[Elizabeth McClaine 03.0] A Stolen Woman

by Catherine Lea

  “Lance, I have to know if this is either Laney or Kimmy Donohue. Please, can you at least tell me that?”

  Penny placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Hey, he’s doing everything he can. And they won’t necessarily have an ID for her yet, will you?” she asked Delaney.

  Delaney broke eye contact for a moment, hesitating before facing her. “Look, I’ve opened a missing persons report on Kimmy Donohue, and put out an APB. We’ve got units already searching for her. Elizabeth, go home and get some sleep. There’s nothing you can do here. As soon as we get an identity for the girl, or we find Kimmy, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “But you don’t—”

  “He said he’ll let you know,” Penny insisted.

  Elizabeth wavered a moment, her lower lip clamped between her teeth as she cast a worried gaze back at the tent. “What was she wearing? The girl. What was she wearing when she was killed?”

  “Sweat shirt, sweat pants. The sweater was back-to-front. We think she’s been changed out of her own clothing. For whatever reason.”

  “Maybe she was wearing something distinctive—something the police would recognize.”

  “Could be.”

  Penny briefly squeezed Elizabeth’s arm. “Hey, let’s get you home. You heard him—they’ll call if they find anything.”

  “Detective?” This from one of the officers who had just exited the tent. “I think we found something.”

  “What is it?” Elizabeth asked no one in particular.

  “I’ll be right there,” Delaney called. Then to Elizabeth, he said, “Go home. We’ll find Kimmy. I promise.” And with that he turned with his hands deep in the pockets of his coat, head down against the wind, and went back to the site.

  Elizabeth swept her hair back from her face and narrowed her focus on them, trying to make out whatever it was that the officer was showing Delaney. It was something small, something probably the size of a small book, maybe a phone, but from here it was impossible to tell.

  “Come on, hon,” said Penny. “What you need right now is a hot drink, and a good night’s sleep.”

  Despite the voice in her gut urging her to stay, to demand answers that no one had, Elizabeth nodded. “You’re right. Then you and I will start first thing in the morning.”

  “Doing what?” Penny asked. “You heard what he said. They’ve got the whole thing under control. And frankly, we’re lucky he told us that much. And what do you think we could we do that they’re not?”

  “He said they’d look for Kimmy. Nothing about Laney. She may be the only one who knows what happened to Kimmy in Sunny Springs.”

  “Or the only one who’ll tell you.”

  “Exactly. Come on, let’s get back to the car before the heavens open and we both end up sick tomorrow with a head cold.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DAY TWO—5:15 AM—LANEY

  Laney had hurried back to the car and headed towards the central city, eyes skipping up to the rear-view mirror every few seconds in case she was being followed. As soon as she was sure no one was following, she turned down a side street, and parked under a streetlight. Flicking on the overhead driver’s light, she picked up the file she’d taken from Sunny Springs, and opened it.

  The headshot showed a stunningly beautiful young woman: jet black hair swept back from her forehead and tumbling to her shoulders, startling green eyes under sleekly arched brows, flawless olive complexion and generous mouth, lips slightly parted. How she ended up on what was probably minimum wage in a place like Sunny Springs was anybody’s guess. She could have been a model, if you’d asked Laney. It felt strange to finally see the girl she’d put so much faith in, the girl who had cared for Kimmy like another sister, and to have never met her.

  “What were you doing working in a place like that?” Laney mused as she dismissed the photograph and checked the employment details below.

  She flipped the photo to check the back, then turned to Wendy’s personal and employment details. According to the form she’d filled out when Sunny Springs hired her, Wendy was twenty-eight years old, held a Masters in linguistics, and enjoyed running, skiing, tae kwon do, and boxing.

  “Sheesh! That’s one way to get your beautiful face messed up,” Laney muttered, and turned the page. Attached to the back of the file was the brief handwritten background check done by the guy at Employment Pulse, the recruitment agency. No previous employers. Evidently, this had been Wendy’s only job.

