The officer went to the scene and called in the license plate number. The call resulted in an immediate match with Maureen’s license plate identified in the all points bulletin. At that point he called his discovery into the station.
Fred spoke directly to the officer at the scene. “Good news!” Patrolman Lamb exuberantly relayed, “Very good news, I have found your wife’s car!”
Fred could feel the exuberance in Lamb’s voice, But Fred had ambivalent feelings. The fact that Lamb had omitted any mention of a body at the scene was good news, but the fact that the car had been abandoned was not. Abandoned cars used in a kidnapping often meant there was no further need for the car or the hostage.
When Fred arrived at the scene, he noticed that all of the car doors were locked. He used his set of spare keys to open the driver’s door, being careful not to leave his prints on any part of the car. The interior was immaculate; Maureen was a neatness fanatic. Fred had hoped that the kidnapper was not, but no clues were visible to the naked eye. In fact they found nothing whatsoever inside the car. Fred told Lamb to get prints on all parts of the car and at the same time take the prints of the all of the mechanics at Al’s garage on Gulf Gate Drive.
Officer Lamb asked, in some confusion, “Do you think they have a responsibility in this?”
Fred gently responded, “Not at all. But that’s the only place that Maureen ever had her car serviced. So, if we eliminate the prints of all of the people we know that have legitimate access to the car, what’s left may well be our kidnapper.
“My prints,” Fred said, “are of course on file at the station. Any others should be those of Maureen. If any additional prints turn up, other than the mechanics, we will have our suspect.”
Fred went to the trunk. Fred was not a procrastinator but he dreaded opening the trunk for fear of what he might find. The car had been parked at the end of the dead end street beyond city street lights, directly under two large live oak trees that cast strong, dark shadows on all objects that lay beneath them.
Fred slowly opened the trunk. Fred felt his heart beating at twice its normal pace. When she had bought the 1988 Ford Victoria, Maureen jokingly said the trunk was large enough to place three bodies in there, perhaps even four. Fred at this moment saw no humor in her jest.
When he opened the trunk, for some reason the light did not come on. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw a large object pressed tightly against the back of the trunk. With great trepidation he put his hand in and felt a light plastic covering. Something soft and giving lay beneath it. “Oh, God, no!” he screamed into the night!
Chapter 39
For Harry Ford it had been an extremely lucrative day. His office had been packed with customers all day long. He was busy answering the phone and dealing with varied therapy sessions.
He had no secretary for two reasons—it was an unnecessary expense—and Harry was cheap. Also, a secretary posed the potential threat of probing into his personal affairs. When he was in his consulting room, he had a sign in the outer office which said, “Mr. Ford is currently consulting—he will be with you momentarily; please take a number.”
He knew that due to the lack of a secretary, he sometimes lost customers. In fact the extra expense associated with help he could tolerate, but a curious secretary he could not, under any imaginable condition.
A permanent secretarial absence induced logistical problems but it never caused him to suffer financially. Because, in fact, it was not his daytime business that would make him rich.
Today he was extremely busy. His no-calls, a term he used to apply to those that were his walk in business, far exceeded his scheduled appointments. Ford was cunning and criminal but he was far from lazy; he continued to work with his clients as long as they came through the door and could make money for him. Often it kept him in the office long after normal business hours. Today had been one of those days.
The last rays of the sun were setting in the west as he exited his office door. His car was parked on a side street but it was only a two minute brisk walk. He started his car and pulled out of his parking space watching out of his rear view mirror as he exited. About a football field’s length away, he noticed a car turn on its headlights.
Ah, the cops, Ford said to himself. About two days ago he had observed the tail. Whoever was following him was clumsy. Ford had made a series of circuitous turns which eventually put him back on Tuttle Road about a half mile from where he started. The car behind him stayed about the same distance behind and had continued to make the same series of circular turns. The car trailing him yesterday had been a nondescript 1990’s Dodge. This evening, as the car behind him passed under halogen street lights, he noticed it was the same make and model.
He smiled. Well, they can follow me all they want and they will learn nothing except what I want them to learn, he thought. In fact, I really don’t care if they know where I live, but they will never find out that which I want to keep secret. He stopped at a convenience store to buy some coffee and watched the car behind him pull into a parking space a distance behind. Maybe I should buy him some coffee as well, since we have gained such a close relationship. He smiled as he thought of the irony of it. He allowed them to follow him to his trailer home. I want them to believe I have nothing to hide, he said to himself.
*
Fred pulled hard at the plastic sheet. As he pulled, he felt the soft material beneath the cover start to separate. “What the hell,” he muttered as he continued to pry out the object towards the front of the trunk opening. The limited illumination from the street light clearly identified what he had been struggling with. It was not one object, but two large bags of mulch held together loosely by the plastic cover. Maureen must have bought them for her flower garden. Fred removed the mulch and felt around the entire interior of the truck. Nothing else was there. Fred experienced momentary relief but then realized that Maureen was still missing and he had no idea where she could be. Sometimes love is reenergized when the health of a loved one is in question. Fred knew at this moment that he loved Maureen more than ever, and more than he had ever loved anyone else in his entire life.
