[Elizabeth McClaine 03.0] A Stolen Woman

by Catherine Lea

  Elizabeth angrily stabbed the pile of documents with the nail of her index finger. “These documents have been altered. I did not authorize these referrals.”

  “So, you’re saying you didn’t refer Kimmy Donohue?”

  Stumbling for words now, Elizabeth could see a dangerous hole opening up right in front of her. Anything she said now could be twisted into something else. She hesitated, then opted for “That is none of your business.”

  “Au contraire, Mrs. McClaine. This is very much my business. Your electronic signature is on every document in this file. If you didn’t put it there, can you explain how it got there?”

  For a moment, Elizabeth was lost for words. She’d been around politicians and the press for long enough to know that whatever came out of her mouth next could cause the finger of blame to point to some even more diabolical act of treachery she was supposed to have carried out. In fact, she’d probably done quite enough damage now.

  Keeping her lips firmly pressed together, Elizabeth got up and tucked her purse under her arm, trying valiantly to hide how shaken she was. “I have nothing more to say to you, Miss Reels.” She pushed in her chair. As if that punctuated the end of the conversation.

  “Until what? You speak to your lawyer?” The woman smiled up with that slimy grin again.

  “I think this meeting is over.” Elizabeth turned to leave, but behind her, Jennifer Reels called after her.

  “And what about Kimmy Donohue’s abduction, Mrs. McClaine?”

  Elizabeth spun around, her nostrils flared.

  But Jennifer Reels wasn’t done. The grin faded into an expression of fake bewilderment. “Or are you telling me that it’s sheer coincidence that one of the clients you referred to Sunny Springs is missing? A young woman that could be dead because you put her into an institution rather than allowing her to stay with her aunt?” She cocked her head. “So tell me, Mrs. McClaine, because this is your opportunity to set the story straight. You’ve referred fifteen young people into these places in the last four months.” She passed her a sly sideways smile and winked. “What’s in it for you?”

  The words sent a blast of fury through Elizabeth. She took one step towards the hateful shrew. “I don’t know where you get your facts, but you’d better start looking for your shit under someone else’s rug. My foundation was set up to help these young people. You keep printing your lies, you’ll have my lawyer banging on your door. And you won’t look so smug when I sue you for libel.”

  And she walked out.

  As soon as she’d gotten into her car, she took out her phone with shaking hands and dialed. Penny answered almost immediately.

  Elizabeth took a measured breath, an attempt to keep the tremors from her voice. “How did you get on?”

  Penny sounded immediately concerned. “Are you okay?”

  For a long moment, Elizabeth pressed her lips together so hard they hurt. Then she swallowed back the welling urge to cry.

  “I never want to see that woman again.”

  “That good, huh?”

  Elizabeth sniffed back the tears. “Not even that good. What did you find out?”

  “Well, it sounds like I did better than you.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DAY TWO—12:45 PM—LANEY

  Laney had followed Kiddy in through the front door of the house, noting the heavy Yale deadlock on the front door and wondering how long it had taken Kiddy to pick it.

  Inside, shafts of late morning light cut through the gaps between the closed drapes, picking out a sea of dust motes that swirled in the unseen air currents. The place smelled stale, like old books. Feeling every ounce the intruder, she followed Kiddy through the living room towards the back of the house and paused at a basement door under the stairs. It bore a recently installed lock of solid new brass set into the door.

  Kiddy dropped to one knee and got to work on it.

  “How long have you been here?” Laney asked, wandering past her towards the kitchen to peer out into the back yard where she’d been a short while ago.

  “Not so long. I checked the upstairs but there’s nothing up there. Like, there’s furniture and everything, but there’s no clothes in the closets or nothing. I haven’t looked down here, though.

  Laney watched her for a moment, her ear turned to the lock, fingers working like a surgeon, lock-picks twisting this way and that in infinitesimally small increments.