  “Seriously? She’s twenty-eight and she’s never held down a job before?” She flipped to the front again. Then she found it, in small print below the personal details—Wendy O’Dell’s address and phone number.

  According to her watch it was still too early. But Laney had one more person she wanted to see before she went to Wendy’s mother’s. And this was the perfect time.

  Kiddy Leishman must have lived in one of the crappiest streets in the crappiest area of Parma. The place was easy enough to find. Kiddy still lived with her parents, Zena and Ptolemy, who were listed in the white pages under their full names. Laney had only to Google part of the name and it had come up with the details. She knew the area wasn’t exactly the Ritz, but with the sun spreading the first watery rays of light through the thick cloud cover, it made the place look even more dismal than she’d even imagined.

  With the echo of early morning birds ringing down the empty street, Laney plucked the key from the ignition and pushed her seat back, preparing for at least an hour-long wait for Kiddy to get home from work. She was just about to close her eyes when she heard an engine approaching and caught sight of a beat-up red Mustang in the rear-vision mirror. It turned into the street behind her and slowed. As it swerved in off the street and straight into the driveway of Kiddy Leishman’s house, Laney caught a glimpse of Kiddy behind the wheel.

  Laney checked her watch. “Home early, huh? That figures.” Kiddy never was one to overwork herself. Laney adjusted the seat back up and watched.

  Across the road, Kiddy got out of the Mustang and slammed the car door. Dressed in a grimy white gauze skirt that flared from the waist like a ballerina’s dress, mid-calf-length boots, and a fur-lined puffer jacket, she looked as if she was just returning from a Gothic-themed fancy dress party. After locking the car, she paused to direct a wide-mouthed yawn into the air, then turned for the house.

  Just as Kiddy reached the front door, Laney got out of the car and called out.

  “Hey, Kiddy!”

  Kiddy swiveled around, turning a squint-eyed look out across the street. Spotting Laney, she ambled a few feet towards the front walk and paused in a slouch with one hand on her hip.

  “Geez, Laney? Is that you? What are you doing here?”

  Aware the whole street could probably hear the conversation, Laney crossed at a trot, then walked up the front path to meet her.

  Kiddy hadn’t changed one dot since she was in Carringway. Every con who’d met Kiddy agreed she could have passed for an older, world-wearier version of Shirley Temple. Her dirty blonde hair sprang naturally into bunches of ringlets that bounced every time she moved. Her wide blue eyes and rosebud lips lent her the look of a girl half her twenty-six years, but the meth-eroded teeth, smeared mascara, and sickly complexion of a habitual drug user added another element altogether.

  Laney stuck her hands in her pockets. “Hey, Kiddy. How you doin’?”

  “I’m doin’ okay. I don’t suppose you’re here to ask me how I’m doin’ this time of the morning, though. How’d you find me?” she said, her severe dental degradation lending her a slight lisp.

  “Your dad’s name is Ptolemy. It’s not that hard.”

  “Oh, right.” Kiddy chuckled. Then she glanced back over her shoulder at the house. “I’d ask you in but if my folks catch me dressed like this, they’ll kill me.”

  Laney gestured at her clothing. “Why? Because you’re planning on running away to join the circus?”

  Kiddy looked down at herself. “Ha-ha, you’re too funny. I finall
y got a night out, is why. You have no idea what it’s like living with your parents. They treat me like I’m ten years old.”

  “Then I won’t keep you too long.” Laney shifted her weight and dashed a knuckle across one eyebrow, trying to come across casual. “I just wanted to ask you about someone back at Sunny Springs.”

  Kiddy made a face. “And it couldn’t wait till like…?” She squinted at her watch. “After breakfast, maybe?”

  “Well no, it’s kind of urgent. Do you remember talking to Dorothy about a nurse aid named Wendy? Like, the one who was working at Sunny Springs?”

  “Oh! You must have been talking with Pinky.”

  “Yeah, matter of fact I was.”

  “Oh, man,” said Kiddy with a roll of her eyes. “Does she never shut up? I spent two months in the same cell as her. Yap, yap, yap, that’s all I got. She’s lucky I didn’t kill her.”

