by Cat Connor
A technician approached us. We flashed our badges. I asked, “Is this microphone working?”
He nodded.
“Good,” Jones replied.
I stepped closer to the microphone, my stomach twisting violently.
“Attention! I need to find Melanie Talbot’s friend Emma. I have a message for her from Melanie.”
About forty kids stopped and stared blankly at me. Lee signaled he’d seen something. From the corner of my eye, I saw a man moving quickly away from the stage; he had a kid by the arm.
“Can you stay up here and watch?” I said to Jones. “It might be a father removing a wayward daughter. It might be Emma and the man who abducted her.”
She nodded. I jumped down and took off around the stage. Exit stage left.
Lee came from my right, Sam stayed with Jones. I couldn’t see Doc. The man shoved the girl he was dragging into Lee’s path.
“Get her!” I yelled and kept running. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Lee swoop in on the kid. My gun was in my hand and my heart was beating like a drum.
There was a split second of total confusion on rounding the corner after the man. Initially my mind went into what-the-fuck-is-this mode. I found myself smack in the middle of a celebration of some kind, in a courtyard next to the Michael Fowler center. I glanced around and slipped my gun back into the holster, pulling my jacket over it.
No one appeared to notice. Fifty or so people, all fully focused on a priest wearing rainbow vestments.
I attempted to skirt the gathering, all the while looking for the man I’d chased. From what I could see, there was no way out. A barricade blocked the area from the street beyond. The penny dropped. My guy was hiding among wedding guests. I scanned the crowd looking for a sweaty male. It was hot and humid; he’d be sweating. I edged closer to the crowd and managed a glimpse of the brides.
Oh my, they wore ugly dresses. I’d seen feed sacks with more style. The person I’d chased was trying to blend in on the right side of the gathering. Bride? … Or bride’s side?
Tapping one man on the shoulder, I excused myself before barging through.
“Sir, excuse me.”
“Pardon?”
I saw my mistake. It wasn’t a man. I’m thinking pink frills are not her thing and I doubt she’s ever painted her toenails.
“Ma’am. Sorry, ma’am. I’m a Federal Agent and I just need to get by to arrest a gate-crasher.”
She glared at me. I flashed my badge. With a quick smile I scooted by her and several other unbecoming folk. I’d never seen so many obviously inbred people in one place before.
I looked at the brides. Good thing they couldn’t combine their gene pool. Something else stuck out: attire. I moved up on the suspect. I’ve seen casual weddings, on the beach and tastefully done – bare foot, wearing gossamer gowns - but this was casual even by baglady standards. My guy eyed me. He’d started to relax.
Wrong.
Using some large unfortunates as cover, I clamped a hand on his shoulder. The heat and sweat through his thin shirt burned under my hand.
“You’re under arrest.” He tried to shake off my hand as it slid down his arm to his wrist. My grip tightened and I twisted his arm up behind his back and snapped on handcuffs.
Someone spoke near me. Amidst a defiantly bad stutter I made out an offer of help.
I declined, twisted his other arm behind his back and slid the second cuff shut, nice and tight. As I pushed him forward I apologized to the wedding guests, wished the happy couple a prosperous life with good health and, a comprehensive dental plan.
The guests parted as I led the man by the elbow back to where Lee, Sam, Detective Jones and the kid waited.
A smile hovered about my lips as I encouraged my prisoner toward Sam.
“You don’t have any jurisdiction here,” the man snapped, immediately alerting us to his non-Kiwi accent.
“Oh, but we do,” I replied. “Name?”
“Bo Weinberg,” he replied. His accent could’ve come from almost any Eastern Bloc country.
Sam took hold of him. I motioned to Jones. We stepped away.
“Is that Emma?” I said.
“Yes, she identified herself as Emma Lincoln. She’s a friend of Melanie Talbot’s. Doesn’t know where Melanie is, but knows she had an online boyfriend.”
