The Mustang’s presence meant Monica hadn’t taken a drive out to Oak Park to see him. Not tonight anyway. Tonight, she was upstairs, inside that quiet apartment.
Time to get some answers.
Spinning away from the back door, Donovan’s face connected with something hard and brutal. Through the stars spinning in his head, he could make out the angry face and tattoo that belonged to Leo Fletcher. His red eyes were narrowed, his forehead crimped with rage. Holding his fists in front of his face, Leo looked like an amateur UFC fighter.
Donovan touched his nose and noticed that his hand came away wet and red. “What are you doing?” he asked Leo. They’d shared some words last week when they were leaving the building together—hadn’t that counted for anything? He glanced at his hand again; there was a lot of blood.
Leo faked another punch, causing Donovan to stumble backward against the rear door leading to the parking lot.
“Jeez, hold up!” Donovan said, half begging and half yelling. “What’s your problem?”
One of Leo’s eyebrows rose. “My problem? This is where I live, bro.”
Bro? Swallowing the lump in his throat, Donovan glanced up, as if looking at the third floor. “Daisy,” he said.
“Nice try, old man; I know you’re not spanking that little slut.” Baring his teeth, Leo cocked his fist back and launched it at Donovan’s face again.
This time, the shooting stars fizzled and faded out, and his whole world went black.
* * *
Something woke Donovan. Maybe it was the steel-toed boot that hoofed him in the gut. Or maybe it was the foul odor from the garbage bin next to his head. Either way, when he opened his eyes, he recognized that he was curled up on his side next to the apartment building’s big trash bin. His vision was blurry, and Leo Fletcher was sweating, the beads appearing to perspire from the lion tattooed on the side of his scalp.
Or maybe that was the rain, which had moderated into a soft drizzle.
When Donovan tried to speak, he tasted blood, so he kept his mouth shut and just watched Monica’s crazy boyfriend peel some cards out of his wallet. Leo withdrew a few credit cards and then flicked them through the floodlight’s beam and onto the wet concrete, within reach of Donovan’s grasp. Once Leo found what he was looking for, he wiped the back of his wrist across his moist forehead and smiled.
“Here we go,” he said, and then tossed the wallet at Donovan’s face.
It struck his nose and then fell in front of his blurred vision. It was his wallet, Donovan suddenly realized.
“North Williamson Avenue, huh?” Leo’s grin stretched from one ear to the next as he read the rest of Donovan’s address off the surface of his driver’s license. “Now I know where you live, too.”
“Just want to talk to your girlfriend,” Donovan said, but the words came out so badly muttered that they sounded like gibberish to his own ears. Luckily, Leo spoke that language, because he seemed to understand him. In fact, the words annoyed Leo so much that his face crunched up, and he leaned forward to bring his face closer to Donovan’s.
“Did you just say you want to talk to my girlfriend?” Grunting, he kicked Donovan hard in the stomach again.
When Donovan coughed, he spewed blood. “Where . . . is . . . she?” More gibberish.
Leo chuckled and shook his head. He seemed to hear something, because he glanced over his shoulder and sent a friendly wave back across the parking lot.
If breathing, let alone speaking, didn’t arouse so much agony in Donovan, he’d have called for help. Instead, he kept his mouth shut, swallowed the lump of blood in his mouth, and stared up at Leo’s silhouette.
A car engine started and then faded as the couple Leo had just waved to drove off. And then the psycho brought his face closer again. In fact, he not only got closer, but he lowered himself into something of a catcher’s stance so that he was super close.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a problem, Donovan Glass of North Williamson Avenue.” Leo dabbed his forehead again. “Seems you’ve been mugged in a less desirable neighborhood than your own, all while looking for some guy’s missing girlfriend. And now you’ve got no identification, Donovan Glass. But worse than that, the crazy mugger, whose girlfriend you’ve come to ‘talk to,’”—rolling his eyes when he said “talk to”—“well, that guy knows where you live. And he’ll come to your house in a week if you haven’t found his girlfriend and convinced her to come home.” Leo raised an eyebrow as he reached into Donovan’s pants pocket and came out with his phone. “What’s your password, hombre?”
