Missing, Frank Renzi Book 6

by Susan Fleet

  Frank remained silent, amazed to learn this. He’d been hanging out with David for more than a year, playing hoop with him, and he had no idea his family owned a restaurant.

  “But our customers were very loyal. Perhaps your parishioners are very loyal as well,” David said, glancing at Frank.

  “Someone named Rose,” he said. “We need her last name.”

  “I’m not sure I can help you,” Girard said. “I know all my parishioners by name and no one named Rose attends church here. That's a rather unusual name for a Vietnamese woman.”

  “An Americanized name,” David said, “almost certainly.”

  “Why are you looking for her?” Girard asked. “Has she done something wrong?”

  “Nothing like that,” Frank said quickly. “We just want to talk to her.” He tapped the close-up of the cross. “Could you post this on a bulletin board where your parishioners would see it and ask them to tell you if they recognize it?”

  Father Girard smiled and rose from his desk. “Excellent idea. Then I could call you and you could speak to the person. I'll post it on the bulletin board right now.”

  _____

  10:18 AM

  Hunter Gates spun the cylinder and slapped it into his Defender. Modeled after a snub-nosed Smith & Wesson revolver, the Defender held five rounds. Lethal rounds. Too bad the prick who'd stolen his family wasn't here. He'd use his head for target practice.

  He turned to the laptop on the dining room table and studied the email that had arrived two minutes ago. He wouldn't be telling the cops about this one. Or the FBI. He didn't trust Walsh, sending his flunky to tell him Robbie was dead. Special Agent Claudia Cohen, ringing his doorbell this morning, prim and proper in a dark pinstripe suit like she was going to church. No, temple. Cohen was Jewish. Young and attractive. He'd love to see her naked. He imagined holding his Defender on her, making her bend over his bed with her ass in the air so he could mount her from behind.

  But he had more important things to worry about. He jammed the revolver into his shoulder holster and studied the latest demand.

  The girl is next. Put $1M in the trunk of a red RENTAL car. Park behind the Clearview Mall near the garage, 11P tonight. Leave the keys in car and go home. NO COPS or the girl is dead. Tomorrow night bring $5M to your office at 10 PM and you get your wife and kid.

  He already had one million in cash. Getting five million more might be a problem, but he wanted Emily back. Alive.

  Rage clogged his throat. Tonight at eleven he had to leave a million bucks in a rental car at the Clearview Mall.

  Because some dickhead had stolen his princess.

  If the prick harmed one hair on Emily's head, he would track him down and shoot him like a dog.

  And what about Donna? He conjured an image of her: short blonde hair, pretty face and big tits. A great piece of ass when she felt like it. But not for the last few months. Did she know Robbie was dead? She was crazy about the kid.

  Lord knows why. He was a pain in the ass. But not anymore.

  The hackles rose on his neck as a terrifying thought struck him.

  What if he paid the bastard and the sonofabitch killed Emily anyway?

  Evil thoughts flooded his mind as he envisioned the torture he would inflict on him if he did.

  He'd make the bastard wish he'd never been born.

  _____

  11:15 AM

  “Sorry I forgot the coffee,” Frank said as Claudia took the chair beside his desk, a small athletic-looking woman with high cheekbones. Not beautiful, her nose was a bit large for her face, but he was willing to bet men paid attention to her at parties. She looked elegant in her charcoal pinstriped suit, her short dark hair pushed back to expose gold studs in her ears.

  “That's okay. I've had too much already. I saw the bulletin about Robbie on the eye-opener news.” She gazed at him, her large brown eyes somber. “These kidnappers are monsters.”

  “Yes, they are. What did Gates say when you told him?”

  Claudia grimaced. “Nothing. Didn’t even blink. That's not normal.”

  “No, it isn't.” He pictured the family photo minus Robbie, the fury simmering inside him.

  “He's as cold as ice,” she said. “Like the Foreigner tune.”

  “Foreigner's the best,” David Cho called from his desk. “One of my favorite groups.”

  Kenyon yelled, “Don't start singing, David. You can't carry a tune in a wheelbarrow.” Kenyon grinned at Claudia and winked.

