by Susan Fleet
“I bet you didn't like that. Tell us what happened tonight.”
“Donald Duck came in my room and turned on the light. I was still awake. One time he let me have strawberry ice cream, so I asked him if I could have some tonight, but he said no, I could have some later because he was taking me home. Can I have some ice cream now?”
Frank tried to conceal his dismay. He had a million questions for her, but he wanted to keep his star witness happy. “I don't think we have any ice cream. You like chocolate chip cookies? I can go get some out of the machine.”
“Can I come with you?” Gazing at him with her beguiling blue eyes.
Frank glanced at Blanche, who smiled and shrugged her consent.
“Okay, Emily. Let's go get some cookies.” He announced that he was interrupting the interview to get Emily a snack, paused the recorder and took Emily out of the room.
Holding his hand, she skipped down the hall in her pink flip-flops, had a lot more energy than he did. His head was throbbing, partly from the scotch he'd consumed earlier, but mostly from lack of sleep. Emily spotted the snack machine, let go of his hand and ran down the hall. When he got there, she tugged his arm and said, “Can I tell you a secret, Mr. Frank?”
“Sure. I like secrets,” he said, stooping so she could whisper in his ear.
“The lady at Whole Foods gave me a dish of chocolate ice cream. Can I have Doritos instead?”
He glanced at her white dress and saw chocolate stains. He took out his wallet and fed a dollar in the slot. “Which kind?”
“Cool Ranch, please. Can I push the buttons? Mommy always lets me do that.”
“Okay. Push C-4.”
Her tiny forefinger, no bigger than a toothpick, paused over the numbers. She pushed C-4, and a package of Cool Ranch Doritos tumbled into the slot.
“There you go, Emily. Let's get back to the room. I don't want you to forget any details.”
“Like the nines tables?” she asked, smiling up at him mischievously.
He loved it. Not quite six and already practicing her feminine wiles.
When they went back in the interview room, Emily opened the bag of Doritos and crunched one. Frank restarted the tape recorder and picked up where he'd left off.
“Tell us about Donald Duck, Emily. Was he wearing a mask?”
“Yes. Both of them were. Donald Duck was nice but Mickey Mouse wasn't. He made me use a potty like I was a baby. He stank of beer, and sometimes he yelled at me. He was mean!” Gazing at him, her eyes brimming with tears, her bottom lip trembling.
In a second she'd be crying. To distract her, he rose from his chair. “How tall was Donald Duck? As tall as me?”
“Yes. A little taller maybe.” Holding her hands four inches apart.
He sat down and announced for the tape-recorder, “Witness indicates Subject One is six-foot-five or so. What else can you tell us about him, Emily?”
“He's a black man like our gardener, but he's much bigger than the gardener.”
Frank stood up again. “How big is Mickey? As big as me?”
Emily studied him, frowning. “No, shorter.” Holding her hands four or five inches apart.
He sat down. “Witness indicates Subject Two is five-eight or five-nine. Is Mickey Mouse black?”
“No, but he's got long black hair. He wears it in a ponytail.”
Inwardly jubilant, Frank kept his face impassive. Long black hair in a ponytail. The description Sweets had given of the man who asked him to pick up the suitcase. He figured Ponytail was the leader, the bastard who'd killed Robbie.
“Was Mickey there tonight when Donald Duck came in your room?”
“No.”
“How about last night?” The night Robbie had been murdered.
“I don't remember,” Emily said, frowning. “I was there a long time. Where's Mommy?”
That's what he wanted to know, but he wasn't going to get into that now. “What did Donald Duck do after he came in your room?”
“He took me down the hall to Mom's room. A long hall, like in those gun houses.”
“Gun houses?” Frank said, mystified.
“Yes.” Emily gestured at Blanche and smiled. “Grammy told me about them. She lives in a log cabin.”
“Oh, I get it,” Frank said. “You mean a shotgun?”
Emily nodded. “Yes. I forgot what you call it.”
A shotgun in Kenner near the airport. Exultant about the new information, he said, “What did Mom do when you went in her room?”
“She gave me a big hug and said she missed me. I missed her, too.”
