Missing, Frank Renzi Book 6

by Susan Fleet

  “Tell me about Donna's relationship with Hunter.”

  “In the beginning she seemed happy. Her first husband wanted her to quit working and have a baby. But Donna was hell-bent on being a network news anchor like Jessica Savitch.”

  “Where was this?” he said quickly. He wanted to locate the ex-husband and talk to him.

  Staring into space, Blanche ignored the question. “I stayed married to Ken thinking I was doing the right thing, but maybe it wasn't. We weren't your happy Ozzie and Harriet family, that's for sure. I think that's what Donna wanted, especially after what she went through with Nick.”

  What did she go through with Nick? Frank wondered.

  “She figured if she married Hunter she could have it all, a happy home life and a career. He wanted to start a family, but he wanted Donna to keep working. He liked being married to a TV celebrity. After Emily was born, they hired a nanny.”

  “What's Emily like?”

  “She's a darling, bright like Donna, but very manipulative. I don't see her much. Hunter doesn't want her coming here and I refuse to visit them. After he got elected to the city council, he wanted Donna with him at all the social events, but she works five days a week. Have you seen her?”

  “Yes. She's very good, great voice, nice delivery. Who else works for them besides the nanny?”

  “The nanny’s husband does the landscaping. You can't live in New Orleans without a landscaper.”

  “Your grounds look great. I love your red maple. You don't see too many around here. I'm from Massachusetts. I like the mild winters down here, but I miss the fall foliage.”

  “So do I. But I don't miss the ice and snow.”

  His cellphone vibrated against his chest. He checked the ID.

  “Sorry, I need to take this.” When he answered, Hunter Gates said, “I just got a ransom note. I need you to get over here fast.”

  Aware that Blanche was listening, he said, “Be there as soon as I can.” He ended the call and rose to his feet. “I have to go, but thanks for the information. Call me if you hear from Donna.”

  For the first time, worry lines grooved Blanche's forehead. “I will. Call me when Donna and the kids turn up, okay?”

  Frank said he would, hoping they didn’t turn up dead.

  CHAPTER 6

  4:30 PM

  By the time Frank got to the Gates house, he was hungry and pissed off. Breakfast, a distant memory, was a blueberry muffin, followed by apple pie and ice cream. Worse, everyone was keeping secrets. Gates hadn't told him Robbie wasn't his son or that Donna had been married before, and Blanche didn't want him to talk to Donna’s ex-husband, wouldn't even say where he lived.

  “What took you so long?” Gates said, his sour expression a far cry from the genial persona he presented to the TV cameras.

  Frank's irritation escalated. He stepped into the foyer and shut the door. “Hunter, we need to get something straight. You called me this morning, me personally, not NOPD. I came here as a favor to you. But I don't work for you. Don't expect me to drop whatever I'm doing and rush over here. I got here as soon as I could.”

  The angry expression morphed into a genial smile, Gates the picture of contrition now. “Sorry, Frank. But this ransom note really upset me.”

  “Why didn't you tell me Donna was married before?”

  Surprise, then annoyance, registered in Gates's eyes. “I didn't think it was relevant.”

  “I'll decide what's relevant. You got any more surprises for me?”

  A muscle worked in Gates's jaw. “No. You want to see the ransom note?” Without waiting for an answer, Gates went around the corner to the dining room. A laptop was open on the table with an email folder on the screen. Gates clicked on an email and it opened.

  Frank studied the message.

  Pay for your sins. $1M cash tomorrow night. NO COPS or the kids are dead. We'll be watching. Photos of your family and directions follow.

  Pay for your sins. An interesting opening for a ransom demand, but he'd think about that later. The rest was clear enough.

  “Open the To-From details.”

  Gates clicked the tab, which expanded to reveal the From information. 1990Man

  “Looks like a spoofed address,” Frank said, thinking how easy it would be for Gates to fake the email to make it look like it came from someone else.

  “Spoofed? Gates said. “What's that?”