  Claudia smiled but she seemed flustered, a pink blush coloring her cheeks. To Frank, she said, “How about you? Do you like Foreigner?”

  “No. I'm into jazz, hang out on Frenchman Street. You?”

  “Show tunes were my first love. When I was a teenager, I had Broadway ambitions, sang lead in some amateur shows. I wanted to be the next Julie Andrews. That didn't work out, so I joined the FBI.”

  “Quite a leap, Broadway to crime fighter in a single bound. How'd that happen?”

  Her eyes hardened. “That's a story for another day.”

  What's that about? Frank wondered. But had no time to probe her and find out. “I'm still not convinced Gates isn't involved. Did you run the background check?”

  “Yes, but I'm not finished. Walsh asked the coroner to put a rush on the autopsy.”

  He said nothing. Let sleeping dogs lie. “I notified Robbie's grandmother, Donna's mother. Blanche wanted to see his body, but I convinced her to call a friend and stay there. For now anyway.”

  “What about the funeral arrangements?” Claudia asked. “Will she make them? Or Gates?”

  “If we don't find Donna, she'll have to do it. Gates isn't his father.” Not mentioning that Donna's ex-husband wasn't Robbie's father, either. “But no one can do anything until the coroner releases the body.” Deliberately not using DeMayo's name. “Vobitch issued a statement identifying Robbie. Gates told him not to mention the kidnapping. But he's a city councilman and Donna anchors the news on a local TV station. Won’t take long for a media frenzy.”

  “Which means we have to work fast,” Claudia said.

  “I figure they'll send Gates another ransom demand,” Frank said. “But he won't tell me about it. Might not tell Walsh, either.”

  Claudia gnawed her lip, frowning. “Can we put surveillance on him?”

  He tapped his pen on his notepad, considering. “Nice idea, but expensive. Who picks up the tab, NOPD? The FBI?”

  Her frown deepened. “Have you talked to his neighbors?”

  “Not yet. I've got other homicides to work. District-8 is a high-profile area. Lots of tourists visit the French Quarter, as I'm sure you've noticed. We've only got three homicide detectives.”

  Anger flared in her eyes. “No need to lecture me, Frank. I know you have other cases. So do I. But we need to interview the neighbors.”

  He saw how it was. When Claudia wanted something, she was a pit bull. He admired feisty women, Kelly O’Neil for one, but he saw trouble ahead. CC reported to Walsh, who was no friend of NOPD.

  “I can't do it today. Maybe tomorrow.” He waited a beat and said, “Maybe you'll have finished the background check by then.”

  The corners of her mouth quirked. Abruptly, she rose from the chair and said, “Call me when you're ready to canvas the neighbors.”

  He watched her stalk out of the office. CC was pissed. She wasn't going to fight him this time, but there might come a day when she would. Then the fireworks would begin.

  He was glad he hadn't told her what DeMayo had found. She'd find out soon enough when DeMayo sent Walsh his preliminary autopsy findings. For now only the D-8 homicide detectives knew about Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck and the mystery woman.

  Rose No-Last-Name. If David's assumption was correct, she was the woman who had fled Saigon in 1975.

  CHAPTER 22

  9:15 PM

  “How come you're so late?” Darin snarled when Sam entered the living room. “I got things to do before I go pick up the bucks.”

&
nbsp; “I got things to do, too,” Sam said, and closed the door. “Had to pick up a prescription for S.J. He's sick, caught some kind of stomach bug.”

  Darin gritted his teeth. Bitching about his snot-nosed kid again. The guy had no balls.

  “I sent Gates another email. We get one mill tonight. Tomorrow night we get five more and let the hostages go. Provided he doesn't call the cops.”

  Sam looked at him, expressionless, a muscle jumping in his jaw, anger visible in his eyes. “Why'd you kill the boy?”

  “To make Gates understand we're serious. No cops.”

  “Yeah? Now we're looking at a murder charge.”

  “You worry too much. Nobody's gonna know it was us.”

  “Not us. I didn't kill the boy, you did. How do we release the hostages?”

  “We'll talk about it after I get the money. A million bucks. We can split it tonight. Half for you, half for me. How does that sound?”

