"You're most welcome, Agent James. Please keep us in mind if you ever need to rent an apartment in this area."
"I will. Good day."
~ ~
My next stop was the cleaning service. I stood at the front counter until it was my turn and then, after showing my ID, explained that I wanted to speak with someone about a cleaning that had been performed more than four years ago. The clerk picked up a phone and spoke to a manager, who hurried out.
"I'm Mr. Ambrossa. How can I help you, Agent James?"
I handed him the sheet of paper that Mrs. Helmar had given me.
"This invoice number is about four years old."
"Yes. I'd like to hear anything you can tell me about it."
"Please come into my office."
I followed the short, heavyset man down a corridor and into a smallish office.
"Please have a seat, Agent. I'll pull the file."
Several minutes later, the man reappeared, this time holding a thin file folder. He took his seat and opened the file, then began to read. "The personal possessions we removed from the apartment remained with us for just over six months. They were sold as one lot in the next monthly auction. The buyer returned the same day with one of those rental trucks and two local odd-jobs people. They removed everything that was in the storage unit. That's all we know."
"Do you have his or her name?"
"Yes," he said, looking at the file again. "It was a Mrs. Sheila Smith."
"Did she pay by check or credit card?"
"Nope. According to the paperwork, she paid cash."
"Do you require identification?"
"Not when folks pay with cash."
"Do you remember the name on the rental truck?"
"No. Sorry. The file doesn't say. It just says a rental truck and two local odd-jobs guys came back to pick up everything the same day."
"I see. Okay, Mr. Ambrossa, thank you very much for your cooperation. Could I get a copy of that page you were reading from?"
"Certainly. There's no confidential information on it." He swung his chair around and placed the page on a small copier behind him. A couple of seconds later he handed me the photo copy.
"Thanks again, Mr. Ambrossa," I said as I rose and left his office.
"I'm always happy to cooperate with the authorities."
~ ~
I groaned slightly as I thought about canvassing all of the places that rented trucks while seeking information about a rental that was four years old. So instead I returned to my motel and used the gizmo. I watched the auction and saw Mrs. Helen Williams, aka Mrs. Sheila Smith, win the contents of the storage locker. She was pretty lively for a dead woman. I tagged her, jumped ahead a half hour, then performed a search for the next time she came to the storage location. When I saw her get out of the truck, I recorded the license plate info and all other markings on the vehicle, including the VIN.
The truck rental company was a national chain, so I called the headquarters and got passed around for five minutes before I found someone who would assist me. I gave her the license number and VIN of the truck, and the date it was rented. In seconds she was able to pull up the name of the renter and where the truck was turned in after use, but she wouldn't give me the information until I emailed her an image of my ID.
Once she had received that, she confirmed that the driver had provided a photo ID driver's license, but she still wouldn't send me a copy of anything until she verified that I was really FBI and got an approval from her supervisor. I gave her the telephone number at the New York office so they could confirm my identity and asked that they call right away and then send me the requested information.
About an hour later, after receiving papers from the truck rental company, I made plane reservations, packed my things, and headed for the airport.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
It was late when I arrived at Seattle-Tacoma International. I picked up a rental car and headed to the national chain hotel I had decided on after a quick computer search. It had been an exhausting eight days, and I was anxious to wrap things up and head home.
~ ~ ~
The next day when the school where Amanda Matthews attended first grade recessed for the day, I was waiting outside near the parents waiting to pick up their children. I had learned through use of the gizmo that the girl was now named Samantha Wilson, and I used my smartphone to surreptitiously take the girl's picture when she emerged from the school. I also got an image of her 'mother' when the girl reached her. I pretended that I was trying to place a call by repeating my own phone number over and over out loud as I snapped the pictures. I didn't interfere with them, and as soon as they walked past me, I ignored them completely. I pretended I was waiting for my own child and kept looking anxiously towards the front entrance.
It was obvious the child was being well cared for, so I had no intention of interceding. That would be a task for others. Possibly child welfare workers would take care of the girl until she could be reunited with her real parents. I was glad I wouldn't have to be part of the heartbreaking scenes I expected would occur.
My work in Tacoma was done, and after the SUV driven by Mrs. Wilson pulled out of the parking lot, I ended my fake vigil and headed for the airport. I had everything I needed to wrap up my report and would complete the assembly after I arrived home. I could now turn my attention back to Delcona without any feelings of guilt over not working the child kidnapping case.
~ ~ ~
Mia welcomed me home as if I'd been gone for months rather than just over a week and a half. I had to drop my suitcase and computer case as I entered the apartment and she wrapped her arms around my neck and began kissing every square inch of my face from ear to ear. I smiled like a fool as I picked Mia up instead of my luggage and carried her to the master suite, where I set her gently down on the bed. Having become accustomed to nightly lovemaking, ten days of celibacy seemed like a year. We never got dinner as we made up for the separation, but we raided the kitchen around midnight for snacks and wine.