  “A fake address to hide the sender's identity. Sometimes you can identify the IP address and find out what computer it came from, but not always.” For all he knew, Gates could have sent it to himself. But if this was a legitimate ransom demand, he couldn't afford to ignore it.

  “It's time to call in the FBI.”

  “No!” Gates shouted, glaring at him, his pale blue eyes venomous. “No FBI.”

  “Why not? Whoever sent this email has Donna and the kids.”

  “Exactly, and I intend to pay the ransom and get them back.”

  “Hunter, you're not equipped to handle this. The FBI—”

  “Listen!” Gates said, clenching his fists. “No FBI. They'll fuck it up! I've read about other kidnapping cases. One woman got kidnapped and her family called the FBI. They put a tracking device in with the money and after the guy picked up the ransom, they staked out his house. But he spotted them and shot himself. They never found the woman. I don't want that to happen to me.”

  “That's one case, Hunter. One out of millions.”

  “Did you read the fucking note? No cops or the kids are dead! I want my family back alive. I already told my accountant to get the cash.”

  Frank turned and stared out the window. Dust motes danced in the slanting rays of the setting sun. Soon it would be dark. Donna and her kids had been missing for eighteen hours. Kidnapping an adult was one thing, but with kids involved, the situation was far more volatile. Kids were hard to control, and kidnappers tended to be unstable and anxious. Anything could happen.

  “How do you know they're still alive? You need proof of life.”

  Gates paced back and forth beside the dining room table, clenching and unclenching his fists. “The email said he'd send pictures of them.”

  “How do you know he'll release them if you pay?”

  “Jesus, don't say that! If something happens to Emily, I don't know what I'll do.”

  What about Donna? And Robbie?

  “What happens when Donna doesn't go to work tomorrow?”

  “I'll call the station and tell them she's sick.”

  “And when the kids don't show up at school?”

  “Same thing. Call the school and say they've got the flu.”

  Frank gritted his teeth. Gates thought he had this all figured out, like this was a simple business proposition. Maybe it was. Maybe Gates killed Donna and this was a smokescreen.

  “Hunter, when a married woman goes missing, the spouse is always the prime suspect.”

  Outraged, Gates glared at him. “You think I kidnapped them?”

  Or killed them.

  “I've seen it happen a few times. I'm not saying you did, but—”

  “You cops are all alike! No imagination, can't think outside the box. Same with the FBI. They'll dig into my background and nail me for a fucking parking ticket I didn't pay twenty years ago!”

  “Hunter, I'm a homicide detective. You called me and asked me to find your wife and kids. But now there's a ransom demand. Donna and the kids are in danger. The longer you wait, the more dangerous it gets. I need to talk to my boss, and you need to call the FBI.”

  Rigid with fury, an angry flush mottling his cheeks, Gates said, “I told you before. No FBI. I won't let FBI agents come in my house, tap my phone and monitor my emails.” Gates stepped closer, clearly trying to intimidate him. “If you and your boss call the FBI, I won't cooperate. And if something happens to Emily, I will crucify both of you.”

  Frank said nothing, just turned and left the house. Blanche said you were a prick, and she's right.

  He got
in his car and drove away, wishing Kelly wasn’t in Chicago. She had keen instincts when it came to relationships and women. Maybe she could help him unravel the Donna Lee puzzle. Raised in an unhappy household, the child of an alcoholic, compulsive-gambler father. Changing her name after he died was pretty drastic. Donna might be smart, but not when it came to men.

  At thirty-four, she'd been married twice. According to her mother, Donna didn't get along with her first husband, didn't seem too happy with Hunter Gates, either. Frank couldn't shake his suspicion that Gates had something to do with this. Gates hadn't been married before, but he must have had girlfriends. Maybe he had a mistress, a woman he'd met on one of his business trips. Risky, if he intended to run for U.S. Senate.

  Maybe Vobitch was right. Maybe Donna found out Gates was screwing around and called him on it. Maybe the spat was more than a spat. Frank had seen plenty of cases where a domestic argument turned deadly. Gates might be forty-six, but he was in good shape and much bigger than Donna.

  Would he kill her while the kids were home? Did he kill them, too? Doubtful. His concern about his daughter seemed genuine.

