by Amy Faye
Very disturbing letter, huh?
Well, it's not exactly what he wanted. What he'd wanted was something that would tie everything up nice and easy. Something like a gift-wrapped package, containing a bouncing baby girl and labeled 'Care of The Kidnapper, Mitch Queen.'
But there's no use in assuming who it is. The guy's a real hot-head and no damn good. That doesn't mean, though, that he's an outright criminal. Not until Josh can prove it, that is. Then, it's not slander—you can't slander someone with the truth, after all.
Meadows slaps the button to turn off the infernal racket. Infernal racket that will probably get him a noise complaint from the landlord. He strips his clothes off and applies deodorant liberally.
Then the new clothes go on. He should shower, but that's assuming a hell of a lot about the amount of time he's got on his hands that isn't a safe assumption in the least bit.
He's in the car five minutes later. He has to adjust the pistol on his hip not to jab into his side as he slides into the car.
The guy at the gate isn't the same guy. If anything, the two are practically opposites. Nobody could possibly mistake one for the other, if they'd seen them both. The guy at the door, though, is unmistakably the same fellow.
Without Anna here, he's all frowns. "This way," he says. Surly.
Josh follows him inside. They go the same route. But he's not exactly a guest inside the house, so he gets the chaperone routine.
There are three inside, this time. The first two, the detective recognizes from having seen them the day before. The third, he recognizes from having seen several more times than that. From having seen him a thousand times if he's seen him once.
"Mr. Queen. Detective Meadows. It's a pleasure to meet you." Josh feels like it's tactful not to keep his opinions to himself. In fact, to keep them about as quiet as he possibly can. It's easier that way.
The elder Mr. Queen is a big man. At least as big as the bruiser they've got outside, a veritable bear of a man. He doesn't smile at the detective. He's not a man of smiles.
"Mr. Meadows. You made good time in getting here."
"Your attorney sounded very concerned, on the phone."
"Yes, he did. And for good reason."
Josh enters the room a little further. Sitting on the table is a letter. It's not comprised of chopped-up newspaper, like in the movies. Someone typed it out on a computer, and then they printed it off.
It's black and white. You could print one of these off at your local library if you were worried that someone would figure out that you are the only one on your street that owned some kind of fancy one-of-a-kind printer.
Meadows doesn't take the time to read it carefully. He'll read it over and over again, over the coming weeks. But it doesn't take much skimming to know what it says.
It says, we have your kid, and we want you to pay us a big sum of money to get him back. Don't call us, we'll call you. No signature. Would have been all too convenient, wouldn't it?
What it does have, on the other hand, is a black-inked stamp of a baby's foot pressed into the bottom of the page. It's too soon to say for sure, since he doesn't have one prepared, but it's easy to believe that Anna Witt would be able to easily identify that as Ava Witt's footprint.
Which is to say that someone found money in the case, which opens up a whole world of possibilities.
Chapter Nine
Anna puts the phone down. There's been a development. She's not sure how she's supposed to feel about any of this. More than anything, it would be nicer to have someone tell her what she's supposed to do, how she's supposed to feel.
They're not going to do that for her. There's nobody who knows her the way that Mitch knew her. There's nobody who knows that she can get a little loopy sometimes, that she gets weird ideas in her head.
But Mitchell, he always corrected her. It was usually alright if she was on her own, of course. It was little things. Nothing major. Nothing that bad. But there was always the worry, always the fear, that it could turn into something bigger.
Was she supposed to be happy that someone said they'd kidnapped Ava? That she got some confirmation that she wasn't crazy?
It should have driven her insane with grief. But the truth was, now that she at least knew, for sure, that someone had her…
As long as Ava wasn't hurt, it didn't matter how hard she had to work, how long she was going to be in debt. As long as Ava was alright. She'd work something out with the kidnappers, if Mitchell didn't want to have anything to do with it.
Maybe they wouldn't get all the money that they wanted, but they'd get something. She wasn't going to let her baby get hurt. She couldn't.
A knock at the door. It seems like they're coming constantly, now. It will be the police again. It's always the police. They've been here four or five times, now. Different groups of them.
None of them were that handsome detective, though. Some of them didn't even introduce themselves, just came at her with a 'Howdy, ma'am, do you mind if we take some pictures' or 'We need to check for any hair samples.'
Her head was spinning. Why couldn't they just go away? She should be able to have at least a second's peace in her worry. Right?
She opens the door. A tall man stands at the door. He's wearing a light-brown suit, and he smells a little more strongly today of the scent that she noticed yesterday.
"Detective Meadows."
"Have you heard?"
"About the letter?"
The detective nods. Anna has to keep herself from smiling. She shouldn't be happy just because she gets to feel helpful. "Yeah. They told me."
"They?"
"Mitch's dad called me."
"Personally?"
"Well, sure." He'd called plenty of times, in the past. Way back. A couple of days after the break-up. To make sure there weren't any hard feelings.