  Whereas Laney could pick locks, Kiddy was clearly a pro. Another skill she’d picked up in Carringway.

  Laney folded her arms and leaned a shoulder to the wall while she waited. “That’s some lock. I wonder what’s down there.”

  Kiddy grinned up at her. “Yeah, you can bet whoever put it on here was protecting more than the water heater. Oh, hey, I think I got it.”

  There was a faint click and Kiddy tried the handle. It opened to a dark set of stairs leading to the basement.

  “You wanna go first?” asked Kiddy.

  Laney gestured. “Nah-uh. You opened it. You get the honor.”

  “Chicken.” With a wider grin, she pocketed her lock-picks and gingerly stepped through onto a small wooden landing.

  Laney peered over her shoulder. “What can you see?”

  “Nothin’ without lights.” She scuffed her hand up and down the wall on each side of the doorframe until she found a switch. She flipped it and a pale, yellow light snapped on down below.

  With her hand on Kiddy’s shoulder, Laney moved gingerly down the stairs.

  “Jeez, it smells like something died down here.”

  “You’re not kidding,” said Kiddy, who trod her way carefully down the ten wooden steps, pausing to blow out a breath on each one that creaked under her weight. “Jeez, I hope these stairs hold. We fall down here, no one’s coming looking for us.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that.”

  The single overhead bulb illuminated a typical basement set with water heater, pipes snaking up the walls and across the ceiling, washer and drier at the foot of the stairs, furnace in the corner. Directly across from the stairway was an old wooden workbench, dark oily stains over the surface, vise screwed to one side. Beside it sat a wooden kitchen chair. Laney moved straight to the bench while Kiddy walked the perimeter of the room and paused to open the washer.

  “There’s nothing but shit down here. Why would you go to so much trouble to lock it all up?”

  Kiddy snapped open the drier and leaned in. “There’s clothes in here.”

  “What kind?”

  She pulled out a narrow pair of women’s jeans that she held up against herself, then tossed them onto the washer. Next, she drew out a grubby-looking tee shirt and tasseled shawl. Finally, a pair of women’s underwear which she held pincered between her finger and thumb.

  “Nothing fashion-worthy, that’s for real.”

  Laney snorted. “Like you’d know.”

  She tossed the underwear back into the machine. “You’re just hilarious. Remind me to ask you over next time I need a laugh.”

  “At least I’m not still living with my parents,” said Laney.

  “Hey, don’t knock it. It’s free and the meals are pretty good.” She held up the sweater then consigned it to the heap. “Well, whoever washed this stuff must have forgotten to come back for them. Hardly surprising—they’re not missing much. Although it does make you wonder what she left in.” She stuffed everything back into the machine while Laney returned her attention to the array of screwdrivers, pliers, wire cutters, and a coil of wire that littered the top of the workbench.

  Wrinkling her nose, Laney searched the area. “What’s that stink? It smells like something’s gone rotten.”

  Kiddy moved up next to her and absently picked up a pair of pliers. When she opened the grips a pale pink, oval flake fell out. She picked it up, turning it in her fingers, then threw it down and stepped back. “Oh, shit.”

  “What is it?”

  She wiped her hand on her jeans. “It’s a freakin’ fingernail. Tha
t’s what it is.”

  “What? In the pliers?”

  Already Laney was picking them up, studying them. Then she picked up the section of fingernail. “Oh jeez, this is blood.”

  “Somebody was tortured down here. That’s why the locks on the door. Let’s get out of here.” Kiddy headed for the stairs.

  Laney spread her hands, watching her. “So that’s it? You’re just out of here?”

  Kiddy spun around. “Are you kidding? You know the kind of people that do this shit? You mess with them, you’ll be the next one disappears.”

  “I’m not done till I find out what happened to Wendy.”

  Kiddy pointed. “And all this doesn’t put you off?”

  “All this just makes me want to find her even more.”