  Why was Gates so adamant about not calling the FBI?

  Because he didn't want them to tap his phone and monitor his email? Or was he afraid of a thorough background check? If that was the case, Frank was pretty sure he wasn't worried about an unpaid parking ticket.

  The most obvious scenario troubled him the most.

  Someone had kidnapped Donna and Robbie and Emily.

  He got on his cell and called Vobitch.

  _____

  Robbie pressed his ear to the door and held his breath. Everything was quiet now, but a while ago he'd heard loud voices. It sounded like the kidnappers were arguing. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but it frightened him.

  Last night he thought there was only one kidnapper, but there were two.

  The man in the Donald Duck mask had brought him an Egg-McMuffin for breakfast. He was black, but Mickey wasn't. He wasn't as big as Donald Duck, either. Mickey had fed him macaroni-and-cheese for lunch. He wasn't wild about mac-and-cheese but he'd eaten every bite, fearing it might be his last meal.

  He was still scared, but not as bad as last night when the door opened. Terrified, he'd curled up in a ball and shut his eyes, his heart pounding like crazy. When he opened his eyes a slit, someone was beaming a flashlight around the room, so he shut his eyes again, and the door closed with a soft click. Hours later when the sun came up, he'd peeked out the windows, but there was nothing to see, just a bamboo fence, so he couldn't tell if there were any houses nearby. He'd tried to open the windows but they were nailed shut.

  He stepped back from the door. At least there was the bathroom. That was a relief. He didn't have to ask the kidnappers if he could use the toilet. He kept hearing airplanes flying over the house, so they had to be near the airport in Kenner. Or under the flight-path anyway.

  Last month in science class they had studied aerodynamics and what kept airplanes from falling out of the sky. That was cool. Science class was fun. When he asked if he could do a project on the life-cycle of frogs, Mr. Desautel said that was terrific and he'd be glad to help if he needed anything. He probably would. Mom didn't like gerbils or frogs or little squirmy things.

  A tight feeling squeezed his chest and his throat clogged up. Where was Mom? What if the kidnappers killed her? Then he'd really be an orphan.

  Hunter didn't care about him and his real father didn't either.

  He went in the bathroom, stood in front of the mirror and put on a mean face, his eyebrows bunched in a frown, his lips pinched in a line. Pathetic. If he tried that on the kidnappers, they'd laugh at him. They probably had guns. He had nothing, not even a nail clipper. The medicine cabinet was empty, not even a bottle of aspirin or a toothbrush. A maroon bath towel and a hand towel hung on a metal rod beside the tub. He didn't dare take a shower, but after he ate the mac-and-cheese lunch he had washed his hands and face.

  He left the bathroom and pressed his ear to the door of the room. No more angry voices. That was good, but he still felt anxious. Fidgety. If he were home, he'd go outside and run around or ride his bike over to his friend's house. Cooped up in here, there was nothing to do.

  It seemed like this was an old woman's room. The clothes in the closet were all size small, pretty dresses and blouses and slacks. The silk bathrobe hanging from the hook on the closet door smelled of Jasmine like the pillowcase on the bed.

  A makeup table opposite the bed had a fancy chair with a brass back and a red-padded seat. There were all kinds of bottles and tubes on the table. The woman had more mascara than Mom, and Mom had a lot. She didn't wear makeup at home like she did on TV, but when she went to the grocery store, she always put on eyeliner and mascara and lipstick.

  Beside the makeup table was a maple bureau with six drawers. He didn't dare open them. Maybe he'd search them later and find a clue. The top of the bureau was dusty. A rosary and a silver cross lay beside a Bible. The old woman must be Catholic. He wasn't, but he knew some kids who were.

  Using his forefinger and thumb, he picked up the rosary. The black beads were tiny, not plastic, some kind of stone, but he didn't know what kind. He fingered the silver cross and turned it over.

  There were Asian characters on the back and an inscription. Rose 1975.

  Not much of a clue.

  He did the math on his fingers, counting by tens from 1975 to 2010. Far out! The cross was thirty-five years old.