It was Elizabeth’s birthday. “Her birthday.”
Leo’s other eyebrow rose, and the crazy man didn’t seem all that impressed. “My girl’s birthday, asshole?”
It hurt Donovan to shake his head, but he managed. “No. Mine. Oh-eight-oh-four.” He waited for Leo to poke the numbers on the screen before giving him the year.
Leo didn’t seem to understand. He obviously didn’t recognize Donovan, his name, or anything else about him. Fifteen years ago, when Elizabeth had been abducted at the Navy Pier, Leo would have been less than ten years old, preparing for his stunned life of idiocy.
* * *
Once he accessed Donovan’s phone, Leo grinned. He swiped and tapped some more, smiled, and then placed the phone in Donovan’s hand before standing up and pointing down at him.
“I just sent myself a text from your phone, Donovan Glass.” Leo nodded, noticed the driver’s license in his hand, and gave it a flick with his other free finger. “You let me know when you see my boo again, okay? You give her to me, and I’ll return your ID, freedom, and life, okay?”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Donovan managed a painful nod, even though Leo was starting to sound completely ridiculous with this talk of freedom and life and boo.
“Good. Now don’t come out here again, Donovan Glass.” He backed out of the garbage area and threw his arms out to the side. “This is Roseland, not some place where folks like you can just wander through like it’s some fucking IKEA. Next time, your mugging might not end so good.”
Donovan tried to nod, but he realized he hadn’t stopped from last time. Letting his eyes close on their own, he listened to Leo’s footsteps as he walked away, leaving Donovan in the darkened filth and blood and mess of the seeping garbage bin. He heard the Mustang’s engine bark to life, and then that engine, like the last vehicle’s, faded as Leo drove away, likely headed to work.
Just like that, Donovan was back to looking for a missing girl. Except instead of Elizabeth, that girl was Monica Russell. And if he didn’t find her, things might not end well for him.
CHAPTER 26
As far as beatings were concerned, the one Donovan had suffered at the hands and steel-toed boots of Monica Russell’s crazy boyfriend was only the second he’d ever experienced. Donovan didn’t waste time comparing it to the time he’d been beaten in high school by a group of jocks, back in the days when bullies became sports superstars. That beating in his senior year had left him in the hospital with a broken rib, a need for oral surgery to replace missing teeth, and a few stitches.
Standing in front of the mirror in the upstairs bathroom, which was no stranger when it came to seeing lots of blood, Donovan realized that most of the damage from last night’s so-called mugging was superficial. After a night of shifty sleep, the swelling in his eyes had gone down, leaving a dark brown bruise with a purple and yellow ring around the outside. He also had a split lip, and another bruise on his rib cage, right underneath his breast, but the pain was already beginning to subside. Oh, and there was no more sign of blood in his urine.
“Good as new,” he told his beaten reflection before brushing his teeth like he would any other morning.
Although he was a little scary to look at now, Donovan knew it could’ve been a lot worse.
When his cell phone vibrated on the counter, he picked it up and noticed the text from Leo Fletcher.
Have you found my boo yet?
; Was boo meant to scare him? A little lost when it came to Leo’s kindergarten vernacular, Donovan tapped back a quick No.
Get working on it. I’m not a patient man.
He ignored the text, showered, and got changed for the day. Probably just as much as crazy Leo, Donovan wanted to find Monica. He had questions for her, many of which had changed overnight. They’d gone from questions like Why did you steal my money and lie to me about your name or being kidnapped? to I know you need out of that abusive relationship, but why did you lie about my daughter?
Grabbing his laptop computer out of the study, he retreated downstairs and settled into his reading chair. He tapped away at the keyboard, starting with Monica’s Facebook profile and looking for any indication of where she might’ve gone. Unfortunately, she hadn’t posted a photo of her new digs, nor had she made a post to announce her change of address.