~ ~ ~
As wonderful as the first night back was, the following morning was the opposite. I discovered that the surveillance teams were still camped at Delcona's doors twenty-four seven and tailing his car whenever he went out. His operations never ceased— he simply stopped taking an active part in anything illegal where his involvement could be proven by the surveillance teams.
What was said in meetings behind closed doors where no audio was available could never be proven. It was all the more frustrating to me because I could see everything that was going on but was unable to hear even a single word. At least his personal involvement in physical mayhem had been curbed for the time being. I was sure the surveillance teams were as frustrated as I was.
I had promised Mia we would go away as soon as I wrapped up the kidnapping case, and she wanted to leave right away. She was a little disappointed that we weren't already on our way to the airport, but I explained that my role in the case wasn't complete until my report was filed and I was called downtown to discuss my finding with the gruff, stone-faced Brigman. I completed organizing my notes and filed my report before three in the afternoon. Then it was simply a matter of waiting until I heard back.
Mia had decided she wanted to go to Fiji for our getaway because she hadn't been there in several years. She said she knew of a great place to stay, and I never doubted her knowledge for a second. But because of the air travel required, I suggested that Hawaii might be a better destination.
"But you said I could pick the destination for our vacation getaway," she said with a pouty expression that matched the timbre of her voice.
"And I meant it. I only suggested the Hawaiian Islands because the travel time will involve substantially fewer hours in the air. If you don't mind the extra travel time and want to go to Fiji, then we're going to Fiji."
Mia squealed in delight and wrapped her arms around my neck before treating my face to a virtual assault from her lips that made my arrival home s
eem lukewarm.
Never one to squander my chances, I swept her legs up with my left arm and carried her to the bedroom.
~
When I hadn't heard back from Brigman by the next day, I sent him an email informing him that I was going out of the country on personal business for a month. I figured the message would generate a response, and I received a call within an hour from his secretary. She told me to be at his office at nine a.m. the following day.
~ ~
I arrived a few minutes early and took a seat to await Brigman's summons to enter his inner office. This was just my second visit downtown since the night I was attacked at my apartment, but the security people in the lobby apparently remembered my appearance that night and looked me over from head to toe each time I arrived, seemingly expecting to see blood dripping from somewhere on my body.
My waiting time was minimal on this occasion and I was called into Brigman's office after no more than five minutes. The same three still-unidentified individuals occupied chairs in front of Brigman's desk. They looked up at me dispassionately while Brigman glared at me from his office chair.
"Okay, James," Brigman said, "you think you've solved another cold case? Tell us about it and explain how you arrived at your conclusions."
"Yes, sir," I said as I planted myself in an empty chair even though I hadn't been invited to sit down. "After a full review of the previously filed reports, I knew those investigators had all done a very credible job. I did…"
Brigman interrupted with, "We knew the real agents had done a good job. We want to hear how you arrived at your conclusions."
I stared at Brigman in silence for several seconds, then resumed my statement from where I had been interrupted. "As I started to say, I did find one thing that didn't add up, so I queried Mrs. Matthews on that point. There was a reference in one report to a Helen Williams, but there was no associated report of a follow-up investigation. Mrs. Matthews informed me that Williams had been the child's nanny before the kidnapping. Since the child had never cried out during the abduction, as far as we know, it appeared as if she knew her abductor and trusted him or her.
"The parents were then, and still are now, together, so it seemed obvious it wasn't a child custody situation. Williams was the only possible lead I had, so I pursued it. But Mrs. Matthews informed me that Williams was dead, having been killed in an industrial accident in Oklahoma.
"With nothing else to go on at that point, I went to Oklahoma. I learned that, in fact, Mrs. Williams had apparently been a victim of a devastating explosion and fire there. She had been legally declared as deceased, but there had never been a formal identification of her body because they found no body. However, a good number of people known to be in the area on the day of the explosion were also declared dead without any proof of death simply because the horrific destruction at the accident scene reportedly obliterated bodies.
"It's a situation similar to when an airliner goes down and minimal human remains are located. If the passengers were checked in at the boarding gate, they're assumed to have been on the plane when it crashed. The burned-out and melted hulk of the auto that Williams drove to Oklahoma was found very near to what was identified as the foundation pad of her sister's destroyed house. The concrete base was the only identifiable remnant of the house. Neighbors who survived the disaster attested that Williams had been staying there and had been seen there as recently as several hours before the explosion at the industrial plant.
"I had learned that Williams and her sister had been the sole surviving heirs in a sizable inheritance and that Williams was being pressured by her ex-husband for half of her share. It made sense that she could have taken advantage of an opportunity to disappear and start life anew. So I set about trying to prove she was dead."
"What about the inheritance?" one of the nameless three asked. "If she had been declared dead, she shouldn't have been able to claim it."
"She and her sister had already claimed the inheritance. At least most of it. The deceased aunt had inherited a significant portfolio of oil stocks when her grandfather died, and the portfolio had increased appreciably as the result of stock splits and dividends. A couple of decades ago, whenever the aunt received a dividend, she began purchasing gold rather than using the dividend for purchasing additional stock. Mostly she acquired gold coins, but some of it was in bullion. She had leased a small vault at a private precious-metals depository in Tulsa and kept her gold there.
