Best Defense

by Randy Rawls

  “Was there anything that helps?”

  “Yes … and no. We know Ashley is okay—well, was okay. He sent pictures showing her in normal situations. I was about to take the note apart when you called, hoping to find something between the lines. In the meantime, we sit and wait.”

  “Good luck with your read. If there’s anything there, I’m confident you’ll find it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Call me if I can do anything else. If we come up with the woman, I’ll let you know.” He rang off.

  It made me feel better knowing Bob was on the team. With his network of homeless people, we stood a chance of spotting the female who picked up Ashley from school. I hoped she’d have to go to Publix or Winn-Dixie or somewhere to restock the refrigerator.

  fifteen

  I rubbed my eyes, then stood and walked around the table in the gazebo, wondering if I could grab a power nap somewhere. Exhaustion threatened to overtake me. That and the sadness and hopelessness I felt. My eyes fell on the kidnapper’s note. I picked it up, sat, and began to read.

  If you, and whoever’s with you, are reading this, we have passed the first stage of our endeavor. I assume you opened the pictures so you know Ashley is fine. No harm has come to her. If you haven’t looked yet, I suggest you do so. I’ll wait .

  The smiley face bugged me. Ransom notes were no place for humor—even bad humor. The bum could save that crap for another day.

  First stage. Did that mean he lumped the murders of Carmina and Sabrina, the kidnapping of Ashley, and the staging of this message as only the first phase? If so, I shuddered, wondering what would constitute the second phase. Or maybe I didn’t want to know.

  Okay, let’s move on. But first, just so you know, I am not alone. Be assured that someone is with Ashley at all times—no matter how many of us are otherwise occupied. In other words, if you deviate from the instructions one inch, someone will make sure Ashley gets her due.

  This bothered me even though I hadn’t expected to be dealing with a single person. Kidnapping was difficult for a lone individual to pull off. At a minimum, someone had to watch the victim while another made a pickup. But this time, he wrote many of us. Did that mean three, five, ten? Of course, the more of them there were, the worse our chances of bringing them down and rescuing Ashley. Not a pleasant thought, but one I needed to plan for. And what could he mean by Ashley gets her due? A strange choice of words that nagged at me.

  Your incompetence cost me ten years of my life. I want restitution. Let’s say each year is worth $100,000, not much by modern standards. Your total bill is one million. I know you’ll have no problem raising that amount. I know several others that you failed. Each reported he overpaid by an exorbitant amount.

  The paragraph intrigued me. Had his braggadocio given us a clue that could help us identify him? Our kidnapper said he lost ten years. That could mean he went to prison when Hammonds’ efforts were unsuccessful in his defense. Allowing for pre-trial confinement, that meant he hired Hammonds eleven or twelve years ago. Or, allowing for the snail’s pace of the judicial system, call the window eleven to fifteen years ago. Since John’s success rate was high—he didn’t lose many—the number that went against him during that time couldn’t have been substantial. A small lead, but the first of the case.

  A hundred thousand a year. Was there significance to that amount? Could that be what he paid Hammonds? It could just be a convenient way for him to arrive at one million for a ransom amount. The letter continued.

  You and those with you can ease off. I’m sure you’re plotting how you’ll capture me during the exchange. It won’t be quite that simple. My plan is basic. You won’t see Ashley until seven days after you pay. And, if you do anything I don’t like before or during that period, she will be lost to you forever.

  All I read from that was he was a diabolical bastard. Smart, but diabolical. Seven days from the ransom collection could take him almost any place on the planet. He was trying to tie our hands while he made his getaway. However, if he released Ashley a week after receiving payment, someone would have to stay in the area to do it, and that would be stupid. Fat chance.

  You have the rest of today to accumulate four million dollars. Yes, four million. Why? you’re thinking. Pretty simple. We’ll use four different drop sites, one million at each site. I, and only I, will know which is THE site. The other three will not be serviced. If you’re lucky, you will recover those funds. Otherwise … Well, that’s just something else for you to worry about.

