ALPHABET MURDERS - ANGIE BARTONI CASE FILES #1 (Detective Angie Bartoni Case Files)

by Marshall Huffman

Not good to carry a bluff that far. First we had no probable cause to get a warrant. Secondly he wasn’t being charged with anything and most importantly, he could walk right out of there, go home, kill Fran and get rid of her body. For an FBI guy that wasn’t a very smart move.

  “I don’t give a shit what you do. I’m out of here. You want to arrest me, go ahead and do it,” he said and went stomping off toward his car.

  “That could have gone better,” I said.

  “I guess I should have let you handle it. I didn’t like the guy the minute I laid eyes on him. He has a smirk that just makes me want to punch him.”

  I didn’t say anything. What could I say really? Way to go Bozo? Probably better just to let it go. Being a tad more professional would have helped too.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The man came down the stairs and opened the door. The young girl was lying on her back. He could hear her breathing but it didn’t sound right. It was more of a wheezing sound. Her breaths were shallow and she looked extremely pale. He knew something wasn’t right. He shook her to get her to wake up but her eyes wouldn’t focus and she kept closing them. She was as limp as a dishrag.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he said, shaking her.

  She mumbled something but he couldn’t make it out. Her wheezing was happening when she inhaled and exhaled.

  “Come on damn it. What wrong with you? Did you do something while I was gone?” he said, shaking her harder.

  No response. Her head hung back and she couldn’t seem to move.

  “You shit,” he screamed at her, “Don’t you do this to me. I didn’t go to all of this trouble for you to die on me yet.”

  He laid her back down and started pacing back and forth in the room. What the hell was he going to do now? He didn’t know anything about this kind of crap. Why was she doing this? He tried to calm down but he was getting more aggravated with each lap of the room. He hadn’t even enjoyed having her yet and she was looking like she might die. Maybe she was diabetic he finally thought and went over and tried to talk to her.

  “Fran. Listen to me. Are you diabetic?”

  Nothing.

  “Damn it, you need to answer me. Are you diabetic? I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s wrong,” he said trying to get her to focus on his voice but she didn’t seem able to speak.

  “Son of a bitch. Don’t do this to me. I selected you to be my daughter. You can’t die until I’m ready. I will decide, not you,” he yelled.

  What to do? Finally he decided to go to the drug store and see if he could something to help her. He could even ask the pharmacist if he was careful how he did it. If he couldn’t make her better he would just have to get rid her and start over.

  But who would he grab? Another girl that had a first name starting with an F or skip to G? Decisions, decisions. Nothing was ever easy.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Neither Martin nor Wilson yielded any great revelations. Both denied being on N. Tillison. Near, yes but not on. We had no way of proving either of them had actually been involved. Since Tolbert said he couldn’t recognize the driver we were essentially right back where we started. Ground zero.

  It was late before we got back. My pizza splitting partner was still off someplace with the FBI. It was not a date. It wasn’t. I went directly to see the Chief.

  “What’s eating at you?” he said as soon as I walked in.

  “Why? Does it show?”

  “Kind of like one of those new LED billboards.”

  “Well crap. Alright since you already know something is on my mind I might as well spill my guts. We just came back from Industrial Air Compressor Services and I don’t know quite what to think. Pendergrass is not a field agent. He made some of the dumbest mistakes I have ever seen for an FBI agent. To be frank, he was a fourteen karat blockhead.”

  “No, don’t hold back, tell me what you really think,” the Chief said sitting back in his chair and folding his arms across his stomach.

  “Damn it Captain I mean it. His interview of one of the possible suspects was third rate at best. We didn’t get anything useful because of how he went about it. If this guy is in any way connected with the disappearance of our young girls, he essentially put him on notice that we were looking at him. That in itself isn’t so bad but the guy walked out. Hell, he could go home, kill Fran and dump her body. It was a stupid thing to do.”

  The Captain sat and looked at me for a few moments before speaking.

  “Look, the FBI does things one way and we do them another. You’re just going to have to make the best of it.”

  “But Captain...”

  “No Bartoni. They are here to help us because they were invited. You’re just going to have to find a way to deal with it. Have you discussed it with Aaron yet?”

  Crap. Sure, throw up procedure you dunderhead.

  That’s what I thought. What I said was, “I’ll go do that right now. I was just upset. Sorry.”

  “Then go talk to Aaron right now,” he said pointing to the door.

  I slunk back to my desk feeling sorry for myself. Aaron wasn’t there with Pendergrass so he would have no real perception of how the guy operated. To help alleviate my pain I went and got a Diet Coke. I had just sat down at my desk when the phone rang. It was the wife of James Welch.

  “What can I do for you Mrs. Welch?

  “I didn’t want to call but I don’t know what else to do,” she managed to get out. Obviously she was under a great deal of stress,

  “Do about what?”

  “James. He has been going crazy ever since we you were here. He took an extended leave from his work and has been driving around all day looking for the white van Jim Tolbert described. I think he has a gun. It’s legal and he has a permit to carry but he has never done anything like this before.”

