He allowed her to cry, muttering words of comfort, hoping she derived a degree of strength from him although he felt as weak and useless as a fledgling sparrow.
When she raised her head and dabbed at her eyes with her ever-present supply of tissues, he nodded to Pam.
“Please stay here with Beth while Lela and I…”
“Sure. Come sit by me, hon.” The agent settled on the wicker sofa and patted the cushion next to her.
When they were out of earshot, Jay played the video again as they headed to Chuck’s office.
“Did you learn anything from his words? You know, like the clues he used last time?” Lela asked.
“No, but I don’t like his tone. It sounds as if he’s saying good-bye.”
“Play it one more time.”
Jay joined Lela on the sofa where they studied the video.
“The quality of the filming is not as steady as the others. The phone seems to be handheld.” Lela pointed to the screen. “Focus on Chuck’s hands. They’re in constant motion.”
“I didn’t notice. I was concentrating on his message.” Jay replayed the video, this time paying close attention to Chuck’s hands.
“You’re right. It’s as if his words are solely for effect.” He slapped his knee. “Aha. Chuck is fingerspelling, but it’s too fast for me to interpret. Olivia can help us.”
When they didn’t find her in the sunroom or kitchen, they dashed upstairs to Sean’s bedroom where Olivia sorted through pictures for the child’s daily schedule. Sean played on the carpet with a dump truck, paying no attention to his uncle and Lela.
“Olivia, we need your help. On the latest video from Chuck, I think he’s fingerspelling. Can you watch it for us, please? I’ve muted the volume so Sean won’t hear his dad’s voice.”
“Of course. Let me see it.” While she viewed the video, her mouth gaped open. “Poor Chuck. He’s pretty messed up.” She gathered paper and pencil. “You’re right. Let me play it again. Looks as if he’s using signs but he’s also spelling a lot of words. I’m not getting all the letters. The camera moves about and cuts off the view of Chuck’s hands.”
Two more reruns and Olivia had deciphered a string of words and signs. She bit her lip and handed the compiled list to Jay. “Sorry, that’s all I can read.”
“Thank you. We’ll take it from here. You’ve been very helpful.” Paper in hand, Jay ushered Lela out of the room. In the downstairs office, he held the list where she could see it. Why did the sweet fragrance of lavender surround her? Get serious, Vashon.
All the words were written in lower case.
airport, fiel, alley, lewis st, playing f, many planes, big pla, dilapidat hou, le house, 330
“What is my brother-in-law trying to communicate? Lots of big planes could mean he’s in a house close to the airport. Was he trying to spell field? Lindbergh Field?” Jay scratched his chin.
“There might be an alley behind the house. And what if this,” she pointed to the paper. “What if this means 330 Lewis Street?” She concentrated on the words. “And here he tried to spell dilapidated house, near a large field.”
“I don’t see how you can conclude it’s Lewis Street. Would they let Chuck see details of the address?”
“We don’t know what information Chuck’s been able to gather, other than these clues. If not street, what do you think it means?”
“What if it’s the name of one of the guys?” Indecision churned in his gut. “I think you’re jumping to conclusions that make no sense.”
“I never heard the name Lewis used at the house in Mexico. I suppose it could be someone who wasn’t there, but since I’m in charge, I say we check Lewis Street.”
They eyed each other.
Jay did not like playing second fiddle. “If you say so.” He shrugged and prodded the screen on his cellphone to activate the street map app. “There is a Lewis Street. Only problem, it’s not near the airport. It’s way east.”
“Let’s go there anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. Do you have another lead I’m not aware of? Is there someplace else you’d rather check?”
Close to anger, he bit his lip. Calm down, Vashon. “You know I don’t.”
“Fine. I’ll alert IRO to these new details. Please forward the video to Sadie. She may be able to glean more information.”
He sent the video on, and Lela made the phone call while they headed to her truck.
During the thirty-minute drive to Lewis Street, Jay stole frequent glances at Lela, but from her intense concentration on driving, he concluded it best to sit back and allow her to lead. Maybe he’d been too pushy. After all, he had no experience gathering and following clues. He certainly would not bug her with questions about last night.