  “Yeah. So, ah…” Laney rolled her hand, urging her to continue.

  “So, yeah. Dorothy was telling me about this guy that came and took her. Like, Wendy, right? Said he looked like a cross between David Beckham and Johnny Depp.”

  “I can’t even imagine what that would look like,” Laney admitted.

  Kiddy ignored her. “So, anyway, apparently, she’s got a new job,” she said, making air quotes as she said it. “Well, that’s according to that new kitchen hand, if you can believe anything she says.”

  “What does that mean—‘a new job’?” Laney said, mimicking Kiddy and also doing air quotes.

  “Well, you know what I mean…”

  Laney made an irritated face and looked away, saying, “How about you tell me.”

  “Well, she’s a hooker, isn’t she? Like, high-class, but a hooker all the same.”

  A burst of laughter from Laney. “A hooker? Why would a hooker—high-class or anything else—be working at Sunny Springs?”

  “Well, I don’t know, do I? If you only came here to insult my clothing and tell me I’m talking shit—”

  “No, no. I’m sorry, okay. Can you remember anything else Dorothy said about the Armani guy? Anything.”

  Kiddy gave a moment, then said, “He had Boston Celtics plates on the car. Oh, and one of the guys called him Jerko.”

  “Jerko? Was that, like, his name or something?”

  “How would I know? Was I there? No, I’m telling you what Dorothy said, okay?”

  Nodding and wondering how much help that was, Laney said, “Yeah, yeah, I was just asking. So that’s it?”

  She shrugged briefly. “That’s it.”

  Laney’s shoulders dropped. She’d been hoping for more. “Okay, thanks. Hope your folks don’t kill you.” She pointed to Kiddy’s house, where a drape had tweaked back in the living room.

  “Kiddy, is that you?” came a bellow from inside. A woman’s voice.

  Kiddy bellowed back. “No, it’s the tooth fairy. Who do you think it is? I better go,” she told Laney.

  “Yeah, thanks, I’ll see you around.”

  “Oh, and something else,” Kiddy said, just as the front door burst open and an angry-looking woman—presumably Kiddy’s mom—appeared in the doorway. “Dorothy also said Velma Stanford just about had a heart attack when she saw him. Ran out and met him the second the guy’s car pulled up.”

  “What? Like he was her boss or something?”

  Kiddy’s mom marched down the path and elbowed Kiddy angrily aside to glare at Laney. “And who the hell are you?”

  “Cab driver,” she replied immediately. “Have a great day, ma’am,” she told Kiddy. With a quick wave, she hurried down the path and speed-walked back to the car without a backward look. By the time she was back in the car, Kiddy had disappeared inside and the front door was closed. Just as she stuck the key in the ignition, the sound of a heated argument and the crash of something hitting an internal wall rumbled from Kiddy’s house. It was followed by a scream and a string of language even Laney wouldn’t use. It echoed down the street like something out of a horror movie.

  “Geez, Kiddy, move out and get your own place, for cryin’ out loud,” Laney mumbled, grateful for once for her own situation.

  So, Velma knew the guy way better than she was letting on. How? And why let him take Wendy when she obviously didn’t want to go?

  She picked up Wendy’s employment file from the seat beside her and went through the details again, this time one by one. The only address she could find listed was that of Wendy O’Dell’s mother. Did her mother even know she’d gone missing?

  Another bloodcurdling scream emanated from the house.

  Eager to get away, Laney plunged the key into the ignition and pulled out.

  Mrs. O’Dell’s address was less than a half hour away. If she hurried, she could get there before the traffic got too bad. And she could figure out what she’d say on the way.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DAY TWO—6:45 AM—ELIZABETH

  Elizabeth had barely slept. She’d woken at 5:00 AM, and lain staring at the ceiling running a hundred different scenarios of Kimmy Donohue through her mind, praying she was okay. Praying Laney would keep her safe—something her own organization had failed to do.