“Please, God, wherever she is, let her be safe,” he prayed.
Chapter 40
While Fred was out, Jim received the report on the partial license plate matches on the Ford Focus that had been circling Fred’s house. Over fifty cars had matched on the first four numbers. The good news was that only two of them were linked to a Ford Focus. Paul was in the office at the time Jim received the report. Jim said, “One of these is assigned to a Moses Salvate. His address is in the southern part of Sarasota, and the other one is a rental car. Paul, how about you checking out the rental car, and I will visit Mr. Salvate?”
When Paul protested his assignment, Jim relented. Hell, Jim said to himself, had I suggested it the other way around he would have still protested.
Paul was the senior officer on duty at the station and he directed Jim to phone in the results of his investigation immediately. Both Jim and Paul took off to opposite sides of the city.
Paul arrived at a modest home on Floyd Street. The sparse St. Augustine grass looked as if it hadn’t been mowed in some time; sprawling weeds greatly outnumbered the few remaining strands of browning grass. A 1985 vintage Volvo was parked in the driveway. The dull black paint on the hood had long ago lost the fight against years of progressive rust and corrosion. There was no sign of a green Ford Focus on the street or in the driveway.
As Paul proceeded to the front door, he noticed that the wooden front steps were rotten in several places. Obviously, Paul thought, the steps were of a vintage long before the introduction of pressure treated lumber. He knocked on the door. No answer. He looked for a bell—none existed. He knocked louder a second time and heard a woman’s voice yell from the back of the house, “Keep your shirt on, I’m coming!”
A middle aged woman greeted him. She seemed somewhat surprised and fearful when she realized it was a police officer.
With obvious trepidation she asked what she could do for him. A rare winter Florida shower had suddenly developed and water was starting to drip from the gutter-less tin roof directly onto the brim of Paul’s cap. “How about letting me inside to get out of this rainstorm?” he asked forcefully, allowing her little room to say no.
She hesitated briefly, and then realizing that she had no other option said, “Of course, officer,” and opened the door fully. The front door opened directly into a living room that still retained a well-worn 1970’s look. The ceiling was cracked in several places revealing that it had been constructed during an era long before the arrival of sheet rock. The drab green paint on the walls was starting to peel in several places. A sectional sofa which had seen better years was to his right. Directly in front of him was a door to the kitchen. He could smell the wafting scent of corned beef and cabbage cooking on the stove. He noted that two doors were to his right, both closed. Cautiously, he asked if she were alone in the house.
She said, “Yes,” not sure of the reason for his question. He then asked her about the Ford Focus registered to Moses Salvate. Her passivity turned quickly to anger and she asked, “Is he in trouble again?”
Paul responded in surprise, “You mean he has been in trouble in the past?”
She said, “Well, you’re from the police so you must know about his record; I’m sure that’s why you’re here. I told him if he kept it up he would be thrown in jail. But he never listens to me.”
At that point a late model Ford Focus pulled into the driveway. The original sleek design lines had been altered by a collection of scrapes and dents all over the body. Paul pushed her forcibly out of his way and moved to the side of the open door.
She started to say, “Wha—”
He shushed her by placing his firm hand across her lips.
A few seconds later a figure entered the front door. Taking no chances, Paul immediately spun him around, pushing him forcefully against the foyer’s wall. Simultaneously, he grabbed the man’s hands yelling out the command, “Don’t resist!” while locking handcuffs on the shocked family member.
The woman cried out, “Why in God’s name are you doing that?”
Paul yelled, “Be quiet!” and swung the man around. Facing Paul was a man in his mid 90’s displaying pure terror in his clouded cataract coated eyes. Paul, recalling Fred’s residential street, asked, “Were you on University Drive last night?”
The man said, “Hell, no, I wasn’t. I never get further than Jim’s Bar and Grill down the street. Hell, I have night blindness with maybe a little bit of daytime blindness thrown in; I never drive more than 100 yards down the road.”
The woman yelled in uncontrolled anger, “Is this the way you treat all citizens who may have had too many traffic tickets?”
Paul then asked her the relevant question which came much too late to undo his aggressive actions, “When you said he had been in trouble, is that what you meant, that he had traffic tickets?”
She said, “Of course. He would never pass a driving test so he always renews his license by mail. Every week he seems to hit some new car. I told him he’s going to be arrested if he didn’t surrender his license.”
Paul removed the handcuffs from Mr. Salvate and said sternly to the aged offender as he left the house, “Make sure you surrender that license, and you had better hope I’m not the one to ever catch you on the road!”
Yelling from her front steps, Mrs. Salvate screamed, “Police brutality! Police brutality! You’re all bullying bastards!”
Paul got into his patrol car, closing his windows to shut out the continuous cacophony of outside noise. As Paul put on his seat belt he got a call on his cell phone. If that’s Jim, why didn’t he call me on the police radio, he wondered? Jim said he had been at the airport and found the clerk who identified the person who rented the car. Paul said great, brief me when I get back to the station.
