want to get in a car and pick him up.’ Sonora was sweating, though it was cold in the room. She pushed the sleeves back on her sweatshirt. Realized she had not taken a shower, put on makeup or taken her hair down from the clip Gillane had sworn was artistic.

  She was running on high-octane fuel – Twinkies, chocolate, coffee and Coke. The end of the chase.

  ‘I feel really strong about this.’

  ‘Instinct or ulcer?’ he asked.

  ‘Both.’ The ulcer visited her only occasionally now, and always on the downhill run.

  Crick slid his chair forward and leaned across the desk. ‘You know the time constraints, Sonora. You know how long things take, even with the fax, the phone, the computer.’

  She was nodding, nodding, nodding. ‘Sergeant, my mind tells me you make a lot of sense. I just … I don’t know. I feel like we really need to get him now. Sam just got a fax. It’s definite – this guy grabbed Joelle eight years ago when she was seven.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Her mother broke up with him, so he took the kid and disappeared.’

  Crick rubbed his chin. He was weakening a little. She was just not sure it was enough. ‘We talked about this, Sonora, several times. You don’t think he’s been hurting the kids?’

  ‘No, I don’t. But he killed Joelle – clearly she’d figured things out.’

  ‘Or he was afraid she was going to.’

  ‘Whatever. If he’s cornered, he’ll kill.’

  ‘He won’t miss that funeral tomorrow,’ Crick said.

  ‘That’s what Sam thinks.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘It fits the pattern.’

  ‘But you’re still not happy?’

  She shook her head. How could she word this? ‘I think it is very important that we get him right now.’ Brilliant, she told herself. Head-of-the-debate-team stuff.

  The look on Crick’s face told her she had presented him with a dilemma. He tapped a finger on the edge of the desk.

  ‘Sonora, did I ever tell you about my Uncle George?’

  She did not answer, because all she wanted to say was fuck your Uncle George, and she did not think that would go over.

  ‘He had hunting dogs, lots of them. One in particular, the youngest, drove him nuts, because he considered this dog the best in the pack, but he was always so antsy to get after the kill that he’d take off and run like hell, sometimes before he had the scent.’

  Sonora lunged across Crick’s desk, surprising him and her. ‘Now. Right fucking now.’

  ‘Get out of my face, Detective.’

  She took a breath. Stood up. She’d lost, and it felt like the bottom dropping out of her stomach.

  ‘Go do your job, Sonora. It’s on my head now. I’ll let you know when.’

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Sonora brushed by Molliter in the hallway on her way to Interview Two.

  ‘Hey, what happened to the dress code? Or you working undercover now?’

  ‘Yeah, since yesterday.’ Idiot.

  ‘You seen my Swiss chocolate coffee stuff?’ He was tall, thin, red-haired. They had a history of not getting along, but he was religious and always trying.

  ‘Yeah, I took it.’ She walked away. She actually hadn’t taken it but she wished she had. ‘Go tell Crick about it, Molliter. He can tell you about his hunting dogs.’

  ‘You’re losing it, Sonora. You are off the deep end these days.’

  Another voice, calling her name. Gruber. She turned, saw him holding the phone, his desk behind hers.

  ‘Come back over here. You got a call.’

  She went back to the bullpen, sat on the edge of Gruber’s desk. ‘Detective Blair, Homicide.’

  ‘Detective Blair, my name is Linda Sinclair. I’m private, and I work out of Oakland, California.’

  The woman sounded like she was in her fifties, like she was smart, like she had her shit together.

  ‘How can I help you, Ms Sinclair?’

  ‘I specialize in missing children, Detective.’

  Sonora narrowed her eyes. Took a pen out of Gruber’s shirt pocket. He handed her a scratch pad, gave her a wink. Some d
ays she loved this man.

  ‘I’ve been working for a client whose infant son was taken thirteen years ago.’

  ‘Ma’am, I don’t know how you got my name, but—’

  ‘We’ve been looking a long time. You have kids, Detective?’

  ‘Yes to all of your questions. But I don’t think my situation is connected to yours.’

  ‘Please hear me out.’

  A simple plea, no ego.

  ‘I don’t want to be rude,’ Sonora said, ‘but I’m going to give the phone to one of my associates. I’m on a deadline here, and—’

  ‘You’re the lead detective and I’ll keep it down to three minutes.’