  Kiddy snorted. “Good luck with that. Close the door on your way out,” she said and scurried up the stairs, leaving Laney alone in the basement.

  “And thanks a bunch,” Laney yelled after her. Kiddy’s footsteps creaked overhead on the wood floor, then she heard the sound of the front door closing. That was fine. It was better to do this alone. Whatever had happened down here had everything to do with Wendy. Her gut told her there was a connection.

  All she had to do was find it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  DAY TWO—12:50 AM—ELIZABETH

  “You told her to find her shit under someone else’s rug? Seriously? You said that to her?” Penny grinned in awe.

  Elizabeth didn’t exactly share her enthusiasm. They were on their way to the address Penny had found for Janelle Hooper, Penny gripping the wheel with palpable zeal as she wove in and out of traffic—something Elizabeth usually pulled her up on. But right now, her mind was back at the café, still picturing that smug, self-assured grin on Jennifer Reels’s face.

  She turned her gaze to the passenger window, mentally kicking herself. “I was stupid. I let her goad me. And I knew exactly what she was doing. She laid those documents right in front of me, then smiled like a barracuda, waiting for me to jump into the pool. And I did. With both feet.”

  “Meh, don’t let it worry you. What’s she going to do now? Accuse you of saying she’s full of shit?” She chuckled. “Man, I wish I’d been there.”

  Penny hit the turn signal and swerved around the next corner so fast the momentum threw Elizabeth sideways. She grabbed the dashboard to prevent herself falling against Penny.

  “Uh, can we slow down a little? Thank you,” she said when the car slowed to within the limit. “I know her type. She’ll start digging, that’s what she’ll do.”

  The corners of Penny’s mouth went down. “And what’s she going to find? That you’re offering young people help when they need it? Wow. You are evil beyond words.”

  Elizabeth lifted her purse and checked her phone, running her thumb down a mark on the screen, momentarily annoyed to discover it was a scratch. She switched it on. “I don’t trust her. She’s one of those people who’ll dig up anything she can for a story. It doesn’t have to be true.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve got nothing to hide. Have you?”

  She cut a sharp look at her PA.

  Penny noted it. “I’m just saying you’ve got nothing to worry about. So quit stressing.”

  “You know, if this woman wants to get ugly, truth be damned, she will. And where did she manage to dig up all those documents from? Ones I didn’t sign. And if I didn’t sign them, who did? And why? What’s there to gain? A few measly bucks for…” She stopped mid-sentence while the implications circled in her brain. Then it hit her.

  “You’ve got that look.”

  “Who would gain the most from having new clients admitted? Clients with guaranteed funding already in place?”

  “If we’re talking Sunny Springs, then Sunny Springs, I guess. Or the Ellan Graves Home for the Disabled. You said one of the young people had gone there.”

  “Exactly. Both of those places are owned by Aden Falls Corp.”

  “I don’t buy it. Why would a huge conglomerate like Aden Falls start cooking the books to make, what? A few hundred bucks? That would be ridiculous.”

  “Then why? That’s what I don’t understand.”

  Penny pulled the car to a stop and cut the engine. “Try to understand it later. We’re here.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  DAY TWO—1:00 PM—LANEY

  Laney started with the clothes. The tags were a brand she’d never heard of, the jeans for someone tall and slim, and the shawl somewhat ragged after washing. But when she drew out the tee shirt and held it up, she could clearly see darkened marks across both the back and front. In light of what she’d seen so far, there was little doubt what those marks were.

  She put the clothing back, and was just about to head upstairs when she noticed a tiny corner of white peeking out from behind the work bench. Wedging the tip of a screwdriver in behind the bench, she gently eased it out.

  It was a tiny photograph, same as the one on Wendy’s employment file. The girl in the picture was just as beautiful—large green eyes, long black hair, smooth olive skin. On the back, a line of tiny letters in pale blue read, Pierre Porter Photos.