“I bet you did. What happened then?”
“Donald Duck took us in the kitchen and gave Mom two blindfolds and made us put them on before we left. Mom asked him where Robbie was, but he wouldn't tell her. He said we had to hurry up and get in the car.” Emily gazed at him, her eyes solemn. “Where's Robbie?”
Another question he didn't want to answer. He felt Claudia's foot touch his beneath the table. He glanced at her and saw the message in her eyes: Don't tell her. They were in total agreement there.
“What happened after you put on the blindfolds, Emily?”
“We went outside and Donald Duck put me in the back seat of a car and buckled my seat-belt. Mom sat in front, I guess. I couldn't see. He told us not to talk. Mom said to be as quiet as a mouse, so I was. Then he drove us to Whole Foods. Mom takes me there sometimes to buy groceries.”
Which means Donna is familiar with the store. But why did she leave Emily there alone and take off? Where the hell was she now?
“What happened when you got to Whole Foods?”
“Donald Duck told Mom to take off my blindfold and give it to him and then he drove away.”
Smart move by Donald Duck. If his DNA was on the blindfolds, they could identify him.
“After we went in the store, Mom let me sit at the counter near the registers and color a pumpkin while she went to call Daddy. But she was gone a long time. So I went over and asked the clerk with the blonde ponytail to help me, like Mom said.”
“She told you to ask the clerk for help?”
“Yes. She said she didn't know how long it would take her to find a telephone. Where's Daddy? Can he take me home now?”
Frank didn't want to push it. He glanced at Blanche, saw the same reaction. “Yes. You've been very helpful, Emily. Thank you.”
Speaking for the tape-recorder, he noted the time, 11:14 PM, said he was ending the interview and shut off the machine.
Blanche gave Emily a hug. “Great job, Emily. Come on, I'll take you out to your father.”
“No!” Emily stuck out her bottom lip. “I want Mr. Frank to take me.”
Frank couldn't help smiling. Emily was feisty, had a mind of her own, just like his daughter Maureen. “Okay, Emily, let's go see Daddy.”
Emily's face lit up like a Christmas tree, all smiles now. Blanche stayed in her seat as they left the room. With Emily clutching his hand, he walked down the hall and opened the door to the foyer.
Clearly unhappy about the wait, Hunter Gates was leaning against the wall beside the door. “Daddy!” Emily yelled, and held up her arms.
Glaring at Frank, Gates scooped her up and hugged her. After a moment he set Emily down. “Where's Donna?”
“This isn't the time to discuss it,” Frank said. “Take Emily home. After you put her to bed, call my cellphone. We can discuss it then.”
Gates gave him an icy stare. “Come on, Emily. Let's go home.”
“Thanks for the Doritos, Mr. Frank.”
“You're welcome, Emily. Have a good sleep tonight in your own bed. You'll feel better tomorrow.”
Until you figure out your mother is gone.
As Gates carried Emily out the door, Claudia Cohen said, “Nice job with the interview, Frank. You've got a fan for life. How old is your daughter now?”
Too tired to think, he yawned. If he didn't get some sleep he'd pass out.
He realized Claudia was staring at
him. “We need to talk, Frank. Call me as soon as you can.”
“Tomorrow,” he said, and yawned again. The only person he wanted to talk to now was Vobitch.
_____
Donna tagged along behind four boisterous teenagers in Halloween costumes. But not too close. Her hair was a mess and she smelled funky. After the cruiser drove into the Whole Foods parking lot, she had raced across the street to the restaurant on the other corner. Unfortunately, she’d forgotten the straw hat. When the teenagers left the restaurant, she had followed them to the crosswalk, trying to blend in with them. Safety in numbers.
Traffic roared past them on Veterans Boulevard, Metairie's main east-west thoroughfare, cars, trucks and taxis emitting the stench of exhaust fumes. Her stomach heaved. For years she’d been living a lie, married to Hunter, sleeping with René. Now, the cold hard reckoning.