  Sonora balled her fist. ‘Okay.’

  ‘This woman’s child was snatched by her boyfriend of eight months, Wilbur Pandlin. Five eight and one half inches tall, dirty blond hair, blue eyes. Bad posture. Very timid. Nobody you’d ever suspect.’

  Sonora took a breath. ‘You got his prints?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Send them.’

  ‘The child – he was just a baby, six months old. Male. He’d be about fourteen right now. I can get you a computer-generated image of what he might look like, or send you pictures of his brothers.’

  ‘I …’ God, this was painful. ‘Ms Sinclair, I won’t need your pictures. I have no knowledge, at present anyway, of the involvement of a fourteen-year-old boy.’

  ‘I see.’ There was a long silence, and Sonora could picture the woman, slumping at her desk. ‘Forgive me. We’ve been looking for this man for a long time.’

  Sonora scooted further back on the desk, was vaguely aware of Gruber rescuing a cup of coffee from behind her back. She crossed her legs. ‘Tell me about it.’

  Sinclair took a long breath. ‘She met him, my client, on the tail-end of a nasty divorce that pretty much wiped out her bank account. She lost everything except her kids, which was where she put up her fight. She’s back on her feet now. She’s quite a lady.

  ‘Her ex was mentally and physically abusive and she was at a pretty low ebb when she met Wilbur. He was a welder.’

  ‘A welder?’

  ‘Yeah, that mean something?’

  ‘Maybe. Go ahead.’

  ‘She was crazy about him at first, so she tells me. She says he was the most non-threatening man she had ever met. Between you and me, I think that was the major attraction. In six weeks they had moved in together, and she said it was like they’d been married for fifty years. I’m thinking that was part of the problem too. He never argued with her, and did everything the way she wanted, but she usually wound up doing things his way, because he made her feel so guilty all the time. After a while she felt like she just had another kid, and she was being manipulated, and she asked him to move out.

  ‘She says he cried, but she stayed tough. She remembers thinking that he would call her again, and be hard to get rid of. But nothing for two weeks. She didn’t call him, he didn’t call her. Then one morning he shows up on the doorstep while she’s ready to head off to work. Says he left some stuff in the bedroom, could he go in.

  ‘She says sure, but hurry, she’s got to get the other kids to school, and go to work, and the baby needs his bottle. He says I’ll give the baby his bottle, you get the kids off to school, then you can meet me here, get Stevie, and lock up the house.

  ‘She’s in a hurry, she says okay. Dumb yes, in retrospect, but he timed it pretty well – she’s under pressure. And remember she’s shared her bed, her home and her children with this man for seven months and thinks she knows him pretty well. He’s never hurt the kids – in fact, he’s been a model father.

  ‘So she comes back for her baby, and you know the rest of the story. At least, I hope you do.’

  Sonora was very afraid that she did. ‘Send me those prints, Ms Sinclair.’

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Sonora sat in Interview Two, head in her hands. Another set of parents were on the way, these close to home, out of Cleveland.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sonora?’ Sam put a hand on her back.

  ‘I’m just waiting for those prints. What do you think of her story? The Oakland PI – Sinclair?’

  He sat on the edge of the desk in front of her. ‘I think it’s creepy as hell. But it’s got that ring about it, you know?’

  ‘I know. What did that lady in Cleveland say?’

  ‘Same deal, different details. Took her two-year-old. Age and description sound like Mary Claire.’

  ‘So where did Kippie come from?’

  ‘Don’t know yet. This is weirder than hell. Why take the kids and keep them?’

  ‘Rage,’ Sonora said.

  ‘You should eat. You look awful.’

  ‘I’m full of Tootsie Rolls.’ The ulcer was agony.

  ‘Wait here.’ He disappeared, came back with Gruber’s bottle of Mylanta. ‘I know you.’

  She took the Mylanta. Felt guilty for getting mad at him yesterday. She put her head up. ‘I wonder how much of this Joelle had figured out.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘I think she knew he wasn’t their real father. Imagine this kid’s childhood. Dad gets a girlfriend, loses the girlfriend, keeps her kids.’

  ‘That’s why she was so obsessed with missing children and finding birth mothers. She must have known her mother was still alive somewhere, or suspected it anyway.’