  “Do you have any idea where he might be right now?”

  He left about an hour ago. He just said he was going out and not to worry. I tried to talk him out of taking the gun but he just sort of blew me off. What if he finds one of their trucks and it’s the wrong person?”

  “You did the right thing calling. I’ll put a BOLO out right away. I’ll need his car type, color and plate number.

  “The car is a new Mercedes CL 55 or something like that. It’s black. I don’t know the tag number. I never drive the thing.”

  “That’s not a problem. I can get it from DMV. What did he have on when he left?”

  “Tan slacks, burgundy polo shirt and a tan windbreaker. Izod I think.”

  “Do you know what kind of gun he has?”

  “Signal something.”

  “Sig Saur?”

  “That sounds about right. Something like that,” she told me.

  “Alright. I want to get this out over the air ASAP. Did he take his cell with him?”

  “Yes, but whenever I call it goes straight to his voicemail. He isn’t answering. I’ve tried over and over.”

  “Okay. Give me the number and I’ll see what we can do from our end. Let me know if he calls back.”

  “I will. His number is 676-4343. I’ll keep trying.”

  “Alright Mrs. Welch. We’ll start looking for him immediately.”

  “Please don’t hurt him. He is just not thinking right. Don’t shoot him. I couldn’t live with that and Fran too.”

  “We’ll be very careful. He may realize he isn’t doing the right thing and just come home. Please, you need to let me know the minute he does so we can call off the BOLO.”

  “You said that before. What is a BOLO?”

  “Sorry. Cop talk for be on the lookout,” I told her.

  “Thank you. I just didn’t know what else to do,” she said.

  I could hear she was about ready to cut lose with tears.

  “Mrs. Welch, would you like to have someone come over and sit and talk with you? We have people who are willing to help. It doesn’t cost a thing,” I told her.

  “I think I’m okay,” she said snuffing back tear
s.

  “You know, why don’t I come over and we can just talk. I’ll get this information out and then I can be with you if he comes back home.”

  “Well, if it isn’t too much to ask.”

  “Hey, no problem. I’m the one that suggested it. Let me take care of this business and then I’ll come right over.”

  “Thank you Detective Bartoni.”

  “You can call me Angie. No use in being formal.”

  “Alright Angie. I’m Marsha.”

  “Fine Marsha, I’ll be there shortly.”

  I don’t know why I do these kind of things. I’m not very good company on the best of days. I would probably only make it worse. Sometimes my alligator mouth overloads my hummingbird ass. This seemed to be one of those times.

  James Welch could become a serious problem. If he went after one of Industrial Air Compressor Services people it could land his butt in jail. I doubt that bothered him at this point but it would if he crossed the line.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  As soon as I was sure the BOLO had gone out I had a couple of cars sent to the Industrial Air Compressor Services business just in case he was lurking around there someplace.

  As much as it hurt my pride I asked Shores if she wanted to go along. I think I shocked her or else she stutters when she is excited.

  “What? Ah, sure. Sure, Sure that would be great,” she stammered.

  “I thought maybe you could help calm her down. She has been through a lot. I think she just needs a woman to talk to,” I said as I slid behind the wheel.

  “The best thing we can do is let her do the majority of the talking. Once she opens up it will all come gushing out.”

  We made small talk about nothing until we got to the Welch’s house. She was standing in the doorway as soon as we got out of the car.

  “Anything on James yet,” she asked pensively.

  “Sorry, nothing yet, but I think that is a good thing. At least we know he hasn’t done anything so far,” I told her, putting my best positive spin on the situation.

  “I still can’t reach him on his cell.”

  “We have a bunch of people looking for him. I had a car sent over to the business that the van belonged to, just in case he showed up there.”

  “I just can’t...oh, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude. Please come in,” she said opening the door.

  We stepped inside and could see things had gotten a little worse. When we were here last time everything was immaculate. Now it was in disarray. Not as bad as my place gets from time to time, but you could definitely see a difference.

  “I have coffee or tea,” she said leading us to the front room.

  “Marsha this is Cynthia Shores. She is with the FBI. I hope you don’t mind that I brought her along. She has a way with people that I pretty much lack.”

  “No, that’s fine. Look, I know this is silly but I just don’t know what to do. I mean, I feel totally lost. It seems everything is spiraling out of control.”

  “I understand,” Cindy said, “Is it one thing or is there more to it?”

  “It’s everything. First Fran then James and it’s all my fault.”

  “Marsha, this is not your fault. It seems like it right now but it isn’t. Both you and James have had your world turned upside down. It’s not of your making. This guy has destroyed too many lives already. Don’t let the bastard add you to his list. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now but it will get better.”

  “How? How will we get Frannie back? How will it get better if James isn’t stopped before he hurts someone? Tell me one thing that is going to make it better,” she said covering her face with her hands.

  Wow. Right about now I wish I hadn’t asked Cindy to come along.

  “Marsha,” I said, “Are you religious at all?”

  “Well, I guess. Some. I mean, I believe in God.”