  What happened in 1975? He sat on the red-cushioned chair and tried to remember what he'd learned in history class. Nothing about 1975. The only dates he remembered were 1803—the year of the Louisiana Purchase—and 1815, when Andrew Jackson won some big battle that saved the city.

  But who was going to save Robbie Lee?

  _____

  Emily sat down on the bed and yawned. Sometimes Mom wanted her to take a nap after she got home from school. She never did, but she might take one now. There was nothing to do here. It was boring. No TV, no books to read, no toys, no crayons or coloring books.

  Where was Daddy? Why didn't he come and get her?

  Donald Duck was nice, but Mickey Mouse was mean. When he brought her lunch, she told him she had to go to the bathroom. He said okay, but if she opened her mouth, he'd take her right back to her room. She had to pee really bad so she was quiet as a mouse when he took her down the hall to the bathroom. He didn't come in with her, but he left the door half open.

  She didn't like that.

  When she flushed the toilet, he didn't even let her wash her hands, just took her back to the room and told her to eat her lunch. “Okay,” she'd said, “but what then? There's nothing to do. I want a coloring book and some crayons and some books to read.”

  “Shut up and eat your lunch,” he said.

  Then he'd left and locked the door so she couldn't get out.

  Tears prickled her eyes. She liked having her own room at home, but now she was lonely. She'd been in here a long time, all by herself.

  When Robbie tried to come in her room at home, she told him to stay out. Robbie thought he was smarter than her, just because he was older. Sometimes Mom asked him to help her, like when it was raining and she couldn't get her boots on over her shoes. But she wouldn't let him. That made Mom cross, especially if she was in a hurry.

  She wouldn't mind if Robbie came in here, though. Then she'd have someone to talk to. Maybe Robbie could figure out a way to escape so they could go home.

  Earlier she'd heard voices and they sounded angry. Like Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse were arguing. Sometimes Mommy and Daddy argued, too. It was happening a lot lately and it worried her.

  Mom had been married before, but then she stopped being married to the man in Florida so she could marry Daddy. What if Mom decided she didn't want to be married to Daddy anymore?

  Then what would happen?

  Where would she live? With Mom or with Daddy?

  Her lips were dry and chapp
ed like they got in the winter when it was cold outside. She stuck the tip of her tongue into the space where her baby tooth used to be. The Tooth Fairy had given her five dollars for it! Pretty soon she'd have a grown-up tooth.

  But not if she didn't drink her milk. That's what Mom said.

  She hadn't had any milk since yesterday. And she was thirsty again. She wanted something to drink. Not juice, a glass of milk or some bottled water.

  Why didn't Daddy hurry up and come rescue her?

  Her eyes filled with tears and a sob made her tummy shake. She rubbed her eyes. At first this seemed exciting. She was having an adventure, like the girls in some of the books she read.

  But not now.

  Now she wanted to go home and be with Mommy and Daddy.

  CHAPTER 7

  5:35 PM

  Ravenous, Frank devoured his burger, a quarter-pounder with cheese, leafy greens and a slice of beefsteak tomato. Waiting patiently, Vobitch studied the ransom demand Frank had jotted in his notepad, sipping Glenlivet on the rocks, his usual beverage when they met at the Poorhouse Pub, a local hangout three blocks from Vobitch's house.

  Vobitch had arrived first and claimed their usual booth near the back wall. Sometimes they came here after work to discuss delicate matters—no interruptions, no other cops around—sometimes just to commiserate after a rough day. No jukebox, no live music, just tasty burgers and reasonably priced booze. Week nights it could be noisy and crowded, but not on a Sunday, a few guys nursing beers at the bar, watching a football game on TV.

  The moment Frank pushed his plate aside and drank from his Heineken draft, Vobitch said, “What did our politician friend say about the ransom demand?”

  “He wants to pay the ransom. I told him to call the FBI. Twice. The second time he went ballistic, said if I did, he wouldn't cooperate, wouldn’t even let them in the house.”

  “What's he so worried about?”

  “A background check. Or so he said.”