The day seemed to be a hundred hours long so far even though it was just after nine o’clock. It didn’t help that the weather had changed from sunny and warm to hot and humid as evening arrived. I felt sticky and exhausted and imagined we were in for another muggy, rainy night. Luckily Hannaford’s was open late. I swung by and grabbed some eggs, cheese, bacon, frozen entrees, and the makings for stir-fries, as well as take-out barbecue chicken and potato wedges. If Jack was going to play poppa, the least I could do was make sure he didn’t starve. I picked up a premixed salad in case I turned over a new leaf. And some ice cream in case I didn’t. Hannaford’s was beautifully air-conditioned.
I ate half the potato wedges in the car on the way home. There are times when plates are overrated. I was pleased to see that Jack was already home when I got there. As I eased the Matrix into my driveway next to Jack’s dung-colored Mini, my head was still whirling with thoughts of Pepper, Nick, Anabel, Lorelei, cops, and keys. I got out of the car, juggling my briefcase and my haul from Hannaford’s. For some reason the front door was open and the lights were ablaze on both floors. A small black shadow dashed in front of me. My jaw dropped along with the bag containing the eggs.
What was that? The familiar shape headed for the backyard. Truffle! A similar one dashed in the opposite direction. Sweet Marie heading straight for the road! I dropped everything and dashed after her, shrieking, “Treat! Cheese! Cookies!”
Five minutes later, I held the quivering little brown dog and trotted back to find Truffle. My terror was matched by my fury. What was Jack thinking leaving the front door open? He must have left my apartment door open, too. Was this the responsible daddy behavior? Truffle turned up in the backyard, hiding under a bush. He inched out when I lured him with a potato wedge.
I would have stomped up the stairs, but as annoyed as I was with Jack, I didn’t want to take a chance and wake up the baby, if by any chance he was asleep. Jack’s apartment door was open, the lights on. I headed up to my own open door. I let the dogs down, but they huddled against my ankles, whimpering. “What’s wrong with you two?” I said.
I nudged them through the door, shut it, and headed back to salvage what I could of my food, currently scattered on the ground. Back at the top of the stairs, I managed to open the door, trip over the dogs, close it, and get the bags into the kitchen. “Jack,” I whispered in what I hoped was a compelling voice. “Where the hell are you? And what were you thinking letting my dogs out? They could have been killed.”
No answer from Jack. Probably hiding under the bed, I decided.
Little Nick’s gear was clearly in evidence, but he was not. I knew that Jack was quite capable of taking his new obsession for a moonlight walk so I didn’t panic. I planned to let him have an earful when he stumbled in. My darling naughty dogs might have been flattened. I showed my affection by giving them quite a bit of stuff that falls under the category of Not For Dogs. I slumped on the sofa and they joined me, snuggling, glad to be rescued or at least glad to be given cheese. As I sat there, still pondering what was going on and hoping that I’d get a call from Tierney, I became conscious of an unfamiliar noise. A groan? I got up, annoying the dogs, and followed the sound. The pooches stuck close to me. The sound seemed to be coming from my large lovely linen closet. I hesitated and then told myself not to be silly. I grabbed the door handle and opened it.
I shrieked.
Jack was curled almost double on the floor. He moaned. I pulled at his arm frantically. He was obviously alive, with blood flowing from his head wound.
“Jack!”
He moaned again. His eyes stayed closed. I grabbed the phone and dialed 911. Mona answered. “No jokes, Mona. Jack Reilly is injured, my apartment, linen closet.”
Mona Pringle, who seemed to live at her job, said, “What—?”
“Head wound. Like Pepper’s.”
“Oh my God!”
“Send an ambulance fast. And police.”
“Will do. And you should—”
“Mona? Listen to me.”
“I have to advise you to—”
“Forget the advice and listen. Jack was looking after Pepper Monahan’s baby. The baby’s vanished. Make sure the cops know that.”
24
Keep a basket handy to your closet. Toss stained, torn, or ruined items as soon as you notice them, and then dispose of them quickly.