How could there possibly be hard feelings? She wasn't exactly in a position to have any hard feelings about any of it. She was just some nobody, and they were, you know. They were the Queens. There's no comparison to be made.
She'd told him so, and he must have believed her, because he didn't call again.
"Do you have a copy of the birth certificate?"
"Yeah," she says. "Right here."
There's a white sheet of paper on the previously clean table, right where she left it. Anna wonders if he noticed that she cleaned up as best she could without disturbing the bedroom. She wonders, if he does notice, whether or not he's happy about it.
"Thank you," he says. He looks it over quickly, without commenting. "This is a photocopy? Or do I need to get this back to you?"
Anna bites her lip. He's not going to be mad, is he?
Before she answers he waves his hand. "I'll get this copied and bring it back, don't worry about it."
He's starting to read her face, starting to know how to act. It's a strange comfort. Here he is, almost a total stranger, and she's leaning on him like this. It feels weird. Almost wrong. But at the same time, that doesn't mean that she's capable of stopping, even if she wanted to.
Anna sticks to the walls and waits for him to tell her what he wants her to do next. She watches that pretty, dark-featured face of his. She shouldn't be thinking the thoughts that she's thinking right this second.
It's easy to fall for a pretty face like that. It's easy to think about yourself with a person like that. No doubt, he's already dating someone. He's not wearing a ring, though, so he's not married.
That's the sort of thing that you get used to noticing, at parties full of fancy people. Whether or not they're married, right off the bat. It can get real embarrassing if you get onto the wrong subject.
Detective Meadows looks up at her, and for a moment, the look in his eyes makes her shiver. She doesn't need to be told what it means when a man looks at a woman like that.
Then, in the blink of an eye, he's got the mask of professionalism back on. "Thank you very much, you've been a big help."
"Is there anything else I
can do? Coffee? Water?"
He takes a breath and shakes his head. "No, but thank you for the offer. I shouldn't."
"Okay. I understand."
She understands very well. He's busy. He's important. Police detectives have important jobs, and they don't have time to waste drinking a woman's coffee, or sitting and chatting. Not when they're on the job.
"Anna, do you mind if I ask you a question?"
Her face brightens. "Sure."
"I don't want you to get offended, so you don't have to answer if you don't want to, alright?"
"Don't worry about that. I won't get offended."
"How did Mitch treat you? Did he treat you real good?"
She doesn't know the answer that he wants. She can see in his eyes that he doesn't like Mitchell. She doesn't know why. Mitch was real good at getting people to like him. He's a charming guy. Smiles a lot at people.
He wasn't smiling yesterday, though.
"Well, sure, he treated me fine."
"Is that the truth, Anna? Did he treat you just fine? No complaints, not ever?"
What does he want her to say? She doesn't like it when there's no right answers. It makes life hard. It makes life scary. She doesn't like hard, and she sure as hell doesn't like scary.
"I'm sorry, was that wrong?"
His eyes close. Is he angry with her for something?
"No. I'm sorry. Forget I said anything."
He's upset. He's hiding it real well. Anna can usually tell, when someone's hiding their anger. Especially, she thinks sadly, when it's anger directed at her. But this time, she really can't tell at all.
Which is almost upsetting. She should be able to see it. She should.
But he must be upset, because every other thing he's doing is exactly what Mitch does—did—when he was upset with her. When he was upset with her, and she was going to be in trouble when they got back to the house.
Anna didn't know when the trouble was going to spring on her this time. She was already at home, and there wasn't going to be any time that she was more private than she was right now.
Which made her even more worried. After all, if she doesn't know when it's coming, how's she supposed to know what to do to keep him calm?
Her body starts to react to the thought of calming Mitch down. There was one thing, one way that had always worked with him. She wouldn't mind doing that with the detective—angry or not.
She dismisses the thought. That's not going to happen, she tells herself. Her mind listens. her mind knows that it's not going to go there.
The warmth between her thighs, on the other hand, isn't listening at all.
Chapter Ten
Josh Meadows looks the note over for the twelfth time today. They're supposed to call tonight with more information. Usually they try to pull a bunch of shit about 'don't go to the cops.'
Well, it's too late for that. They must have realized it, too, because there's nothing about it. Josh figures that means he's welcome to his copy, and he's welcome to be there when the call comes in some time around ten thirty.
He was going to be there anyways, but now the caller is going to be assuming that he'll be there. No surprises on either side, hopefully.
Kidnapping is pretty serious. The good news is, it's pretty rare. Most of them are simple, too. Mom and dad were fighting. Dad took the kids, and mom's not too happy about it. She knows he's got 'em. You just have to go find them and get it.
There's a mom and a dad here. Mom and dad aren't too happy with each other, and now mom's kid is gone.
But there are complications here, things that make the usual suspects seem strange. Why would he take a kid he's never expressed any interest in at all? It defies common sense.
On the other hand, everything about the case does. The one piece of good news was being able to talk to the mom and dad. Lana and Joe Witt were nice folks. They had been out for the day because it was a little vacation. They went across the river and hit a casino.