Neither spoke again until she’d located Lewis Street, and began the search for the numbers Chuck used.
“None of these homes are dilapidated. In fact, the exact opposite.” Jay pointed to a meticulously maintained property on the left.
“The neighborhood might change ahead.”
But it didn’t. When they arrived at 330, Lela parked along the narrow street. “It’s a medical office building.”
“And no field in sight, large or small.” He jabbed his finger on the list Olivia had made. “Chuck definitely indicted lots of big planes. We’re not even in the flight path for Lindbergh Field here, and no old houses.”
“Plus, no alleys between the houses. Could Olivia have missed a numeral?”
Jay shook his head. “She watched the video five times. As proficient as she is, I’m confident she wrung every clue out of what Chuck signed.” Thumping his thigh, he asked, “What now?”
“One dead end doesn’t mean the journey’s over.”
No run-down homes, no open fields. Jay flung the sheet of paper to the floor, concern for Chuck overpowering his urge to remind her he’d been right about the street. “Will we ever find him?”
“IRO is using all their resources on this case. Don’t give up.”
“I’m not.” Teeth gritted, he pounded his fist into his palm. “I can’t believe that Chuck deliberately provided clues, but we can’t make sense of them.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Will we blow this opportunity?”
“No, we’ll keep looking.”
“I wonder if Chuck’s certain he’s being held near an airport or if it was a guess.”
“I don’t know, but I believe the numerals are important.”
“We can’t investigate every property with those numbers.”
“Right.” Lela paused, then turned to him. “I’m sorry the street clue was a bust, but in a situation like this, there’s no rule book, no game plan. We follow every clue, and sometimes we run into brick walls. Like today. But we keep trucking. We give IRO time to track Walter’s whereabouts. We find Walter, we find Chuck.”
Slouching in the seat, Jay faced Lela. Although he wanted more of a say in the investigation, he had to rely on her expertise. “I’m curious and want to hear your opinion. Why do you think they let Chuck make the videos? To intimidate Beth, but for what reason? They’re not demanding a ransom. If Walter is the one filming, why didn’t he notice Chuck’s finger spelling and signs?” He hiked a shoulder. “Just asking.”
“Those are good questions. Believe me. I’ve asked myself similar ones.” Her right knee bent, Lela pressed her back against her door. “I assume Walter is the filmmaker, and he may have a compassionate side. Remember, he worked for Chuck.”
“I recall he attended business functions at their house. And he had a son. You might be right.”
Lela’s phone rang. “I don’t know why he didn’t notice Chuck’s hand movements. Good for us he didn’t.”
She answered the call, said uh-uh a couple of times and hung up. “That was Sadie. The filmmaker is smart. He’s using a different phone for each video, burner phones that can’t be tracked. IRO is working on background checks for Walter Ferguson, Victor Torres, Vanessa Gaines, and Z
oe Epps. They’re having a difficult time locating known associates of the kidnappers.” Her pickup roared to life as she turned the key.
“Where are we going?”
“I need a cup of coffee before we go home. Sadie said she’ll send all the research info IRO collected in an hour or two. We’re getting close.”
Hand fisted, Jay groaned. As much as he appreciated Lela’s vote of confidence, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see his brother-in-law again. Chuck’s tone in the video held a note of finality. Could they rescue him in time? Jay bowed his head. “Help us, dear God. We need Your guidance.” He kept his eyes closed after he spoke and then opened them.
Lela had parked outside a café.
Exhaling, he turned to her.
Instead of the usual hostility he’d come to expect when he prayed in her presence, she smiled at him. Her face displayed a softness he’d not seen before.
The silence between them filled the cab.
Then she said, “I wish I could pray like that.”
Before he could respond, she opened the door, slid out, and chose a padded chair at one of the wrought-iron tables on the patio. At the next table sat a young man and two little boys, all enjoying tacos.
He followed Lela, marveling at the opportunity her words provided. How he wanted to tell her about his relationship with the Father. Seated across from her, he sniffed the air. Mmm. Charred meat. Salsa. Did they have time for a bite? He shook his head and reached for her hand, but the door into the café opened, catching his attention.