Laughing and whooping, the teens ignored her. When the Walk light came on, they crossed the eastbound side and stopped beside the grassy median that divided Vets Boulevard. The girls wore heavy makeup and skimpy costumes, a red dominatrix outfit on one, a witch's costume with a pointy black hat on the other, their skinny legs stuffed into red knee-high boots. One boy was dressed as Darth Vader and carried a fake sword, jabbing it at one girl, then the other.
Joking around like this was just an ordinary night. For them maybe, not for her. A cruiser with flashing lights stood outside Whole Foods.
The teenagers dashed across the westbound lanes of Vets Boulevard, turned left and ran past Lakeside Shopping Center. Donna ran in the opposite direction. Circling the massive shopping center, she stopped opposite the parking garage. A car was coming down the exit ramp. She shrank back into a recessed doorway. The car headlights car swept over her as it passed.
After it drove away she trotted across the exit road and entered the parking structure. The garage was creepy, dark and silent. High above her, fluorescent lights cast shadows on the empty spaces between parked cars.
She trudged up the ramp, picturing Emily in the store, surrounded by clerks and a policeman. What kind of a mother was she, leaving her young daughter in the hands of strangers? And what about Robbie? Why wouldn't Donald Duck tell her where he was?
Blinking back tears, she circled around a turn and continued up the ramp, hurrying now. She had no idea what had happened since Saturday, ironic, considering that she was a newscaster. What did her boss think about her absence? But her biggest worry was Hunter. What would he do when he found out she'd left Emily alone in the store?
Goosebumps rose on her arms, a precursor to the hives that plagued her. Driven by fear and guilt, she ran up the ramp to the rooftop parking area. No cars parked up here, no moon or stars visible in the sky, just thick banks of low-hanging clouds. The air was foggy, damp with mist, and her stinky shirt clung to her back. She needed a shower and clean underwear.
Most of all she needed to talk to René.
To her left, six cement stairs led to Dillard's department store. The store was closed now, dim light showing beyond the glass double doors, but she should be able to get a strong cellphone signal up here. Provided it had power.
She took the phone out of her pocket, turned it on and breathed a sigh of relief when the face-plate lit up. Good, it had power. She punched in René's number. She couldn't wait to hear his voice.
For the first time since the kidnappers had entered her house Saturday night, she felt happy. René would help her.
When he didn't answer right away, she paced in a circle, gripping the phone. Please answer, René. I need your help.
And then his voice, musical and melodious, spoke into her ear. “Hello?”
“René!” she exclaimed. “It's Donna.”
“Hey! Great to hear from you. I didn't recognize the number. You got a new cellphone?”
Giddy with relief, she said, “No. It’s a long story. You won’t believe it.”
“I can't talk long. I'm on break and we start playing again in a minute.”
“What time do you get off?”
“Not till two. What's wrong, Donna? You sound anxious.”
“I just escaped from a kidnapper.”
“Whoa! Are you serious? What happened?”
“Two men came to the house Saturday night and kidnapped me and Emily and Robbie. I've been cooped up ever since in a house near the airport. But one of them just let me and Emily go.”
“What about Robbie?”
“That’s the problem, René. I don't know. We have to find him! I'm outside Dillard's at the Lakeside Shopping Center. Can you come pick me up?”
“Lord-a-Mercy! My band is playing a week-long cruise. We won't dock in New Orleans until Friday afternoon.”
“Friday?” Tears flooded her eyes. “René, you have to help me!”
“Donna, I would if I could, but I'm on a ship in the middle of the ocean.”
She lowered the cellphone and began to weep.
CHAPTER 25
11:15 PM
Growing more agitated by the minute, Darin stood inside the Clearview Mall parking garage. Hidden in shadows near the entry ramp on the ground floor, he checked his watch. 11:15.
Gates should have been here by now. Where the hell was the bastard?
He poked his head around the corner of the garage. To his left fifty yards away, people poured out the rear entrance of the mall, headed for their cars. A movie had just let out. There were many cars parked near the mall entrance, only a handful in the area facing the parking garage, none of them red.
Jesus fucking Christ! He'd given Gates specific instructions. Rent a red car, put the bucks in the trunk and park the car behind the Clearview Mall opposite the parking garage at eleven o'clock.