  Sam smiled tightly. “Okay. If you say so.”

  “See you later,” Darin said, and left the house. He heard the drone of an airplane overhead, flying low to stay under the clouds. It was foggy tonight, a fine mist dampening his face. His house was four blocks from the end of the runway. That's why the rent was so cheap.

  Recalling Sam's smile when he said they'd split the money tonight, he got in the van and cranked the engine. It coughed twice, then started.

  Sam was afraid they'd get caught, but he wanted the money. Wanted to know how they were going to release the hostages, too. Maybe they would, once they got all the money. And maybe they wouldn't.

  _____

  9:25 PM

  Frank put more ice cubes into his glass and added another dollop of scotch, his third since he got home at seven-thirty. Glenlivet, his medication of choice when his emotions were in turmoil, the other being sexual oblivion. No chance of that tonight though. Kelly was in Chicago.

  He went in the living room and sat on the futon. An image of Natalie Brixton blindsided him, gazing at him in the cruiser after he captured her in Boston three months ago. Before she escaped for the second time. Talking about Vietnam at the church today had probably triggered the memory. Natalie was half Vietnamese. Where was she now, he wondered. Living in some foreign country probably.

  No call from Father Girard today, but maybe he'd call tomorrow.

  Frank pulled the laptop on his coffee table closer. He'd already run a computer search on René and got nothing. Because Donna's mother believed René worked on a cruise ship, he added “cruise ship worker,” still got nothing. He doubted that René was involved in the kidnapping. Why would he murder his own son? But Frank wanted to find him. Maybe René could console Blanche and help her with the funeral arrangements.

  His cellphone rang and he grabbed it, smiled when he saw the ID. Kelly calling from Chicago, a beacon of light amid the dark shadows that inhabited his mind, images of the brutal crime scene he had witnessed this morning.

  “Hey, Kelly, great to hear your voice. How're you doing? Having fun at the reunion? Did Benny What's-His-Name hit on you?”

  She laughed, the low husky sound he never tired of hearing. “Slow down, Frank. You miss me?”

  “Yes. If you were here I'd rip off your clothes and take you to bed.”

  “Sorry, you'll have to wait till I get home. To answer your questions, I'm doing fine, having fun at the reunion, and no, Benny didn't hit on me. Someone said he lives in Las Vegas now.”

  “Probably working for the mob.”

  “Nah. Benny's a good Catholic, remember? So how are you doing?”

  “Not good.” He rattled the ice in his glass. “Caught a tough case. Someone kidnapped a woman and her two kids, killed one and left him in a dumpster. It was brutal. And you know his mother. Donna Lee.”

  “Jesus, they kidnapped Donna? What happened?”

  He started at the beginning and told her everything, including the paternity issue, ended with the clues Doctor DeMayo had found.

  When he finished, Kelly said, “Gates sounds like a sonofabitch. I never met him, but I've seen him once or twice on the local cable station. They run the city council meetings.”

  “I figure the kidnappers will send another ransom demand, but Gates won't tell me about it. I’m afraid they'll kill Donna and Emily. Unless he's in on it.”

  “Whoa! That’s out there. Why would Gates be in on it? What would he gain by that?”

  He took another gulp of Glenlivet. “Donna's mother said they're not getting along, and now Robbie's dead. Maybe he wants Emily all to himself.”

  “Hmmm,” Kelly said. When she did that he knew to keep quiet. She was thinking.

  At last, she said, “When Donna interviewed me for that program on domestic violence, she asked all the right questions. At the time, I figured she'd done a lot of research, but maybe they were based on personal experience. You think this is a parental kidnapping only more twisted?”

  “Way more twisted if Gates set it up. On the other hand, it might be a couple of scumbags looking for money, and I've got no clue who they are or how to find them.”

  “Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck. Near the airport in Kenner.”

  “Correct, but there are hundreds of houses under the flight path. We can't search all of them.” He yawned, suddenly exhausted, his head fuzzy with scotch and muddled with theories.

  “Go to bed and get some sleep, Frank. Tomorrow's another day.”

  A long day, probably. He closed his eyes, envisioning Kelly, naked in bed.