A woman about his age stood in the doorway and glared at him. Then she took a step forward. “Hello, Bobby. Don’t you recognize me? I’m Donna.”
His jaw muscles tensed.
“What’s wrong?” Lela asked.
“Not sure. I think it’s a case of mistaken identity.”
“Bobby West, are you ignoring me?” The woman yelled across the patio.
Lela began to turn.
“Don’t acknowledge her, Lela.” He kept his head down to avoid eye contact with the woman calling herself Donna. “She’ll soon realize I’m not this Bobby person.”
“We can leave. I only stopped for coffee and to provide a chance to regroup.”
“Yeah. Let’s—”
“Bobby West.”
He looked up to find Donna standing behind Lela, her eyes filled with a dark rage.
“My name’s Jay.”
One of the little kids dropped his plastic cup, which rolled toward Jay’s feet.
Donna noticed and switched her glare to the boy.
Don’t even think about harming the kids. Jay waved his hand in the woman’s direction. “Hey, Donna.”
She blinked and refocused on him.
“Why do you think I’m Bobby?” As unobtrusively as possible, he lowered his arm and snapped his fingers at the family at the next table. He whispered out the side of his mouth, “Leave the patio. Now.”
Meanwhile, Lela turned a fraction and mouthed to the man, “Hurry. Take your kids and run.”
Jay gave Donna the sweetest smile he could muster.
But the woman’s rage spilled over. Her face reddened as she ranted, “Why aren’t you in jail, you pervert?” She lunged, grabbed the knife from the table, yanked Lela’s hair and swung her hand around to press the knife to Lela’s throat.
The twisted words barely registered. What had he done? Warning the guy and his little sons had put Lela in danger.
33
The woman’s breath fanned Lela’s neck, and the point of the knife poked her flesh. Gripping the edge of the table, she tried to scoot the chair back. It wouldn’t budge.
Metal scraped on concrete. Jay launched out of his chair, sending it crashing behind him. Face rigid, he splayed his hands. “I’m not Bobby West, ma’am. Please, put down the knife.”
“Why should I listen to you?” The voice behind Lela overflowed with venom. “Do you think I might use it on your new girlfriend? And don’t call me ma’am.”
A strong hand seized Lela’s shoulder. The sharp knife tip moved to her chin. She tensed but riveted her gaze on Jay. Distract her, and I’ll have her the ground in three seconds. Lela’s plan: deflect her assailant’s attention. She simply let go of the table.
In an instant, Donna’s hands slid down Lela’s shoulders and ripped open her shirt. She held the blade to Lela’s neck. “Bobby, want to watch while I slice her throat?”
Not part of her plan. Lela gawked at her exposed sports bra. No blood. She exhaled a silent “Whew.”
“I’m not Bobby.” Jay's gaze darted from Lela to Donna.
“Be quiet. Don’t con me with lies. I remember you and what you did.” The point of the knife dug deeper.
“I agree with her, uh, Bobby. Stop talking.” Lela gave Jay a second to comprehend her words then crossed her arms and seized the woman’s hands. The knife flew across the patio. In one motion, Lela twisted, stood, and grappled her foe to the ground.
Face down, hands held tightly behind her back, Donna yelled obscenities.
On her knees straddling the woman, Lela raised her head. “Has someone called the cops?”
“Yes, ma’am.” A waiter stood in the open doorway.
Lela glanced sideways. At some point the man had ushered his boys out of harm’s way.
Jay pried her fingers off Donna’s wrists. “I’ll hold her until the authorities arrive. Are you all right?” He jutted his head toward her torso. “Take a second to, um…pull yourself together.”
Her face burned as if lit up by a match. Lela stood and clutched the pieces of her shirt.
Donna wasn’t a real threat, and who cared that Jay had seen her sports bra. But what if he’d seen her scars?
~*~
Despite disarming Donna, Lela was shaken and wanted to go home. Practicing those moves in a non-threatening environment at their fitness training was a lot different than having to do them in a real scenario. No matter how often she had to use her training to defend herself or others, she always felt drained. But this time she had more on her mind than her sapped energy. She grasped her torn shirt and huddled against the passenger door.