A half hour ago he’d parked his van ten yards away from a tall pole with a floodlight. He didn't dare wait in the van, didn't want to take the chance Gates might see him, so he had hidden inside the parking garage, as he’d planned, his designated surveillance post.
He clenched his fists. No red rental car. No Gates. Where the hell was the son-of-a-bitch?
Doubt crept into his mind, as silent and stealthy as a cat stalking a mouse. Maybe Gates didn't believe him. Maybe he'd have to kill the girl, too.
Lights flashed as a car came down the garage exit ramp, then another and another. Darin tried to reassure himself. Maybe Gates was stuck in traffic.
He decided to wait five more minutes. If Gates didn't show by then, he'd go home and kill the girl.
But five minutes later, no red car had entered the parking lot.
A fulminating fury sent his heart racing. Gates would pay for this!
An hour from now his precious daughter would be dead.
_____
Frank parked in the driveway beside Vobitch's house and went to the door. Vobitch opened it immediately. A thin gray bathrobe was belted around his waist, and patches of dark chest hair were visible in the deep V below his chin. The rich aroma of French roast coffee filled the kitchen.
“You want coffee?” Vobitch said. “A piece of pie?”
“No thanks,” he said wearily, setting a manila envelope on the counter. “Figured I'd drop off a tape of the interview so you can listen to it now, bring it to the station in the morning.”
“Good idea. How did Emily do? She tell you anything?”
“She did great. She described the kidnappers. Donald Duck is a big black man, six-four at least, maybe bigger. He's the one who let them go. Mickey Mouse is smaller, five-eight or five-nine. Mean, Emily said. Mickey's not black, but he's got long black hair, wears it in a ponytail.”
Vobitch scratched the stubble on his jaw. “You think Mickey killed Robbie, Donald got worried he'd kill Donna and Emily, and let them go?”
“Feels like it to me. At least Donald's got a heart.” Frank stared into space, picturing the photographs in Gates's kitchen. Robbie missing from one, all alone in the other.
Vobitch squeezed his shoulder. “I know you're upset about the boy, Frank. But you did the ri
ght thing. Not your fault the son-of-a-bitch killed him.”
He nodded, touched by his boss's concern. Vobitch was twelve years older than he was, not old enough to be his father, but on more than one occasion he had offered him fatherly advice and support. Vobitch could be foul-mouthed and stubborn as hell, but he had always supported him, had backed him to the hilt several years ago after he'd shot a deranged stalker.
“Did Emily give you anything else? Any mention of the airport?”
“No, but she said the house was a shotgun.”
Vobitch chuckled. “Far out. Pretty smart for a five-year-old. So we got two suspects holding them in a shotgun in Kenner close to the flight path for Louis Armstrong airport.”
“And a cross with Asian characters belonging to Rose No-Last-Name, possibly Vietnamese, possibly related to Suspect Two.”
“Which CC and Walsh don't know about,” Vobitch said. “I'm glad the girl is safe, but what's up with the mother?”
“I have no idea.” Frank took out his cellphone and checked for messages. Nothing yet. “Gates is supposed to call me after he puts Emily to bed.”
Vobitch took the cellphone out of his hand and shut it off. “Fuck him. Last thing you need right now is Gates ranting and raving at you. Go home and get some sleep.” He frowned. “Wait. I don't want you to fall asleep on the way home. Sleep here. The guestroom is always ready to go.”
Frank suppressed a smile, Vobitch playing Jewish mother now. “Thanks, Morgan, but I'd rather sleep at home.”
“Okay. Grab some extra winks and come to my office at eight-thirty. We'll theorize over coffee and Danish.”
_____
Darin parked the van in front of his house. His heart was no longer blasting a hole in his chest, but he was still furious. Now he had to kill the girl and dump her body somewhere. Because Gates wouldn't follow orders.
Cursing under his breath, he ran up the front steps and unlocked the door.
The instant he stepped inside he knew something was wrong.
Where the hell was Sam? The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
He dashed around the corner to his bedroom where they were keeping the woman. The door was open and the room was empty.