  Finally, in an effort to shake off the impending melancholy, she’d gotten up, gone downstairs, and made coffee. She was sitting there, staring into space and fending off those last images when the front doorbell sounded.

  Penny walked straight in, handing her the newspaper as she passed, saying, “It’s all in there—dead girl, cemetery, yadda, yadda. Nothing we didn’t already know. You got coffee?”

  “In the pot. I might need another as well.” While Penny went in search of her morning Java hit, Elizabeth shook out the paper, checked the front page only to find pictures of a jubilant Indians crowd after a win, then turned to page two.

  Beneath an article on welfare fraud, she found it—a few lines outlining exactly what Delaney had said, except the reporter had suggested the body as possibly being one of the many homeless in the city.

  “Why would they think she was homeless? Someone had changed her clothing. Or weren’t the press told that?” Elizabeth said, as Penny entered the living room carrying two cups. She laid the paper down, took the proffered cup.

  Elizabeth went on, “And you know what disappoints me? That a homeless young woman is worth only a couple of lines. Is she, what? Worthless?”

  “Delaney said she was a mess. Sounds like someone beat her up pretty bad,” said Penny.

  “That poor girl. I wonder how her parents must feel.”

  “Let Delaney deal with that. You’ve got enough on your plate right now.”

  Elizabeth looked up sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t see it? Front page, under the Indians win.”

  Elizabeth put her cup down, lifted the paper again, and dropped her attention to the article in the lower section of the front page. The headline read: Something Rotten in the State of Ohio?

  The cost of caring for the most vulnerable in Ohio is on the rise, and it seems that those who portray themselves as the champions of the most vulnerable in our society have little care as to who is tending to them.

  According to sources, a growing number of disabled young people are being channeled into institutional care using illegal workers, while being funded by organizations such as the Charles McClaine Foundation, chaired by socialite Elizabeth McClaine. Once a vocal opponent of the type of institutional care provided by such organizations as Aden Falls Corporation and projects such as Sunny Springs, it seems Elizabeth McClaine has had a change of tune, and is now happy to sponsor our disabled young people into such situations.

  “This is ridiculous. If they’ve been using illegal employees, how is that my fault? Putting anyone in one of those institutions was against my better judgment. Now they’re making it sound like we’re funding some underhanded scheme, shoveling people in there for the money. As though I’m some kind of criminal.”

  Penny arched one eyebrow. “I’d like to know
who told them you’re funding these young people.”

  “So would I. A growing number,” she mumbled angrily. “See if you can find a contact number for this…Jennifer Reels. I’d like to know where she gets her cockeyed information. But first, I want to know if that was Laney Donohue they found dead over at Lake View. If it is, maybe everybody will take Kimmy’s abduction a little more seriously.” She slid her phone from across the coffee table towards her, checked her watch, and dialed.

  Penny also checked her watch. “Awful early to be calling, don’t you think?”

  “Seriously? You think he’ll be sleeping when he’s got a dead body and a young woman missing out there?” When Delaney answered, Elizabeth shifted her attention back to the phone and lifted it to her ear.

  “Lance, it’s me.”

  “Yes, Elizabeth. What can I do for you?” He sounded tired.

  “Any chance you’ve identified the young woman yet? The one in the cemetery?”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know when we do.”

  “So, you still don’t know if it’s Laney Donohue.”

  He paused for some moments. He knew something. Politicians were the most elusive when it came to giving out information. Cops came next in line in that regard. Elizabeth had learned this long ago. She’d also learned it was only a matter of asking the right questions. She turned a hopeful look on Penny, who raised her eyebrows, waiting.

  A phone rang in the background and it sounded like he’d switched the phone to his other hand before speaking. “We had a call last night to say that Laney Donohue broke into Sunny Springs and took some files.”

  “Well, at least we can rule her out as the dead body. I don’t suppose she had Kimmy with her while she was doing her break-in?”

  “I wish. Would have saved us some time.” She could hear the cynical smile in his voice.

  “What files did she take? Do you know?”

  “I can’t make any comment on that, Elizabeth. You know that.”

  “How did I know you were going to say that?”