  Did he really think Hammonds could put together four million dollars in one day? Could anybody do that? And the use of four drop sites, with one to be serviced by the kidnapper? What was that all about? Perhaps he thought he could split our forces. That made no sense. He must know we’d turn out as many people as we needed to watch four sites—or forty-four sites. Strange. Very strange. He must have some special places in mind.

  I’m sure you want to know what happens if you don’t pay. Again, nothing complicated. Ashley simply disappears. How, you wonder. Keep wondering. You’ll have years to live in the agony that I had—years of knowing you’re paying for your incompetence.

  No threat to kill Ashley. Wasn’t that supposed to be the ultimate convincer in a kidnapping? Pay up or your friend/mate/child dies. Often, from what I’d read, there was the additional threat of dismemberment. Could he mean he’d simply keep Ashley? Did he mean he’d dispose of her in a way her body would never be found? I hoped the former. It wouldn’t be the first time kidnappers grabbed young people and kept them. However, I couldn’t recall any voluntarily released.

  There was the Elizabeth Smart disappearance—kidnapped and held for nine months before someone recognized her on the street. The guy who did that was enough of a nut case that he almost got away with it. Fortunately, it was one of those times the justice system worked, and the kidnappers got what they deserved. But I didn’t remember there being a call for ransom. Not the same as Ashley’s situation. My man was smart and sane enough to come up with a foolproof plan—at least on the surface.

  It felt like a snake crawled over my stomach as I remembered Jaycee Dugard. She spent eighteen years as a backyard captive of a scumbag who was an unimpeachable argument for abortion. His mother failed the world by carrying him to full-term. I could simply pray Ashley had not fallen into the hands of such a creature.

  There were other examples of young people disappearing, then reappearing years later. Thinking hard, I couldn’t remember any based on revenge. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen.

  Last, I have to tell you I am sorry about your wife. All she had to do was cooperate, and she’d be alive to enjoy this with you. Instead, she chose to play heroine. I couldn’t allow that, could I? Make sure you don’t try to play hero. It won’t work any better for you than it did for her. And if you die, what happens to Ashley?

  He apologized for killing Sabrina, then blamed her that it happened? Then he threatened Hammonds. That flummoxed me. What kind of sicko could he be?

  I reread the note. Possibly, he was a former client, and he had lost. He blamed Hammonds. Of course, he didn’t say if he was guilty. He appeared to have a decent education. No street jargon, not even any prison jargon, although the impression he left was he spent ten years in prison. Probably a white-collar criminal. My first thought was that would narrow the suspects. Then I remembered I was in South Florida. No shortage of white-collar crime. Elected officials, lobbyists, and business executives doing the perp walk no longer make the front page of the local newspapers. Voters just yawned and elected the next set.

  Ten years in prison. That didn’t really help. It meant he received a sentence of from ten to ninety years. With the revolving door in our prison system, all he had to do was play nice, and they would let him out, no matter what the judge had said.

  I shoved the paper aside, my mind numb. I forced his note from my conscious
ness and reflected on the morning. Whether it was taking my mind off the problem for a moment or what, I don’t know. But, I realized the answer might be in Hammonds’ office. I checked my watch—seven-thirty—and got up and headed into the house.

  My intent was to get a fresh cup of coffee, then talk to Hammonds and Sargent. As I approached the kitchen, I heard a voice I recognized as Bannon. “So, how’d she do? Is she the loose cannon we think she is? How bad is she screwing this up?”

  I stopped, then turned to head back outside. Not something I needed to hear. I had enough problems without having my life dissected.

  “I’m reevaluating,” Sargent said, then paused.

  What could I do? I stopped to see what he would say next.

  “So far, she’s been straight arrow. Her actions last night were on the nose. I don’t envy her. This is going to get tougher. But, you know, I have a gut feeling she can handle it.”

  I almost choked, not sure my ears had registered his words correctly. What a change. I’d have to remember to be nicer to him—well, maybe. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I walked outside, then circled the house to come in from the rear. I still wanted the coffee.