  ‘Okay, Sonora, I get why he takes the kids, I just don’t know why he keeps them.’

  ‘Rage makes him take them. Gloating makes him keep them. They’re like trophies. Fear makes him kill them.’

  ‘Why not kill the woman, why not stalk her?’

  ‘He’s afraid to stalk, Sam, he can’t stand the tiniest confrontation. This man must be afraid every day of his life. He wakes up with it, he sleeps with it. I’d like to know how such a creature gets formed.’

  Sam gave her a look. They both knew the answer to that one.

  Sonora rubbed the back of her neck. ‘But look what taking the kids gets him. Her attention. For the rest of her life, she thinks about him, wonders about him, hopes he’ll show up. And revenge. She hurt him, and boy is she going to pay. What’s the worst thing you can do to a mother?’

  ‘Take her child.’

  ‘Like Sinclair said, I bet these are all strong, assertive women. He’s attracted to that. He’s afraid of it too.’

  ‘I noticed he was attracted to you, Sonora.’

  ‘Don’t say that.’

  ‘Didn’t you feel it? Wasn’t that why you left the other day, when he was crying?’

  ‘I know I could get a confession out of him, Sam.’

  ‘You will. Bide your time.’

  ‘He likes strong women, for whatever reason. And he does everything for them, everything they want, and they still throw him out. Rage, Sam, the only way he can express it, and they’ll pay for the rest of their lives.’

  ‘Plus he gets off on the martyr thing. The single father.’

  ‘He’s a sympathy junkie. You’ve watched him. He loves every bit of the attention.’

  ‘He’ll get a lot when we take him down tomorrow.’

  ‘Crick still wants to do it after the funeral?’

  ‘Between the hearse and his home,’ Sam said.

  ‘He wants all that media?’

  ‘He says we’ll get it anyway, might as well control it.’

  Sonora frowned. ‘Something’s wrong here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Shut up, shut up, don’t talk to me, I almost had it.’ She stood up. Something at the back of her mind. ‘Go over it again, everything you just said.’

  ‘The hearse, controlling the media—’

  ‘Shit, shit, shit, Sam, that’s what it is.’ She was jumping up and down. ‘Oh my God, Sam, think for a minute – Montel.’

  ‘Montel Williams? The talk-show host?’

  ‘Dixon turned him down. Didn’t you think that was weird? Mr Attention-Getting Sympathy Junkie turns down national TV? What possible reason could he
have, except he’s afraid he’ll get caught. He’s worried about getting recognized. Sam, don’t you get what this means?’

  Sam looked up. ‘He’s not going to be at that funeral tomorrow.’

  ‘No, because he’s afraid. And, Sam, fear. Fear makes him kill.’

  Chapter Sixty

  The driving argument didn’t come up; Sam was the best and Sonora knew it. They slapped the siren on the roof and took off. Crick was alerting and organizing uniforms, putting the SWAT team on standby, though they were under strict orders to prevent a hostage scenario.

  They should be so lucky, Sonora thought.

  McCarty was on his way, riding with Crick. Gruber and Sanders were en route. But Sam and Sonora would go in first. Don’t escalate, Crick had told them. As if they needed to be told.

  It was a long drive in, and Sonora sat, almost doubled over, eating one Mylanta after another, face grim. She could not get it out of her head – a man who would not sell a horse to slaughter, but would put children in harm’s way.

  What had made him the way he was, what kind of a mold had formed him? What made him afraid to lift his head, what made him plaster a hesitant smile over a welter of anger so sore that he would take a child for revenge? What engendered this perverse mix of anger and fear?

  Two miles out they took down the siren and slowed their pace. Sonora chewed the end of her hair and crunched Mylanta tablets.

  The farm looked just the same as always, battered down and beautiful. Sam turned down the familiar gravel drive and Sonora shook the Mylanta bottle into her hand, only to find it empty. They had worked it out on the way over. Leave the car hidden. Give Sam time to go around the back, along the tree line and out of sight, then Sonora would hit the front door.

  Move fast. Backup was right behind.

  Sam parked the Taurus in the parking lot, which was empty. It was four o’clock, the dead time of the day. Sonora saw horses peering from the little barred windows. She thought about Poppin, in the barn next door.

  She did not shut the car door completely. The sound of a car door carried. She did not want Dixon alarmed.