Paul was the last person Jim wanted to brief. He only called in his report because he had been directed to, now he was going to contact Fred.
And Fred would never believe what he had to tell him.
Chapter 41
Getting Fred on his cell phone, Jim said, “Fred, I have some important information that can’t wait. But instead of passing it on to you at the station I suggest that we do it over a cup of coffee, somewhere beyond the prying ears of Paul.”
Fred found the request strange and out of character for Jim, but agreed to hold the meeting at Sam’s Café.
Jim was already in a booth when Fred arrived. Jim was sipping on a cup of coffee, and another steaming cup was sitting across from him. Fred sat down and said, “Is this mine?” pointing to the coffee. He had hoped someone else laid claim to it.
Jim said, “Yes, but you might need a stiffer drink when I tell you what I just found out!”
Jim told him of his trip to the auto rental site at the airport. Fred impatiently said, “What did you find out?”
Jim paused before he told Fred what he discovered. “Well, they had a record of the person that rented the car. As you know they require a driver’s license for identification.”
“Of course I know that, what name was on the license?”
Jim paused again before he spoke, “Fred, it was your wife’s name—Maureen Harris!”
“Jim, did the clerk compare the photograph on the license with the person renting the car?”
“Yes, and the clerk insisted it was the same person. In fact, she remembered her brilliant red hair and thought she was extremely attractive. She also recalled that the woman was wearing a tan dress.”
Fred remembered clearly that Maureen had been wearing a tan dress when she went to her parent’s house. It was her favorite dress; Fred had often commented that she was going to wear it out since she had it on so often. Maureen always countered, “But I like it so much. If you loved me you would buy me ten more just like it.”
Jim continued, “I got a copy of the license plate number on the Ford. I put an all points out, I knew you would agree.”
Fred conceded, “I do, but I want you to check the rental company and see if we can get a video with Maureen in it.”
Jim said incredulously, “You mean with all this evidence you don’t believe it was Maureen?”
“Of course I do, but I also believe someone was directing her or influencing her to rent that car! The video might show us who it was.” Fred couldn’t believe how much he was now relying on video surveillance cameras. Thank God, I wasn’t born fifty years ago before video technology had been invented, he thought.
“Will do,” Jim said and took off.
*
Within an hour Jim conveyed bad news to Fred. “Fred, there were video cameras all over the airport but unfortunately none are near the rental companies.”
“That’s just great,” Fred said in total frustration. “I guess we’re just going to have to locate her via the all-points.”
Fred finally went home after an enervating sixteen hours at the office. As he turned the corner onto his street, his headlights picked up a stationary figure lurking near the shrubbery on the side of his house. Fred wasn’t really sure that he had seen anything; fatigue had set in over two hours ago and the weariness he was experiencing had made it difficult for him even to complete his short journey home.
Not willing to take any chances, he passed by his house without slowing down, took two rights, extinguished his headlights and parked his car on the street directly behind his residence. He turned off his door light, exited his car, and moved cautiously, hugging the dark side of his neighbor’s house. A chain link fence separated the two backyards. Fred angled his approach towards the side of his house opposite from where he thought he saw the intruder. He bolted over the short fence, crouching as his feet silently touched the soft grass of his backyard. Gradually he moved toward the side of the house where he thought the intruder was lurking.
He turned at the corner of his house, although he could detect no moment, he was su
re he saw a dark figure whose features had been blurred by the evening mist. Then he saw him! Fortunately, the intruder did not see Fred; he seemed to be focused intently on the driveway with the likely expectation that Fred would arrive from that direction. Fred thought first about using his pistol, directing the man to put his hands up. That was a conventional police tactic, but Fred feared that a shootout might ensue. Fred wanted this guy alive, at all cost, to determine the whereabouts of Maureen. He decided a surprise attack was his best option.
Fred sprinted toward the man. The damp soft grass absorbed the sound of his advancing footsteps. In less than a second Fred was on him, hitting him from behind with all the force he could muster. As Fred struck the man he simultaneously issued a karate chop to the man’s left wrist dislodging his weapon. Fred was partially paralyzed from the impact which had re-cracked the slow healing fractures in his chest wall. Fortunately, the man had also been momentarily incapacitated by the unexpected sudden impact. In the darkness the man unsteadily felt for the fallen gun. In those precious seconds, Fred was able to regain his breath; and with all his remaining strength he struck the intruder once again, this time in the side of his rib cage. A shrill scream provided clear evidence that Fred’s fist had done its job. But at that moment Fred realized something was wrong, something was very wrong.
The voice he detected beneath the painful shriek was that of a woman, he was sure of it. In the darkness he had no idea of the gender of his antagonist, but had assumed all along it was a man. That realization notwithstanding, he followed standard police training and put his knee in her back while simultaneously pulling her arms and hands together. He cuffed her. Pausing to get a second wind, he pulled her to her feet and dragged her toward the street light in the front of his house. When he looked at her face, he couldn’t believe his eyes – he had just tackled and handcuffed Maureen!
Mind Switch Page 16