I told him to meet me at the aunt’s house in Paradise Valley and gave him the address.
“I’ll be there. But don’t blame me if Sadie goes batshite crazy when she finds out I’m helping you.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
Paradise Valley was an upscale suburb wedged between Phoenix and Scottsdale. Kimberly Morton’s neighborhood, at the base of Mummy Mountain, consisted of sprawling stucco-covered ranch houses in various shades of tan, topped with red Spanish tile roofs and surrounded by manicured desert landscaping. Among the shiny Porsches, Teslas, and Bentleys, my scruffy-looking SUV stuck out like a turd in a champagne fountain.
I parked on the street next to Morton’s semicircular driveway and tried again to decipher Fiddler’s email updates to Sadie while I waited for Conor. I didn’t learn much. Much of what he wrote was incomprehensible word salad. There were mentions of the house where Holly and Bonnie lived and a black van but nothing that made any sense. He’d smelled like weed when we’d gone after Freddie Colton. Maybe he was stoned when he wrote the emails. Maybe that was why he hadn’t found Holly.
Ten minutes later, Conor pulled up behind me in his restored ’68 black Dodge Charger. I grabbed my paperwork and put on my body armor and tactical belt, with my Taser on the right and my Ruger on the left in a cross-draw holster. A pair of wraparound shades and fingerless black leather gloves completed the ensemble.
The moment I opened the truck’s door, the morning heat slapped me in the face like a wave. “God help me when monsoon season gets here.”
“Hey, love,” Conor said as we met by his car. He wore a tan polo shirt with the logo of his company, Viper Fugitive Recovery, embroidered in the left corner. “Ya look like you’re ready to storm the castle. Ya expecting trouble from the aunt?”
“Not taking any chances.” I adjusted the Velcro straps on the side of my vest. “Besides, I want her to know we mean business.”
“Fair enough. I think I’ll chance it without a vest in this swanky neighborhood.”
“Suit yourself.”
“So how do ya want to handle it? Ya want me around back?”
I shook my head. “I doubt Holly’s here. But even if she is, she’s not likely to outrun us in a wheelchair. Let’s stick together for now, see what Auntie Kim has to say.”
“Works for me.”
We followed a flagstone walk to the front porch. I jabbed at the doorbell a couple of times, then banged on the security screen door. “Open up! Bail enforcement!”
Moments later, a woman resembling a slender, uptown version of Bonnie Schwartz appeared on the other side of the security door. She was dressed in a brightly colored flowing silk sundress. The fancy threads contrasted with the haunted expression in her eyes. Her skin was sallow, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept or eaten in weeks.
“Can I help you?” Her voice was a hoarse, lifeless whisper.
“Kimberly Morton?”
“Yes.” Her gaze switched from me to Conor and back again. “If this is about my niece, I told the last guy, she isn’t here.”
“Look, lady, enough of this bullshit. You posted her bond with Assurity Bail Bonds, and Holly missed her court date last month. If I don’t return her to custody immediately, you’re going to lose your pretty little mansion.” I waved the paperwork authorizing me to arrest Holly and slapped it against the screen.
Morton blinked back tears. “If I knew where she was, I’d tell you. Someone took her. That’s all I know. I called the police, but they won’t help. No one cares.”
If she was lying, she was damn good at it. I offered her a sympathetic smile as my nagging conscience got the best of me. “Fine. I’m sorry. Tell us what you know. Then maybe we can find her and return her safely to custody. All right?”
I could see the wheels turning in her head, trying to decide if she could trust us.
“We just wanna help you and your niece get things sorted out, mum,” Conor said in his sexiest brogue. “She’s already been through so much, don’cha think? Please let us help.”
The woman’s distraught demeanor softened. I was jealous of the way his accent mesmerized other women. Then again, I fell for him the same way, so who was I to complain? And if it got us in the door, all the better.
Morton sighed and opened the security door. “Come in.”