  “You know, when I have a really big problem I need help with, I go talk to my pastor. Somehow it calms me and helps look at things differently.”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been to church in...well, almost a year,” she finally said.

  “It doesn’t matter. There are no time restrictions. I’m sure he would love to sit down and talk with you. He certainly knows what you are going through.”

  “I’ll need to think about that. I know I sound like a basket case. Actually, I am a basket case. With James taking off from work, it will be tough to meet our financial obligations. It takes both our incomes and to tell the truth, I don’t want to go to work either. Everyone looks at me with such sad eyes. I know they just want to help but it is dragging me down. No matter where I turn, nothing seems to be going right.”

  “What else is troubling you? I don’t mean that the way it came out,” I suddenly said.

  Open mouth, insert foot. Damn I can say some dumb things at times.

  “I know what you mean. It’s everything. Our washing machine quit working last night. The yard looks like heck. I’m surprised the neighbors haven’t complained.”

  “You know what? None of that matters. Look, the only real things you need to focus on are Frannie and getting James back on track. We’ll get him back. He can’t get far with half the police in the city looking for him. We will do everything in our power to find Frannie and bring her home.”

  “I’m not blaming the police. It’s me. If I had called her in just a half hour earlier she wouldn’t have been taken.”

  Ah, the real crux of the problem.

  “What you are feeling is perfectly normal. Parents always think they could have made a difference. Marsha, nothing you could have done would have changed what happened. This monster had his sights set on Fran. If he hadn’t grabbed her when he did, he would have waited for another opportunity. The only thing that stops someone like that is getting caught and put away forever. Nothing you or James could have done differently would have ultimately changed the outcome.”

  “But it’s my responsibility to protect my child,” she said, tears running down her cheeks.

  “Marsha, no matter how hard we try, sometimes it just can’t be done. This is one of those times. Believe me, I’ve handled these kind of cases before and the parents always want to blame themselves. What you are feeling is natural, but Marsha,” I said, “You are not to blame for what happened. The man who took her is the only one that is to blame.”

  “Still...”

  “Look, we have a support group for parents that have suffered a traumatic experience. Almost to a person, they say it helps. Would you consider trying something like that?”

  “Sure. I would, but I don’t know about James.”

  “I’ll talk to him. Sometimes it helps if it comes from someone else.”

  “Alright. I don’t see how it could hurt,” she said at last.

  We sat and talked for another hour about all sorts of stuff that didn’t amount to a hill of beans but I could see her visibly start to relax.

  “Oh darn. I’m so sorry. It’s getting late and I haven’t offered you anything to eat. I can whip up some sandwiches in nothing flat. I haven’t been able to eat much but now I realize I’m hungry.”

  That was a good sign as far as I was concerned. Weight Watchers may disagree but I was glad to see her starting to feel somewhat normal.

  “Nothing for us, but thank you. I could...”

  My phone went off and I fished it out of my purse.

  “Bartoni.”

  “We have James Welsh. Everything is cool. He was sitting out at the reservoir, just dangling his feet in the water. The gun was in the car so he wasn’t going to do anything stupid.”

  “Great news. Thanks for calling. I’ll tell Marsha,” I said and flipped the phone closed.

  “They found James. Everything is fine. He was out at the reservoir just clearing his head. He is on his way home.”

  “Oh thank God. What was he doing at the reservoir? He hates water,” she said and started laughing and crying at the same time.

  We waited until
the police car showed up and walked James to the front door. Marsha flung open the door and pulled him to her. They just stood there holding each other for several minutes.

  I took it as our clue to exit. I considered that another good sign that things were going to get better.

  ***

  Cynthia was quiet on the ride back to the station. I wasn’t really sure what was eating at her.

  Since I’m the sensitive type I asked, “What’s got a bee in your bonnet?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Something is bothering you. You haven’t said two words since we left.”

  “Alright, I don’t think you should advise people to go talk to a priest or whatever.”

  “Really?”

  “I just don’t think it helps to give them false hope.”

  I shook my head. Where was this broad coming from?

  “I’m not sure I follow you really. Do you think it is better to just have her keep all this bottled up inside? She needs someone to listen to and assure her they will get through this. Together.”

  “I doubt a preacher can do that.”

  “Why? Just what do you think they do?”

  “Look, you have your way of doing things and I have mine. Let’s just leave it at that,” she said looking out the window.

  Fine. I didn’t have to like her, just work with her.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Finally he calmed down enough to start to think straight. Fran obviously had some sort of condition. He knew she wasn’t faking.

  The problem was the same. What to do with her? Should he just kill her and dump her body or see if he could get some medicine to fix her. Yeah, but what kind of medicine. If the stupid twit would wake up long enough for him to ask her what was wrong with her. The trouble was he couldn’t wake her.

  He tried shaking her but that did nothing. He threw a glass of water on her but nothing. How could she be so damn inconsiderate? He had gone to a lot of trouble to select her. He had watched her playing, going off to school, shooting hoops against the garage backboard. Now she was nothing but a limp rag. Useless.