Jack’s pulse seemed strong to me. Although I begged him not to move, he dragged himself out of the closet, mumbling about the little dude. Had Nick taken the baby? But why? He never even looked after the child. Did he plan to use Little Nick as a bargaining chip? And if not Nick, who?
The EMTs arrived before the police. I’d been hoping Brad Dykstra would be one of them, and I was happy to see that he was. He and his partner checked out Jack. I’d never seen Jack panic, but he was shouting, “I can’t go to the hospital. What about the little dude?”
I ached to go with Jack, but I knew I had to locate the baby. “Don’t worry. I’ll find him,” I said as both the EMTs tried to calm him. I was glad Jack didn’t realize the terror I felt for Little Nick.
Brad’s face was grim when I explained about the baby.
“What’s taking the cops so long?” I complained.
“Search me,” he said. “This is pretty serious stuff. You ask me, these guys are real bozos.”
“No argument here,” I said.
I didn’t want the pooches to escape again on this night of calamity. I leashed them and followed as Jack was taken down the steep stairs and loaded into the ambulance.
Our neighbors are all either pleasant, low-key middle-aged couples, or young families. Eight or nine people were gathered in nervous clumps watching the ambulance load up Jack and speed off. Still no police. I hurried over to the nearest group of murmuring watchers and whisperers. A flurry of questions about Jack followed. I asked, “Did anyone see anything? Did you notice anyone go into the house with Jack? It’s very, very important. I am hoping the police will be here soon and we need to tell them.”
My next-door neighbor, a pleasant young woman called Sarah, said, “But the police have already been here.”
“What do you mean? The police haven’t been here.”
She nodded and her red curls bounced. “They were, and the officer carried the baby out. Jack had told me he was looking after the child of that injured police detective. The one whose husband tried to kill her. I guess they came to take the baby back.”
“My God,” I said. “I don’t think so.”
She stared at me. “Yes! He had the baby when I looked out the window to see what the noise was about. It’s hard to miss a baby having a screaming fit.”
It didn’t make sense to me. Little Nick loved Nick. Pepper had said so. Wouldn’t the child be excited to see his father? Not screaming his baby head off. Had he bonded with Jack? Or had he been traumatized when Nick injured Jack? How had I been so stupid as to give Nick the benefit of the doubt all this time, to defend him against accusations that he could have injured Pepper? Something very bad must have happened inside Nick Monahan’s brain, and whatever it was, he had to be stopped. I tried not to imagine that he could hurt his child. But I’d never been able to imagine that he would attack Pepper, either.
A low rumble of thunder sounded. We both glanced up as a jagged slash of lightning lit the sky. I turned away from a lot of excited talk and called 911 again.
“Mona! Where are the police? The ambulance came, but there’s not a single cop.”
“But that was a hoax,” Mona said. “You should know better, Charlotte Adams. What are you, addicted to 911?”
People backed away from me as I bellowed, “What do you mean a hoax? Jack has a head injury, a lot like Pepper’s only not so severe. That’s no hoax! Where did you get such a stupid idea?”
“Apparently it was a hoax.”
“I was here. It’s anything but a hoax.”
“But the police are saying—”
“What police?”
/>
“I don’t know. We just got word.”
“Wouldn’t someone come by anyway? To verify? The EMTs are here, dealing with an injured man.”
My mind was whirling. Did Nick still have the connections to call the station and tell them something was a hoax? Could he have still been able to delay the cops’ arriving? I shook my head at my own question. I could have believed it of a more intelligent person, but Nick could never have carried off the subtle manipulation of the police communication system without a snag, especially now in the state he was in, with an APB out for him.
Mona said, “They know what they’re doing, Charlotte.”
“Not this time, they don’t. Call it in again and tell them my apartment is a crime scene, attempted murder and kidnapping. I’m calling Todd Tyrell now with this. He’ll be orgasmic to hear that the cops won’t come out for something like this.”
Mona said, “Wait, Charlotte!”