13
She led us from the spacious entryway to a living room as big as my entire house. Unlike my place, all the furniture and decor was coordinated in a kaleidoscope of off-white, beige, tan, and taupe. Native American pottery and other artwork lined bookshelves. The only vibrant colors appeared in a collection of abstract paintings mounted on one wall—explosions of red, orange, and blue on canvas.
She led me to a tan Ultrasuede couch. “Can I offer the two of you something to drink?”
“Some water would be great.” Anything to get the taste of the desert out of my mouth.
She strolled to a wet bar on the far end of the room and pulled two cobalt glass bottles from a mini fridge and offered one to each of us. The water was some fancy brand I’d never heard of. I unscrewed the cap and took a long pull. Didn’t taste any better than Dasani, but it was cold and wet, and that was all I cared about.
“When was the last time you saw Holly?” I asked.
A cloud passed over her face. “Two days before her competency hearing was scheduled. Holly and I had an argument about our attorney’s decision to have her declared not guilty by reason of mental defect. Holly hated that. Kept screaming how she wasn’t crazy or stupid, and insisted she didn’t kill her mother.”
“But Holly is mentally disabled, right?” I watched her body language. So far, she seemed to be telling the truth.
“Last time I spoke with my sister, Bonnie—which was a few years ago—she said Holly had the mental capacity of a five-year-old. Holly was fourteen at the time. Personally, I think she’s smarter than her mother gave her credit for.”
“It’s been three years since you’ve seen your sister?” Conor asked.
“As kids, we were thick as thieves, she being just a year older than me. But in junior high, she shut me out and started hanging with a rough crowd—skaters and junkies, mostly. She ran away at sixteen, and I didn’t see her for several years.
“Then out of the blue, I got a call from her not long after my late husband passed. Bonnie was pregnant. I figured she’d have an abortion, but she believed the pregnancy was a sign from the universe to get her shit together. Despite my busy schedule as a Realtor, I tried to be there for her during the pregnancy best I could.”
“That’s very generous of you,” I said. “So what happened? How did you two become estranged again?”
“When Holly was six months old, she got really sick. Bonnie said she spit everything up and was having horrible seizures. Medical tests didn’t show anything specific, so her doctors dismissed Holly’s symptoms. They treated my sister like she was imagining things.”
“How horrible,” Conor replied.
“Bonnie didn’t give up. She spent every spare moment looking up rare medical conditions on the web and poring over medical journals. It got to the point where her own health was declining. I made the mistake of telling her she was becoming obsessed. She didn’t take it well. From then on, my contact with Bonnie and Holly was sporadic at best.”
“Who killed Bonnie?” Conor asked. His question surprised me. It wasn’t our job to determine Holly’s guilt or innocence. We just had to bring her in and let the courts figure out the rest.
“I only know what Holly told me. Bonnie was in their backyard, feeding the neighborhood cats. Holly was coloring at the dining room table when a large black man broke into the house. She screamed when he tried to drag her away. Bonnie came running and . . .” Tears streamed down her face. My throat grew tight as I watched the raw emotion tear away her composure.
“Bonnie grabbed a kitchen knife to stop him. But he took it from her. Stabbed her several times in the stomach. Holly manage
d to lock herself in the bathroom and call 911.”
“Why’d the police arrest Holly?” I asked.
“The police interrogated her for hours, treating her like she was a hardened criminal instead of a mentally impaired teenager. When I got a call from her and learned what was going on, I phoned my friend Zach Swearingen to represent her. He normally handles corporate cases, but he’s the only lawyer I know, and he did some pro bono criminal work when he was younger.
“Once he was there, I figured they’d let her go. Instead, they arrested her. She was the victim, and they had the nerve to arrest her. What’s this world coming to?”
“What about the girl’s da?” Conor asked. “Is he in the picture?”
“Her da?”
“Her father,” I explained, giving Conor a look.
“Bonnie never told me his name. Just said he was some guy she used to sleep with in order to buy dope. Bonnie used to have a drug problem. I think that’s what caused Holly’s health problems. I never pressed her for the father’s identity. Not my business, you understand.”