"The attorney estimated, from information in purchase records, that the vault contained as much as a hundred pounds, or sixteen hundred ounces if you prefer. Most of the purchases had taken place before 2004 when gold was about four hundred dollars an ounce. At the time of the aunt's death, gold was trading at about eighteen hundred dollars an ounce. A hundred pounds of gold would therefore have been worth almost three million dollars.
"The portfolio of oil stock shares had been immediately liquidated by the sisters, who purchased more gold with the money. In total, I estimate that the sisters found themselves with almost two hundred fifty pounds of gold. That translates to over four thousand ounces, which in turn means more than seven million dollars. Even dividing it between the two women, that's enough to provide a very comfortable lifestyle.
"I also learned that the aunt's house was put up for sale, and the lawyer had the power of attorney to complete the sale. When the house sold, the proceeds were put into a trust fund for the heirs of Helen Williams and Ilene Tallago, but so far no one has come forward to claim it."
"So you believe her sister is also alive?" Brigman asked.
"I've found no proof of that, but it's entirely possible. Let's speculate that the sisters went for a long walk just before the explosion. Or perhaps Helen had purchased a new car, and they went for a test drive. There could be any number of reasons why they weren't in the home at the time of the explosion."
"When the sister's family was killed," one of the nameless men asked, "would she just leave? I mean, without grieving the loss?"
"If the sister was as unhappy in her family relationship as Williams appears to have been in hers, why not? It was a chance for a new life— a new beginning. We know the sister had no children. There was just her husband and her mother-in-law living at the house with her."
"You're not suggesting that Williams or her sister was responsible for the explosion, are you?" the lone woman in the unidentified group asked.
"I have no reason to believe they were involved in any way. The investigative reports state that it was a horrible accident caused by excessively hot weather and inadequate industrial safeguards."
"Where's the gold now?" one of the nameless men asked.
"I learned that the gold vault was emptied prior to the explosion. Where the gold is would be pure speculation."
"Two hundred fifty pounds of gold is a bit much to carry around," the other nameless man said.
"If Williams had purchased a new— or at least newer— car after she learned the size of her inheritance and hadn't registered it yet, she had transportation. She probably drove away with the gold in the trunk. There was no report of finding it— melted or otherwise— at the scene of the explosion. Two hundred fifty pounds isn't all that much to transport when you have a car available."
"Your report says that Williams is in Tacoma with the child," Brigman said. "You're absolutely sure of that?"
I removed several pictures from my briefcase and handed them to him. I had printed them on my computer at home. "I took the first two images using my smartphone earlier this week. The third image is a computerized age-progression image of the missing child to account for the four years since the last image of her was taken. If that's not Amanda Matthews with Williams, then the likeness is uncanny."
Brigman looked at the photos closely, then passed them to the nearest of the unidentified trio. After each member of the trio looked at them, one of the two men said, "I'm convinced we have enough to proceed. A DNA analysis will prove or disprove the child's f
amilial association with the Matthews family. Let's send a team to pick up the child and the woman."
"That's all, James," Brigman said.
I stood and turned to leave the office, then stopped and turned back to face Brigman. "I understand that the serial killer case in California has been officially closed. I was wondering if the drain pipe at the location on Magorim Street yielded any evidence."
Brigman scowled and gritted his teeth. When it became clear he wasn't going to respond, the nameless woman said, "Yes. We found an earring that was positively identified by the husband of one of the victims and a tooth that was positively identified by dental records and DNA as having belonged to another of the women. A few other small personal items were retrieved but nothing that could be proven as having belonged to the any of the victims."
I nodded to the woman and left the office. It seemed to me that the nameless trio had treated me a little more respectfully than in past case review sessions. I wondered if they were beginning to respect my abilities as an investigator. Each of the cold cases I had worked prior to today had been successfully closed as a result of my investigations.
Of course, Brigman hadn't changed. His comment at the start of the session about knowing 'that the real agents had done a good job' was like a slap across my face. If I turned in my badge and gun, Brigman would probably celebrate for a week. I decided I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. The Bureau might terminate my employment if they weren't satisfied with my work, but I wasn't going to resign because of Brigman. I could have learned the answer to my last question by accessing the computer file on the serial killer case and reading any updates. The question was posed only to annoy Brigman and retaliate for his real agents comments. He'd choke before he'd ever compliment me on my success with the cold cases.
~ ~
Mia wasn't in the apartment when I arrived home, so I made myself a tuna sandwich on toasted rye with tomato, lettuce and mayo, and took it to my office to munch on while I worked. Now that I had wrapped up the kidnapping case, I was free to make the vacation trip reservations. Mia had written down the name of the resort where she wanted to stay and even specified which of the cottages she wanted, so I called the resort reservations number. I knew it was late there, but I figured they probably handled reservation calls twenty-four seven.
Vengeance Is Personal (A Colton James Novel, Book 2) Page 14