He tried Google. He tried other search engines, but they all had the same results. Monica Russell had not only never been abducted or reported as a missing person, but she didn’t leave much of a trail online about where she’d gone or how she’d spent his $10,000.
As much as Donovan wanted to give up, he knew Leo would come knocking if he didn’t find her. But unlike fifteen years ago when he’d had plenty of time to infiltrate the various closed chat rooms and gradually network his way to RodgeDam, Donovan had no clue where to start today. His searches for groups of successful con artists yielded a long list of established online marketers and affiliated scams, but nothing about twentysomething, purple-haired women who managed to take advantage of men whose daughters were abducted a decade and a half prior.
He was at a huge loss.
He was screwed.
And then his phone vibrated.
Leo wanted to know if he’d found her yet.
Again he typed back: No.
* * *
At one o’clock, when Donovan heard the feeble knock at his door, he jumped. He feared the worst: that Leo had decided to show up early to make sure Donovan understood just how serious he’d been last night. But a quick peek into the peephole and Donovan caught himself reaching for the cell phone in his pocket.
Standing on his front porch, Monica was positioned in the exact same position as when she’d first appeared in his life. She stood sideways, watching the road as if in fear while also preparing to face Donovan once he answered her knocking.
When he unlocked and pulled the door open, Monica nearly jumped. At first, he blamed it on just how tense she might be, forgetting for a moment that his face looked like a black-and-blue Picasso.
“What happened to you?” Monica asked, wincing at him as she stepped into the house.
He offered her his phone. “Someone got to me.”
Monica stopped untying her boots. She straightened, took the phone, and read the texts. “Leo.”
“He’s a peach.”
Shaking her head, Monica returned his phone and looked genuinely worried.
“What did you do with my money, Monica?” he asked her, trying hard to keep the bitterness out of his tone but unsure whether he’d succeeded.
Her eyes widened. She looked like a fawn, a baby caught in the crosshairs of an ambitious first-time hunter. “I’m in trouble, Mr. Glass. Big trouble.”
“You lied to me about Elizabeth, about who you are,” he said through his clenched teeth.
After a brief staring contest, Monica shook her head. “I never lied about Elizabeth.”
“Then where’s the money?” He took a step closer, but those big eyes filling with tears stopped him. She looked helpless. Helpless enough that he felt like he might be her only option, her last resort. “Let me guess. You want more, don’t you?”
“I need another ten thousand, Mr. Glass. I hate having to come to you like this, but if you can lend me another ten, I promise I’ll return it all.”
Lend? No more staring contests; she bent forward and finished removing her boots. Moving deeper into the house, Monica entered the living room. Donovan followed her, watching her drop onto the sofa and then bury her hands under her thighs. “I’m in a real bind here, Mr. Glass, and I need that money. It’s very important.”
He waved his phone at her. “Maybe Leo can help this time, huh?”
Snapping her attention to him, she shook her head. “He’s not very happy with me right now.”
No kidding. Donovan tried not to laugh too hard because it hurt the bruised area underneath his breast. “What have you done with my money, Monica? You just disappear—”
“I took you to your daughter’s grave! I didn’t disappear!” Her loud, defensive response surprised him. Up until now, she’d been quiet, docile even; a calm con artist. She seemed to be playing the loud and authoritative card this time around.
As much as it irked him that Eric had been right that she’d come back for more money, Donovan couldn’t help but sense some form of honesty in her.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Glass, but I’m in big trouble. And, like I said, I didn’t disappear with your money, I took you to see your daughter’s grave, just like I promised I would.”
“We’ll see about that,” he said, sitting down and watching her closely as she tilted her head and sent him a stare that asked what he’d done. “Remember, Elizabeth’s case is still being investigated by the FBI.”