Something about the story didn’t sit right with me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “You love your niece, I gather.”
“Of course, she’s a good kid. And she’s family.”
“You’d do anything for her. Pay for her lawyer. Post her bail.”
“Naturally!” Morton started to come alive. “Someone needs to be there for her. Sure as hell hasn’t been the police.”
“Would you risk losing your house to keep her from going to trial?” I pressed.
Conor shot me a glare that said back off. I ignored it.
Morton’s face flushed. “You think I’m hiding her? I told you, someone kidnapped her. I called the police, this Detective Hardin, but he hasn’t done a damned thing. Won’t even issue an AMBER Alert.”
“Did he say why?” Conor asked.
“He refuses to believe she was taken against her will.”
“No ransom demand, though?” I pressed.
“No.” The fire in her eyes dwindled. “That’s what scares me more than anything. If they don’t want money, then why take her?”
Morton pulled a pill bottle out of her purse and swallowed a couple of capsules. “I keep hearing about these sex traffickers—these men who sell girls into slavery. It terrifies me to think what she must be going through.”
“How’d the kidnappers get in?” Conor asked.
“They broke the backdoor window. Snatched her right out of her bed. Didn’t even take her wheelchair, for God’s sake. I was asleep in the next room, but somehow I didn’t hear a thing.”
Yeah, I wonder why, I thought, eyeing the pill bottle still in her hand.
Morton’s gaze drifted out to the backyard, where sunlight danced off the water of their pool. “I’m honestly at my wit’s end.”
I glanced around the room, looking for a security system. “You have any surveillance cameras?”
“I do. But the system wasn’t armed that night for some reason. I don’t know if it crashed or maybe Holly accidentally turned it off.” She wiped a tear from her eye. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished I’d checked it before I went to bed that night.”
“Can we see the room where she was staying?” Conor gave her that smile of his.
The damned woman blushed and smiled as she wiped her cheek. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt anything.”
14
I followed Kimberly Morton down a hallway to a bedroom ablaze with sunlight filtered through ivory curtains. A painting of galloping horses hung on the wall above the queen-size sleigh bed. The floral comforter was pulled back, revealing pale-yellow sheets. A nearby bookshelf held a collection of DVDs, middle-grade chapter books, and animal-themed knickknacks.
“After her mother died, I did what I could to make this guest room feel like home. She loves animals, especially horses. We were talking about getting a puppy before she disappeared.”
Along the opposite wall stood a wooden desk with a stack of coloring books and a cup full of colored pencils. I picked up a coloring book that featured forest animals on the cover and thumbed through it. The use of color and shading was impressive, not what I expected from a mentally impaired teenager. “Did Holly color these?”
“Yes. She’s quite talented. Something that her diseases couldn’t take away, thank goodness.”
I flipped to a picture of a mother bear and a cub and paused. On top of the brown coloring of the fur, streaks of red cut across the cub’s stomach and front legs. Holly had also drawn something the color of rotten avocado streaming out of the cub’s mouth.
On the next page, a family of deer crept through the forest. Thick red slashes marked the body of one of the fawns, while green and black lines spewed from its mouth. Holly had added the same bizarre touches on the following page. “Geez! What’s up with this?” I held the book up to show Morton. “Bleeding, puking animals?” Maybe she is nuts, I thought.
“Oh, that poor child.” Kimberly took the book and placed a hand on one of the drawings. “Must be a response to the trauma she’s experienced.”
“Uh-huh.” I explored the dresser next to the bed. The top drawer was empty. The bottom drawer contained only a couple of shirts, one pair of shorts, and three mismatched socks.
I glanced at Conor, who stood next to the open wall closet. A couple of dresses hung from the rack.
“These all the clothes she owns?” Conor asked. “Seems a bit empty, if ya ask me.”
“What?” Kimberly looked in the closet, then in the dresser drawer I was holding open. “No, she has plenty of clothes. I don’t understand where they could be.”