But I hung up and called the easy-to-remember number for WINY’s eyewitness-news hotline. I described the injured man, the stolen baby, and the police decision not to show up. It wouldn’t win me any friends in the police force, but it might get some action.
The rain started pounding down as I left a message for Tierney telling him what I thought of his so-called police force. I added that I was heading to check out the Bounty Inn, where I thought Nick might be. It was the last motel on my list and I was desperately hoping to find him and Little Nick. The dogs were too traumatized to leave at home. I put them in the car and sped off down the street. Still no sirens, but I passed a WINY media van whizzing toward my violated home.
I kept going toward the south end of town and the Bounty Inn. On the way, I called Sally to see if she could have Benjamin check up on Jack. I left a message for Margaret, asking her to let her lovely Frank know what had happened.
“I might need a lawyer again,” I added. “If I get hauled in again, at least this time I won’t be in my pajamas.”
I pulled up in front of the Bounty Inn fifteen minutes later. It was a middle-grade motel, slipping into the lower ranks as the grubby vinyl siding and weedy driveway spoke of the need for an upgrade. I fished the photo of Nick out of my handbag, told the dogs to behave, and splashed through the driving rain to the front entrance, unable to avoid two giant puddles as I ran. I still had the purple key in my hand as I hurried across the worn red and green plaid carpet, trying not to breathe in the scent of too many cigarettes and spilled drinks from the bar off the lobby.
The beefy young man behind the desk half smiled a weary welcome. I thought the smile faded a bit when he took in my drowned rat look. “How can I help you?”
“You can tell me if this man is a guest here,” I said, placing the photo on the counter. The print was now damp around the edges, but there wasn’t anything I could do about that. I could tell by the look on his face that he did recognize Nick, although I figured our boy was holed up in this spot under some other name.
“Is he here now?”
“I can’t tell you that. Or even if he’s a guest,” he said, nervously loosening the collar of his shirt.
“I know you recognized him. This is a life-and-death matter. I need to talk to him.”
“I can check with his room and see if he wants to speak to—who shall I say?”
“Charlotte.” I waited to see if Nick would pick up.
He shook his head and his chin wobbled. “No answer in that room. Sorry.”
I slumped against the counter. What now?
“Thank you,” I said as a new plan formed. Nick might choose not to answer the phone if he was in as much trouble as I thought he was. But there was a good chance I had his spare door key. I thanked the young man and headed out, got in the car, and drove around to the back of the motel. I stared at the cars parked in the lot. There was a classic Mustang parked by room 116, precisely the type of car that Nick might want to buy, borrow, or possibly steal. The plates were strategically obscured by mud. I walked confidently up to the door and tried the key. Would it still work? But that didn’t matter because the door wasn’t even closed. I stood to the side and pushed it all the way open with my foot, one of the benefits of watching cop shows. I bent low and peeked. The room was obviously empty. The bathroom door was clearly visible from the entrance. It too was open and also empty. There was a jumble of take-out containers and some clothing that I thought I recognized as Nick’s. Little Nick’s monkey lay on the carpet. I gazed at the overturned furniture: a chair upside down, a spilt can of Bud, with a slow drip down the bedside table.
Where had Nick gone? What had he done with the baby? I got into the car as the desk clerk came around the corner with a person I figured must be the manager. I stepped out into the rain again. Truffle and Sweet Marie went into guard-dog mode and barked their heads off from inside the car.
“Did the police come for him? It’s very important.”
They exchanged glances, one of the sure signs that a question has hit home. The rain drenched their hair and clothing; mine, too.
I said, “Look, this involves a missing baby. It is going to be very serious, and if you don’t cooperate, it won’t look good for your motel when the media gets hold of it. I have been in touch with Todd Tyrell, and he’d love to get over here with his—”
“Don’t threaten us,” the manager blustered.
I shrugged and pressed the number for WINY. The manager held up his hand in defeat. I knew I was being a little bully, but I didn’t care. The stakes were too high.
“A patrol car came by and an officer asked for him.”