They made a little money—they joked that they weren't going to share any of it with Josh, no matter how cute he was. He'd smiled at the joke, made a note of where they went, what they played, and set that information aside.
He could have one of his guys go look into it. There would be video. They could still have done it, but there was no reason to suspect that they had wondered off with some kid, hidden him, and then proceeded to gamble for a long day.
Professionally, they owned the apartment complex, so if Josh had any questions, they're usually there, and if they're not there, then the manager of the place can get them on the phone for him. They'd really appreciate updates.
So that, at least so far, appeared to be a dead end, which was a god damned shame, because it would have been much more convenient if they'd confessed to the whole thing.
Every interview, you have that little hope in the back of your mind, like maybe you strike gold out of nowhere. It usually doesn't happen, but it's always nice to hope.
Which just left his little date at the Queen household. A little over an hour early meant it was time to get going. You never know with these types. They try to catch you off-guard sometimes. Other times, it's all by the book.
Either way can go right, for them or for you. Both ways can go real wrong. You just hope that the worst doesn't happen. That's all you can really do.
Josh takes a breath, does up the button on his suit. Anna should be here. It's her child. She does all the work taking care of it. Her parents lived right across the hall, and they were home all the time.
But they assured him, on more than one occasion, that she was an excellent mother. There was a lot going on in her life, a lot of reasons to be disappointed. A girl that age might have left the kid with her parents more.
She didn't. They came over about every day, of course. Grandparents are like that. Happy, smiling, healthy-looking girl. No problems with the baby. And all thanks to her mom.
None of it fit with the theory that Detective Meadows didn't want to give name to. It couldn't be crossed off, not permanently. You don't ignore evidence that contradicts your theory, but it takes a big weight off his chest to put that idea towards the back.
Someone took the kid. That much is clear. Whether there's more to it, though, he can't say. That's the good news. Nothing to worry about.
He adjusts the pistol on his hip as he slips into the car again, jumps on the radio and tells the dispatcher that he's heading over to the Queen residence. She says that the other boys will be there in a few.
Getting there, seeing a sour-faced guy at the gate and a familiar scarred face at the door, is almost a comfort now.
"Hey, Terry," he says, trying to sound as friendly as he can.
Terry doesn't seem to like it. Then again, he doesn't seem to like much of anything, when he's on the job. Which, to the best of Josh's ability to say, seems to be all the time.
He's guided back into the study. There's a land-line phone sitting on the table, and Josh's cellular is on the table next to it. Or, presumably. They're both sitting there, neither ringing, and Al Queen and his lawyer are both looking at them.
Mitch is drumming his thumbs on the chair. It's hard for Josh to keep the sneer off his face. It's hard not to say, 'is this boring to you?' He keeps it to himself. That's the job.
Nobody else has arrived yet. They'll arrive sooner or later. Until then…
Josh's phone vibrates in his pocket. He takes it out and reads the message to himself. Tap's in place. They got permission from the elder Queen, but they went ahead and got a warrant just in case. You don't take chances with a case like this.
Josh checks his watch. Fifty minutes. It was going to be a long time waiting. He wishes that he had brought something that he could do, to pass the time, but that would only make things worse. It wasn't his place to be entertained.
He's here to work, and even though he's early, work is what he's going to do.
There's a momentary thought, a question of whether or not he should ask Al
Queen about his whereabouts on the night. There's no clear connection, though, so he's not going to ask. He's sure as hell not going to do it now, and he's sure as hell not going to do it without a recorder present.
Besides that, it would be stepping on toes. He's already skating on thin ice, these days. Already too thin, and he's out too far to come back in to shore just yet. But there's nothing he can do about that, not right now, except keep his mouth shut when he's around big names.
"You mind if I sit?"
Al Queen seems a little distracted by the phones not ringing, but he nods and makes what might be interpreted as a head-gesture towards one of the chairs. Or it might have just been a vigorous second nod.
Josh doesn't need to be told twice. He settles into the ornate sofa he sat in before. It's just as comfortable as he remembers. Just the right level of firmness.
It looks like it was around before Josh's own grandmother was a twinkle in her parents' eyes. Folks back then knew their furniture, he figures. Then again, maybe it's Josh who doesn't know furniture, which makes some sense on a detective's salary.
Now there's nothing left but to wait for the phone to ring, watch and see what happens, and hope to hell that nothing goes sideways.
If everything goes according to plan, then his job is about to get a hell of a lot easier. The only thing that really surprises him, when the phone finally rings, is the frustration on the face of the elder Queen.
The cell rings, and Mitch picks it up. It doesn't take long to figure out that he hasn't got his heart in it. He takes everything down with a pen, on a pad provided by the lawyer.
We've probably got people back at the station, doing the exact same thing even as they record the call. But where Al Queen seems to be real concerned, Mitch doesn't seem worried at all.
Now the question was, which was the real surprise—that Mitch isn't worried, or that Al is?
Josh makes a note to have his recorder with him next time they have one of these meetings.