“You didn’t notice her clothes were gone until just now? Seriously?”
“I . . . I never thought to look in her closet. I just assumed they’d be here.”
I shook my head. “Anything else missing that should be here?”
“No, not that I see.” Kimberly’s lower lip trembled as she looked around the room. Is she for real, or is this all an act to throw us off the scent? How could she not have noticed this before?
I stepped into the bathroom. Prescription pill bottles were lined up on the counter like a squad of orange plastic soldiers next to a weekly pill organizer. I looked at the labels but had no idea what they were for. “She take all these meds?”
Morton nodded. “That’s what worries me most. She needs these. Without them she could . . . assuming . . . assuming she’s still . . . oh God!” Emotion choked off the rest of her sentence. She covered her face with her hand and slumped onto the toilet seat. “She has so many health problems. She can’t survive without her meds.”
I faced her and put my arms on her shoulders. “Can you think of anyone who would have taken her?”
“No! Of course not!”
I tried to think of more questions but couldn’t come up with anything. I looked at Conor, and he shrugged.
“I don’t know where Holly is, Ms. Morton. Maybe you’re hiding her.”
“I’m not!”
“Maybe she was kidnapped like you say. Either way, I intend to find her.” I placed my business card in her hand. She looked up, and I locked eyes with her. “Call me if you think of anything that might help.”
“I just want her home safe,” she said, staring blankly at the shower curtain.
“You know when I find her, I’m taking her to jail, right? What happens after that is out of my hands.”
Morton nodded. “I know.”
“Come on.” I led Conor out of the bathroom and into the living room. “She knows more than she’s saying. How could she not have noticed Holly’s clothes were missing?”
“Aye. And why’d they take the girl’s clothes but leave her meds and wheelchair behind? Seems a bit dodgy. How about we talk to the neighbors? You go west, I’ll go east?”
I mulled it over. “Yeah, all right. Meet you back at the cars in ten.”
“And Kimberly?”
I glanced back down the
hallway. “What about her?”
“I hate to leave her like this.”
“She’s a grown woman. I’m sure she can take care of herself. We got a fugitive to find and a bounty to collect. Come on. Let’s canvass the neighbors.”
“Whatever ya say, boss lady,” he said with a grin.
I nudged him. “Don’t you forget it.”
When I stepped outside, my eyeballs felt as if they were boiling in my skull. Sweat trickled down my face as I hiked along the street for what felt like a mile but was probably closer to a couple of hundred feet. I pulled off my ballistic vest. My shirt looked as if I were competing in a wet T-shirt contest.
By the time I reached the neighbor’s porch, my arms were bright red. I pressed the doorbell, and a moment later, a man in a green-striped shirt and chinos answered the door.
“If you’re looking for landscaping work, I’ve already got somebody. Sorry.”
“Seriously, dude? You think I’m here to trim your palm trees?” I held up my vest and pointed at the words Bail Enforcement Agent. “I’m a bounty hunter looking for your neighbor’s niece. Her name’s Holly Schwartz. Have you seen her?” I handed him Holly’s photo.
He squinted at the picture and shook his head. “Nope. Doesn’t look familiar.”
“Really? She’s been living next door for the past six months. Take another look.”
He studied the photo for a minute. “Wait, I have seen her.”
I felt a rush of hope. A break at last. “Really? Where?”
“On TV. ’Bout a year ago. One of them telethons, I think it was. That girl was on it, sitting in a wheelchair, singing ‘God Bless America.’ Skinny little thing.”
I sighed. “Have you seen her recently? Say, in the past week or so?”
“Can’t say as I have. Sorry.” He handed me back the photo and shut the door before I could ask anything else.
I continued on to the next two houses, then doubled back to the neighbors on the other side of the street with similar results. Finally, I trudged back to our vehicles. My feet were so hot from the sidewalk, I thought my boots would melt. Conor was already waiting in his car, eating a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.
Chaser_A Jinx Ballou Novel Page 7