  Sargent and Bannon were still in the kitchen. “Where’ve you been?” Sargent said, suspicion in his voice.

  “Getting my bearings in the gazebo. Mostly thinking about the ransom note. I have an idea if you two are interested.”

  “Of course we’re interested,” Sargent said. “We value our jobs, and the chief says you’re calling the shots.”

  Bannon just stared over the top of his cup.

  While refilling my coffee, I said, “I think our perp is an old client of Hammonds. I’m guessing he has him in his files. Maybe you could take him downtown and let him dig back ten to fifteen years for clients he didn’t get off. Might be one of them.”

  Sargent looked at Bannon, pursing his lips. “Yeah, that’s what we were talking about before you came in. You want to mention it to Hammonds or should we?”

  “You do it. I’m too tired. I’m headed back to the gazebo to rest my head.”

  “Yeah,” Bannon said, his first comment since I walked in. “You look like you need some rest. We’ll take it from here.”

  I smiled and walked out. Let them take the credit. After the way Hammonds had kicked them around, they deserved it. I dropped onto the bench in the gazebo, the pictures and the message in front of me.

  Not long afterwards, Bannon and Hammonds left, headed for Hammonds’ downtown office and his files. Sargent left to get some rest so he’d be fresh when he took over later.

  I picked up the picture of Ashley watching TV. She was beautiful, and the expression on her face was priceless. She looked so innocent it was hard to believe she was in the hands of unscrupulous thugs, who had already killed two people. No matter how well-written the note, only gutter-slime would do what they did.

  As I lay the picture down, I felt more anger flood into me, a bitter taste filling my mouth, bile flaming my throat. My hands hurt, and I discovered I had clinched my fingers so tightly the nails dug into my palms. I grabbed the note and read it again, taking deep breaths to keep from ripping it into shreds. The bastard apologized for killing Sabrina, but made no mention of Carmina, the maid. What was wrong with me that I hadn’t noticed it before? That set off a whole new chain of thought. What kind of man would do that? Did he live in a world where hired help meant nothing, where they were non-persons? Maybe some poor little rich boy? I filed it away to mention to Hammonds later. Perhaps it would trigger a memory of a particular client.

  “May I bother you a moment?”

  I jerked, then spun to my left. Standing outside the gazebo was Hammonds’ sister. “Come on in,” I said. “I’d appreciate the company.”

  “I brought some coffee. From what I’m hearing, you were up most of the night.”

  “Wonderful.” More coffee sounded great. I’d had a couple of cups, but another was welcome. Besides, I did want to talk to the sister. Straining, I tried to remember her name. Something with an M.

  “I’m Maddy Hammonds, John’s sister.” She set the coffee on the table along with two packets of Sweet ’n Low and a couple of creamers. “I didn’t know how you like it so I tried to come prepared. Now I realize you might prefer sugar.”

  “No, this is fine.”

  She sat across from me, wearing jeans, sandals, a loose top, and little or no makeup, her blond hair pulled back with a butterfly clip. She had changed since we stood shoulder to shoulder reviewing the ransom note. I placed her age in mid to late forties—unless she’d had a great cosmetic surgeon. Then she could be in her nineties.

  “I appreciate what you’re doing for my brother. If he loses Ashley, I don’t know how far he’ll fall. She and Sabrina were his whole world.”

  “I’m doing what I can, but we have a long way to go.” I busied myself preparing my coffee. “He said you and Sabrina hated one another. Is that right?”

  She dipped her head, then sipped from her cup. “Hate is a little strong—at least for me. Let’s just say I didn’t enjoy being around her, and she returned the feeling.”

  “Why?” I tasted, then nodded at her. “Excellent coffee. Thanks.”

  “It’s the least I could do. John is very important to me.”

  “So why the bad blood between you and Sabrina?”

  “Is it important? Will it bring Ashley home?”

  I forced a smile at her duck of my question, then stifled a yawn. I realized how tired I was. If I didn’t get a few hours’ sleep soon, I might fall off the bench. “Sorry. Since it’s not a situation I run into every day, my natural curiosity leapt up.”