“Hang on a second,” I said to Faye while I looked around for Doc. He was talking to a group of kids. An ear-piercing whistle left my mouth. “Over here!” I called when he looked up. Doc ran over.
“Will you take care of Emma – ask the right questions and find out if she’s okay?”
He didn’t reply but walked over and introduced himself to Emma.
I turned back to Faye and our conversation. “How’d she find herself in the company of Bo, here?”
“Seems Bo knew Emma was supposed to be meeting Melanie and what she looked like. Had a message for her to go with him to meet Melanie somewhere else.”
“Awesome. Now Hawk’s grabbing two at a time.”
“What do you want to do with the girl?” Jones asked. She talked to Doc and used Lee to block Bo Weinberg from her line of sight.
“Make sure she hasn’t been in contact with anyone she doesn’t know in real life on the Internet, or made any plans to meet anyone. Talk to her parents – give them some information on child safety online. Reassure her that we’re looking really hard to find Melanie.” I handed Jones two of my business cards. “Give one to her and keep one yourself.”
“I’ll take her home. Let’s get an interview room for you to use to talk to Mr. Weinberg.” She looked around while lifting the radio from her hip and talking briefly.
Jones smiled at me. “There is a room at Wellington Central waiting for you.”
“Fabulous. Thank you. How do we get there?”
“It’s so close you can almost spit on it. Come on, I’ll show you, then take Emma home.”
Lee marched Weinberg in front of him on the short walk down Victoria Street to the police station. We settled in the interview room and Jones took Emma. I followed her out to have a word with the child.
“Emma.” She turned around. “Hi, I’m Special Agent Ellie Conway.” I smiled. “Do you mind if I have a look at your cell phone?”
She shrugged and handed it to me. I scrolled quickly through her outbox and then her inbox. There were no recent text messages from Melanie. The last one was two days old. In fact, there were no messages received at all for at least twelve hours and I know how much kids use cell phones. That wasn’t right, it didn’t add up.
“Nothing from your best friend saying where she was?” I asked, handing the phone back. “Is that why you left an instant message for her using MSN arranging to meet her?”
“Our cell phones don’t work properly. We’re both on the same plan.”
I looked at Faye. “Cell phone service not working?”
“It’s the new fancy network with the biggest provider here. Don’t get me started! It’s the reason I have been missing messages and losing calls.”
“Brilliant.” No, I didn’t mean that. It was potentially putting lives at risk. Kids’ lives in this case.
“Emma, Detective Jones will take you home now. Call one of us if you hear anything from Melanie or remember anything, okay?” As a parting aside I said, “Call from a landline. They still work, right?”
She nodded. I went back into the interview room.
True to form, Weinberg had nothing to say. His passport indicated he was here on a tourist visa from Bulgaria. He’d arrived a week ago and wasn’t due to leave for another month. After an hour of listening to his silence, Jones returned. I notified our Embassy and had Weinberg moved there while we carried out a thorough background check. There was no intention on my part to let him resume his so-called vacation. Deportation, or an arrest for attempted kidnapping, seemed the logical next move.
I left a request with Detective Jones to find out where Weinberg was staying and to conduct a search,
with finding a laptop computer and cell phone a priority. He had to have some means of contacting Emmet Smith and possibly Hawk. Although I doubted Hawk would risk direct contact.
It was almost ten that night before we were on a plane on the way back to Christchurch. We discussed the findings.
Doc spoke first. “Emma wasn’t harmed, other than being quite shaken.”
“Seems we got her in time,” I replied.
“You think she could have taken off to see Grange?” Lee asked, referring to Melanie. “Not missing so much as run away. The murder maybe coincidental?”
“I doubt very much that a girl of her age had the ability to get from Wellington to Christchurch without help. The attempted kidnapping of her best friend by Bo Weinberg suggests that something sinister is going on.”
Sam agreed. He had spent time in Wellington investigating the ways to get to Christchurch: Interisland Ferry to Picton then train or bus. Or fly direct from Wellington. The Interisland Ferry did not take unaccompanied minors. No airline would take an unaccompanied minor without correct documentation from a parent.