“Did you tell the officer to come back with a warrant?”
I could tell by their expressions that this hadn’t happened. “What did the officer look like?”
They stared at me.
I said, “A uniformed officer? Male? Young? Bright? Not too tall?”
He shrugged. “A uniformed officer. I didn’t see his face clearly. He wasn’t exactly standing in the light.”
“I bet he wasn’t.” No indeed. Officer Dean Oliver wouldn’t want his face recognized this time any more than he would have when he ran into Anabel unexpectedly at the construction site. “Did he show you his badge?”
“He was a uniformed officer. What? Am I going to give him a hard time?”
He had a point, so I let that go. “Did you see them leave?”
That got one no and one yes. “Okay,” I said, “maybe the television reporter will get it out of you.”
The desk clerk blurted, “The guy you showed me was in the backseat. He’s been staying here. He said his name was Mick Houlihan. I told the cop we didn’t know it was the same guy. How could we?”
I said, “Where was the baby?”
“In the front seat with the cop.”
The manager worked hard to be dignified, impossible with his hair flattened by the rain and his shirt and jacket soaked through. “They’ll have a good reason for taking him in. I think he was the guy they’ve been looking for, the one who tried to kill his wife. If you want to know what happened, you’ll have to go to the police station. It’s nothing to do with us.”
I had one last question. “When?”
The sodden clerk said, “A few minutes before you got here.”
I jumped back into the Matrix and headed out at high speed. I wished I had my Miata as I knew how it handled in all conditions, including the now driving rain. I also wished I wasn’t soaked to the bone.
One thing was sure: Dean Oliver would not be taking Nick to the station. Otherwise, he would have called for backup and for paramedics to check out Little Nick. The parking lot of the Bounty Inn should have been choked with police vehicles now. It wasn’t. Not even the sound of a distant siren. Instead, Nick was in the backseat of the squad car, with no way to get out. I knew this was bad news for Nick. Dean must have a hell of a reason to take a risk like that. A person with nothing much to lose is a dangerous opponent.
I had nothing to go on but what I already knew. Where cou
ld this officer be taking them and why? Was Dean Oliver was using Little Nick to compel Nick to do something? But what? I couldn’t imagine, but I knew this guy was capable of anything. The image of Pepper’s face flashed through my mind. I imagined the screaming baby being carried away and poor foolish Nick trapped. Except for the why, it was beginning to fall into place. Dean Oliver was pleasant and smart enough to have tricked Nick to going to the storage area in the old industrial park. Easy enough to fool Nick with a text from his “wife.” Oliver knew Pepper, too, of course. How hard would it have been to take Nick’s baton, cell phone, keys, and squad car and head to Bakker Beach, having first texted Pepper to meet him there? My Miata was found not far from the same industrial park, probably close to where Dean Oliver had left his own squad car. If he’d burned rubber, he would have been back at the beach, but one of the late arrivals. He’d been watching the Monahan house, too, and getting paid to do it. I was betting it was Dean Oliver’s own image that would have shown up on the security tape as he kicked in the Monahan’s door, hoping to find Nick before the other cops did. What’s more, he knew exactly where I lived and that Jack was taking care of Little Nick. Everything made sense, except the why.
I felt that this was all somehow connected with Anabel’s death, as Nick’s fear seemed to stem from that tragic event. Had Dean Oliver been the cop who entered the site from the Potter Street side? Had he been in a meeting that was best kept secret? Dean Oliver, golden boy, would have been perfectly positioned to keep the cops from interfering with criminal operations in that neighborhood. Had Anabel, dressed for her simple City Hall wedding, stepped behind the gate and seen something she shouldn’t have? Is that why she died? If Nick Monahan had any clue about that, it would be worth Dean Oliver’s efforts to threaten his family. Had he turned the tables by attacking Pepper and turning Nick into a monster in the eyes of the cops and the community? Nick could accuse Dean of anything at this point and no one in their right mind would believe him. Except me. Not that the cops would believe me, either.
Closet Confidential Page 25