  She squinted. “If it reaches a point where it will help John and Ashley for you to know, I’ll tell you. Otherwise, it’s more personal than I want to share.”

  I studied her. The crow’s-feet at the edge of her eyes said she squinted a lot. “Are you nearsighted?”

  “That’s a strange question,” she said through a smile. “It’ll take me awhile to figure how it fits into your investigation. However, since I refused your other question, I’ll answer you. Yes. I wear contacts to correct it, but haven’t put them in yet.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I suppose it’s the investigator in me. I’m always looking for identifying features. One of yours is the way you’re forcing your eyes to focus from across the table.” I sipped my coffee, wondering if she had a reason for joining me.

  “It was a good observation. Now, may I ask you something?”

  “Sure. Same rules as you used. If I don’t like it, I won’t answer.”

  “Why are you a private investigator? You’re attractive. You seem intelligent. Why would you put yourself in such a position?”

  I sipped my coffee as I considered her question. It opened a painful window that I didn’t often let anyone through. But suddenly, I wanted to talk about it. Anything to get my mind off Ashley.

  “When I was twelve, my father was murdered. We lived in Addison, Texas, at the time, Dad, Mom, my older brother, and me. One night after I had gone to bed, something woke me, noise coming from the front of the house. Sounded like two people wrestling. I got up and crept up the hall, and looked into the living room. My father was wrestling with someone wearing a ski mask. As I started to yell, a shot rang out, and my father fell to the floor. I stood mute, my voice having deserted me. The shooter saw me, snapped off a shot in my direction, then turned and ran out the front door. He missed me, but Dad was mortally wounded.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maddy said. “That must have been tough.”

  “It was. But even worse was the fact the police never caught the shooter. As far as I know, he has lived to a ripe old age.”

  “So, that made you want to be a private investigator?”

  “Not exactly. That made me decide to become a cop. Being a cop made me decide to go p
rivate.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Political correctness and sympathy for the criminals. I became a cop in Dallas and loved it. But every arrest was a battle with the system. I watched so many guilty bastards walk free because the arresting officer didn’t dot an I or cross a T exactly right. I don’t mean on important matters. I mean on some BS that some ACLU type dreamed up and convinced a judge to okay. A couple of those were mine. I decided I’d have more freedom if I went private. I have not regretted my decision. Does that answer your question?”

  She fiddled with the pink package I had crumpled after sweetening my coffee. She laid it down and smoothed out the wrinkles, then began to fold it. I waited, assuming she’d get there at her own speed.

  She took a deep breath and looked straight into my face. “Thank you for telling me, but I’m afraid it doesn’t change my opinion. In my business circles, I’m known as a straight-shooter because I don’t sugarcoat what I think. Tact has never been my strong suit, and I can’t force it now. In your case, I think John made a big mistake. I cannot believe you are some super investigator with a fail-safe technique for rescuing kidnap victims. Instead of pushing the authorities aside and giving you the power, John should have used every agency and every kind of publicity available to spread the story. I believe that would get Ashley home sooner and safer than you ever can. In fact, I don’t think you have a clue what you’re doing. I sincerely hope his mistake doesn’t lead to tragedy.”

  She set her cup down and stared into my face. “There, I’ve said what I came to say, and I stand behind my feelings. Can you give me a reason you’re a better choice than the police? Can you make me feel better about you?”

  I followed her example with my cup and locked my fingers in front of me. In my head, I counted to ten, not wanting to alienate her completely.

  “First, I have no inclination to make you feel better about me. You’ve already formed your opinion, and, frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass what it is. Now, under different circumstances, I’d throw your bony ass out of here. But, John is your brother and Ashley is your niece. I assume you and John are close. He and I have a verbal contract. Nowhere in our agreement is there any mention of his sister.” I stopped to let the words sink in, then added, “You’re not the only one not known for tact and diplomacy.” The look of surprise that spread across her face was satisfying.