  “Damn, I miss you. When will you be back?”

  “Sunday night. I promised Dad I'd have dinner with him Sunday afternoon.”

  “Hey, that reminds me. Special Agent Claudia Cohen knows your father. When I told her you worked for NOPD, she said she'd like to talk to you.”

  After a short silence, Kelly said, “Is she a dog or a cat?”

  Frank grinned. Kelly's classification system for evaluating the women he met. Dogs were fat and ugly. Cats were sleek and beautiful.

  “She's gorgeous, looks like Holly Hunter, packs a gun.”

  Kelly laughed. “Oh, yeah? I better investigate that, talk to my dad and see if you're lying.”

  Frank smiled, trying to imagine how that conversation would go. “Call me from O'Hare before you board. I'll pick you up at the airport.”

  “Okay.” And after a beat, “Be careful, Frank.”

  Their coded endearment whenever one of them worried about the perils the other might encounter on the mean streets of New Orleans.

  “I always am, but I'll be extra careful until Sunday. Wouldn't want to stand you up at the airport.”

  _____

  9:30 PM

  Sam waited a half hour after Darin left, fearing the idiot might have forgotten something and had to come back for it. The house was silent, not a peep from the hostages. Just Donna and Emily now.

  He pictured Robbie and his throat closed up, sickened by what Darin had done to the boy. And he’d done nothing to stop it.

  Mustering his courage, he went out to his car and chugged Pepto-Bismol to settle his stomach. Then he opened the trunk and took out the items he'd purchased before coming to Darin’s house. Not a prescription for S.J., his excuse for being late, a shopping bag with two blindfolds and some plastic handcuffs.

  He went back in the house, put on his Donald Duck mask and walked down the hall to Emily's room. He put his ear to the door and heard nothing. He unlocked the door and flipped on the light.

  Emily sat up in bed and smiled at him. “Hi, Donald Duck. Can I have some ice cream?”

  “Maybe later. How'd you like to go home?”

  “Yeaaa!” she said, beaming at him.

  “Okay, but before you get in the car, you have to put on a blindfold.” He held up the black-knit elasticized band. He didn't have much time and he didn't want her to make a fuss.

  “Okay,” Emily said. “Can we go now? Where's Mom?”

  He held out his hand. “Come with me and we'll go get her.”r />
  She took his hand and they left the room. He stopped at the bathroom and said, “Do you need to use the toilet?”

  “No. Let's go get Mommy.”

  “She's gonna be thrilled to see you.”

  He took her to the bedroom at the end of the hall, unlocked the door, opened it and flipped on the light. “Mommy!” Emily squealed.

  Donna jolted upright on the bed. “Emily!” she exclaimed and held out her arms. Emily ran to the bed and Donna hugged her close, looking at Sam over Emily's shoulder.

  “Can we go home now?” Donna asked, her expression hopeful.

  “Yes, but you have to put blindfolds on before you get in the car.”

  Holding Emily in her arms, Donna rose from the bed. “That's okay. Where's Robbie?”

  The question he'd been dreading. The question that had plagued him every inch of the way as he drove to Darin's house, trying to figure out what he'd say. Nothing, he'd decided.

  “Come in the kitchen and put on the blindfolds. I'm going to cuff you, Donna. Just as a precaution, so you don't take off the blindfold. You need to use the toilet?”

  “No,” she said. “Let's just get Robbie and go.”

  Sam’s heart lurched and pain stabbed his stomach. “He's not coming.”

  “I'm not leaving without Robbie,” she said, frowning at him.

  “You want to go home?” he said sternly, pitching his voice low to make it sound threatening. “Or you want me to put you and Emily back in your rooms and lock you up?”

  “No!” Emily screamed. “Please, Mommy, I want to go home and see Daddy!”

  Donna looked at him, her eyes full of anguish.

  Made him feel like a shithead. He gave her the blindfolds. “Hurry up. We don't have much time. Put one on Emily and the other one on yourself.”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears as she slid the blindfold down over Emily's eyes. “Are you okay, Emily?” she said.

  “Yes. Except I can't see anything.”

  “Good,” Sam said. “Now put yours on.”