“Someone else is involved in her disappearance,” Lee said.
“Yeah. Hawk,” I replied. “When we get back I want you to go over that laptop and see if you can pull information from her history. We might get lucky and find out how he’s hunting.”
Sam smiled. “The fucker is playing with us, Chicky Babe.”
“Yes he is. We are once again playthings for an evil fucktard.”
The urge to laugh maniacally almost overwhelmed me. Uh huh, I’m sane. It bugged me that the fucker was still alive, that he’d engaged me again. Was I that much fun?
‘Fun’ wasn’t exactly how I saw myself. I had a feeling I was well on the way to cold-hearted bitch. Although I had previously failed at that, I was willing to give it another go.
Maybe he just wanted me to have a nice holiday in the sun.
Lee nudged me. “You know you laughed then?”
Nope, I had no clue.
“Of course. Something I thought is all.”
“Something evil perhaps?”
Somewhere fingers snapped and The Addams Family theme song rose from a misty grave.
“Just call me Morticia,” I replied.
“I don’t wanna be Lurch,” Lee said quickly. “Sam should be Lurch.”
We both laughed. Sam caught up.
“Is the world ready for a black Lurch?” he asked.
“Hell, yes it is,” I replied.
Lee grinned widely. “Yes you can!”
Doc remained silent. I suspected he was dumbstruck.
The flight attendant handed out sweets.
“Anyone else find that Bo guy’s name to be sort of familiar?” Sam asked as the plane landed.
“Nope,” I replied.
“I think I’ve heard it before,” Lee replied. “But it was on his passport so there is a chance it’s his real name.”
I looked at Lee. “We need to have that passport examined.”
As soon as we landed, I called Detective Jones and left another message on her voicemail. “It’s Ellie … will you have Weinberg’s passport examined for us please. Possibly a fake document.”
As soon as I’d left the message, I remembered the trouble the country was having with a major cell service provider and called her office landline, leaving the same message. I knew there was a Document Examination Section of New Zealand Police based in Wellington. It would be much quicker than sending the passport back to the FBI Questioned Documents Lab in Quantico, Virginia.
Back at the hotel, the receptionist handed me a plain white envelope with my name written across the front in broad cursive script. Not writing I recognized. Sam and Lee looked over my shoulders as I felt the envelope: there were no edges to suggest a photograph. Doc watched quietly from beside me, he could’ve looked over my shoulder too, he had the height but there wasn’t much room.
“Open it,” Sam said.
“Later,” I replied folding the envelope and stuffing it into my bag.
Doc headed into the bedroom leaving me alone in the living room. I sat on the couch and opened the letter. Unfolding the paper, the first thing I noticed was the hotel letterhead.
It was a note from Rowan Grange asking if I’d like to have dinner Wednesday night. He would call for me at eight.
Dinner with a super rock star who looked like an ash-blond Adonis? Oh, the hardships I must endure. I couldn’t imagine what he saw in me or why he wanted to take me to dinner. I picked up the hotel phone and called his room before realizing how late it was.
A groggy voice mumbled, “Hello.”
“Rowan. It’s Ellie. Sorry about calling so late. I was already committed by the time I noted the hour.” Midnight fast approached.
“Everything all right?”
“Absolutely, just got back into town. I got your note, thank you. Dinner on Wednesday sounds great.”
“You know that’s tomorrow right?”
“Sure,” I replied but truly, had no idea. The days were one befuddled mess since stepping foot off the plane in New Zealand.
“I’ll see you then,” he replied, more awake now. I heard the smile in his voice, which made me smile.
“Yes. Good night.”
A noise by the door caught my attention. I hung up and went to investigate. A piece of paper was poking out from under the door. When I picked it up, I saw it was a photograph.
Bile and rage competed violently. It was of Carla talking to Caine outside her school.