Monica swallowed—hard. “You told the FBI about Roger’s burial grounds?” She smacked her forehead. “Once he realizes the feds are onto him, he’s going to disappear again, Mr. Glass. I hope you know what you’re doing. This man is obviously very sick, and he’s been doing this for a long time. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
He considered telling her about the bone he’d taken and assuring her that Agent Klein didn’t know about the location of the grave but then decided to keep those details to himself. They could be used as leverage at a later time. “I know what Leo’s capable of, and I’m very tempted to tell him that you’re here. After all, he kept my driver’s license and threatened to come by my house if I didn’t tell him when you were back.”
Swallowing hard again, Monica shook her head. She began massaging her temples, clearly distraught and stressed out to the max. Donovan noted that she wasn’t wearing her Maple Tree uniform.
“What happened after you escaped from Roger, Monica? You said you camped out in the forest with your arm nearly cut off—”
She lowered her hand and stared at him through her narrowed eyes. “You think I made all that up, don’t you?”
He shrugged, but he was done with her games. “I’ve looked online, Monica. You were never reported missing. Not here, not in Louisiana, not anywhere. And there’s a pretty big gap in all of your social media posts. You told me you escaped when you were twelve—”
Donovan watched her take a breath to calculate her thoughts before her wide eyes found his. “That’s when he was done with me, yes. I was too old—the men that liked young girls wouldn’t want me, and I’d get stronger, so he had to get rid of me. Yes, Mr. Glass, that’s all true, and the next morning—”
“Your photos only start up a few years ago. That’s what people call an inconsistency.” He stared back at her, watched her chew on her lower lip. Did she really think she could talk her way out of this?
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she said, her voice cracking. “Listen, I’m sorry for what Leo did to you. I’ll deal with him later.”
“No. You’ll deal with him right now.”
She shook her head, very calmly, too. Like she was the one in control here. “I need ten thousand dollars right now, Mr. Glass. But I promise I’ll take care of Leo, and then you won’t have to worry about him again.”
He chuckled. “You can’t seriously believe that I’m going to write you a check for another ten thousand dollars.”
“No, I don’t.”
She was still calmer than she should be, Donovan realized, and that response surprised him.
“Because this time, I can’t accept a check. I nee
d cash, Mr. Glass.” She leaned forward. “Like I said, I’m in a bad bind right now, and I need the money in order to get the original ten thousand dollars that was taken from me.”
“Taken from you?” He couldn’t believe it.
She nodded. “I’m going to take it back, so don’t worry about that.”
Right. He shook his head, crossed his arms, and sat back in the chair.
“You asked why Monica Russell was never reported missing? There are two reasons. The first is that it’s not my real name. The second reason is that not everyone has parents like Lizzy’s.” Tears filled her eyes, but she maintained eye contact and kept talking. “As for the gap between my escape and when I started posting again, I needed time.”
“Time.” As if that was the most obscure reason in the world.
“Yes. To reestablish myself. To read up on Lizzy’s story and validate everything she said. To track down these men who hurt me and would continue to hurt the others . . .”
Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened as she seemed to come to some kind of conclusion. “The men, Mr. Glass.” She smiled, clearly excited. “That’s it!”
“Monica, explain it to me. The men?” What was she talking about?
When she nodded, the motion came out in short, abrupt bursts. “Yes.” She swallowed. “If you get me ten thousand dollars in cash, I’ll show you where Lizzy’s abductor lives.”
He tried not to laugh at the ridiculousness of her claim but managed to minimize his reaction to an unconvinced smile and a slow shaking of his head. “The man that abducted my daughter? You’re telling me that you know where he lives?” She couldn’t seriously expect him to believe her claim, could she?
“Yes.” She added a curt nod as if that might add legitimacy to her claim.
“He’s here? In Chicago?”
“Yes! That’s why I am in Chicago!” She was back to excited, and this time Donovan couldn’t suppress the laughter. But she seemed to not notice, because she leaped off the sofa and started toward the front door. When Donovan didn’t follow, she stopped and returned to the sofa. “What’re you waiting for? Let’s go to the bank, Mr. Glass.”
The Last Friend Page 13