Jay drove at Lela’s request.
The police questioned Donna, the waiter, the young man, and of course, her and Jay. They were satisfied that Donna had mistaken Jay for a former boyfriend and had arrested her.
A cup of coffee in a quiet little bistro? Not happening.
“Are you sure you’re OK?” Jay's question contained a note of real interest, but the way he kept glancing at her made her uncomfortable. He had seen her scars.
Lela straightened in the seat. “I will be.” Soon as I change my shirt.
Silent seconds ticked by.
“I’m sorry my actions put you in danger.”
“I beg your pardon?” She had no idea what he meant.
“When I told that guy to leave with his boys. That’s when Donna grabbed the knife.”
“It’s as much my fault. I turned aside to warn him. If I had kept my eyes forward, I could have stopped her.”
“I suppose.” Jay’s shoulders sagged.
Miles flew by without either of them saying another word.
All of a sudden, he straightened. “Hey.” He patted her knee. “Do you remember what you said to me right before we stopped at the café?”
What had she said? Oh, yes. She wished she knew how to pray. Of all the things she could have said, why had she chosen those words? She chewed the inside of her cheek. Could she hold him off until they arrived at Beth’s?
“Do you want to learn? I’d love to teach you. And I’m an excellent teacher.”
Words spilled out before she censored them. “No. I don’t want to pray. Why should I talk to a God who doesn’t hear me? Who let me suffer although I begged Him for mercy? Who made me kill my—” Where had that come from? Lela buried her face in her hand. No tears. They’d dried up long ago. Only bitterness remained.
The truck slowed, stopped. Jay switched off the igniti
on and sat in silence. He’d parked in a lot on a cliff overlooking the ocean.
She heaved a sigh and turned. “Why are we here? We need to return to La Jolla and read the reports from IRO.”
“We will, but this is important. You asked a lot of questions, and I have a bunch of answers. Want to hear them?”
Did she even know what she wanted anymore? Did she want to be able to pray like Jay? Or was it more than that? Her bottom lip quivered. “I’ll listen, but don’t shove your religion down my throat.”
“No shoving. Promise.”
As if on her deathbed, her life flashed before her eyes. Bad decisions. Taking control. Balking at God’s direction. Ignoring advice from well-meaning family and friends. Happy? Satisfied? No, no. There was something missing. Scrunching her eyes tight, she drew in a deep, jagged breath. “I don’t know what I want. All I know is I hurt inside.” She pounded her free hand over the clutched fist holding her shirt together. “Here, deep in here.”
“I have a remedy for all your distress.”
Her chest heaved as she fought for air. Jay sounded like her Abuelita. God had all the answers. But hearing those words did not lessen the pain she’d lived with for more years than she cared to remember. Lela eyed Jay. “Where was God and this remedy when I ached and suffered and asked for His help every night? Where was His magic potion then?”
“It’s not magic.” Jay paused until she looked at him. “Before we find solutions to your problems, I need to know why you’re distressed. Not bits and pieces. All of it. Tell me, Lela. Then I can help you seek the healing salve and introduce you to the God who cares.”
Was this the time? Should she tell him? Why not. He’d seen her physical scars and voiced genuine concern. “I’ll tell you everything, and then you offer the solution?”
“Fair enough. I’m listening.”
No eye contact. She stared out the windshield. “Here goes. You already know my husband abused me. I married right out of high school. At first, things were fine. Then his attitude toward me changed. He isolated me, wouldn’t let me contact my family. He’d laugh and say it was because he loved me. I wasn’t allowed a cell phone or any money. He demanded receipts for everything I purchased. He wouldn’t let me find a job. When he drank, his temper flared, and I reaped the results.” That part of your life is over. It’s OK. Stay calm. “Regardless of his actions, when I caught glimpses of the charming, lovable man I’d married, I blamed his behavior on the alcohol. Especially when he sincerely promised to never drink again.” Dark memoires filled her mind. Long ago, but real enough to cramp her soul.
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