“Doc!” I yelled. With the photo in my hand, I flung open the door and checked the hallway. The elevator dinged. I ran toward it, pausing only to bang on Lee’s door as I passed. I stuffed the picture in my pocket and drew my gun. The elevator doors shut. Going down. The stairwell door was at the other end of the long hallway. I ran back. Lee emerged from his room, weapon in hand.
“What?” he called as I sprinted down the hall.
“Someone left a picture – the person got in the elevator, they’re going down.”
Lee joined in the chase.
Sam poked his head out to see what the commotion was.
“Elevator Sam … go down … check the lobby,” I called. “Where is Doc?”
“On it boss,” he replied. His heavy running footsteps moved away from us.
Doc ran to meet Sam, “Sorry, indisposed.”
I reached the stairs and bounded down them two at a time. Pausing at each floor to check for elevator dings. He could’ve gone anywhere. Lee was close behind me as we hit the ground floor.
Sam and Doc were at the front desk with the night manager. He swore no one had come down in the elevator except for Sam and Doc.
My heart pounded and my lungs hurt. I leaned on the desk. “Porters? Who is working tonight?”
The manager handed me the roster. There were four porters on overnight.
“Where are they?” Lee asked.
“They have a lounge in the basement.”
“Does the elevator go to the basement?”
He shook his head. “The stairs do.”
My head shook slowly from side to side. “We ran down the stairs, they stopped here.”
“There are service stairs. Staff use a key card to access them.”
“Lee, you and Doc stay here with …” I leaned closer to the manager and read his name badge. “… Frank. Sam and I will go visit the porters’ lounge.”
“Yes, SSA.”
“Frank – how do we get there?” I was all smiles and sweetness despite the picture in my pocket that made me want to vomit.
“I’ll give you my key card, yes that’s what I’ll do …” Frank flapped about looking quite flustered. He took a card from a drawer and handed it to me. “The stairs you are looking for are on your right at the end of the building.”
“Thanks.”
Sam and I jogged down the full length of the indoor Koi pond, passing several knights in armor. A doorway loomed, marked ‘Staff Only.’
“Must be it,” I commented. The key card worked. Beyond the door was a staircase. We descended the stairs. At the bottom were several doors off a dimly lit corridor: Laundry, Staff Kitchen and one marked Porters. The key card worked its magic and we stepped into a lounge. Three couches lined walls. A large television was on the fourth wall. There were several coffee tables laden with magazines and newspapers. Four men looked up from the newspapers they were reading. One appeared sweatier than the others did. I singled him out.
“Come here,” I said, beckoning to him.
He rose with trepidation oozing from every pore and walked toward us. “How can I help?
I pulled the picture from my pocket and showed it to him.
“Seen this before? Before you start lying … I’m FBI. We’re experts in uncovering liars,” I said using my sweetest, friendliest voice.
“Yeah, sure I have.”
“Who told you to deliver it?”
“I don’t know who it was. I never met him.”
“Then how’d you get the picture?”
“Someone left an envelope for me at the front desk. It had a hundred bucks in it and that picture with instructions,” he replied.
“When?” Sam asked.
“The envelope was there when I started work, at 10 p.m.”
“Someone who knew you worked for the hotel and that you were on night shift,” I said. “Where would a person find that information?”
“Maybe it’s a guest,” he replied. “It’s not a friend of mine or family. Guests get to know who is on when, especially if they’re here for a week or more.”
Sam and I looked at each other.
That would explain why I feel I’m being watched inside the hotel.
“You don’t still have the envelope do you?”
He shook his head. “I threw it in one of the rubbish skips out back. You can look if you want.”
“Was it handwritten?” Because if it was, I was definitely going dumpster diving in New Zealand.
“Nah ma’am, was typed or computered, whatever you call it these days.”
“What’s your name?”
“Raymond Huia.”
“Thanks for your help Raymond. Let me know if you get any other letters with photographs, please.” I flicked him one of my cards. “Or you can drop by my room … you obviously know which it is.”