  Upstairs again, she stuck the screwdriver in her pocket and followed the hallway to the front of the house again, heading for the second floor. Whoever owned the house must have left something that would identify them. Third doorway down, just as Kiddy had said, she found the office.

  Brightly lit with nursery motifs over the walls, it must have once served as a baby’s room. Now, under the window that looked out into a huge Cleveland Pear tree, sat a broad oak desk set with a writing set, ink blotter, and phone. After closing the door, she plopped down in the black leather office chair, and slid out each of the drawers. Nothing in the top three. The fourth one down was locked. She rattled it, then pushed the chair out to lean down and study it. It looked like one of those big file drawers and had a tiny keyhole in the top right corner. She spun in the chair left and right, checking the room for anywhere that might hold the key.

  “Shit! You’re hiding something in here, I just know it.”

  So she got to work on it with the screwdriver. Wedging it into the gap along the edge of the drawer, she pressed down hard, levering the gap wider until the metal buckled and the lock finally gave way. She opened it.

  The drawer was heavy and stiff, like it had been overfilled. Inside was a line of bulging files. Placing the screwdriver on the desk, she picked the first file out and opened it. It looked like a bunch of legal documents, each one written in a language that looked like Russian, or Bulgarian, or whatever, and each marked with an official-looking red stamp.

  She laid it on the desk and plucked out the next one. All in the same language. She was about to discard it when she ran her eyes down to the final line on the page. According to the text in English, it had been signed by someone from Aden Falls Corporation but the signature was indecipherable. Didn’t Aden Falls own Sunny Springs?

  At the back of the drawer was another set of files. She pulled it out to find a dossier with the name Employment Pulse written across the front. It was stacked with what looked like employment files, each pinned with a headshot photograph of a young woman who stared blankly into the camera, a barcode beneath. Each of the women was perhaps in her teens to early twenties, dark-haired and attractive.

  So, assuming these were employment profiles, then it followed that the top line next to the photograph, “emër,” was probably the woman’s name. Below that, each field had been completed in the same language. All the way down.

  She thumbed through the pile. Stapled to each girl’s file was a small newspaper clipping in some foreign language.

  Laney would have bet her right arm these were employment advertisements.

  The final four profiles each had a large red line running corner to corner. Like they’d been crossed off. Or they were no longer available. Then she came to the last one.

  She recognized her straightaway—the woman she’d known as Wendy.
It was exactly the same photo as on the file she’d lifted from Sunny Springs. And on this one, the name on the second line down was in English.

  “So, your name is Katarina. Katarina Novak.” She studied the photograph closely, noting the blank look in her eyes, an expression of utter despair. “How’d you wind up working in Sunny Springs, Katarina? And if you’re working under Wendy O’Dell’s name, what happened to her?”

  Laney leaned down and pulled the rest of the files forward. At the very back of the drawer, she found a stack of passports, all bound together with a rubber band. She slipped the band off and shuffled through them. Each bore a banner of six stars over the jagged outline of a country, and the words, “Republic of Kosovo” printed on the front.

  Was someone running an employment agency out of here? And if so, what kind? These girls all looked more like magazine models. Why would they come all the way from another country to take low-paid jobs for places like Sunny Springs?

  Unless…

  Laney lifted the corner of the first photograph on the first employment file. A tiny line typewritten in blue read: Pierre Porter Photos. Same with the next two. Same as the one on the photo she’d found downstairs.

  Her gut told her if she didn’t join the dots and figure out what was going on and where, Katarina would disappear forever.

  Laney had to find her. For all she’d done for Kimmy. She owed her at least that much.

  She was so engrossed in studying each of the passports that when she heard the front door close, she physically jumped—then grinned.

  Without even turning around, she shouted, “I knew you’d come back.”

  For some seconds, she sat there expecting a smart remark in response. She swiveled on the chair, ready with a smug remark to Kiddy about running off like that. When no response came back, her grin faded.