“Ya all right, love?”
I jumped at Conor’s voice. “What? Oh yeah. Just some assholes posting nasty shit about me on Twitter.” I couldn’t bring myself to show him the email from Volkov. Just too damn humiliating.
“Don’t let the cheeky bastards get to ya. They’re just jealous.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Listen, I need to work out the kinks from last night. Thinking of going for a run. Care to come with?”
He did. I put on some workout clothes I kept in one of Conor’s dresser drawers.
We jogged north on Third Avenue to St. Joseph’s Hospital, then hooked a left on Thomas and again on Fifth Avenue. When we got back to his place, my body felt charged and alive. He apparently felt the same, and soon we were engaged in a more intimate workout.
The gentleness of his lips on my body and the power of his body moving with mine left me gasping with pleasure. I let my mind go blank in a whirlwind of bliss until the words from Volkov’s email crept into my consciousness.
My body went rigid, and I scrambled out from under Conor and curled into a trembling ball, perched on the edge of the bed.
“What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”
I sat with my back to him, trying to clear my mind and get my shit together. “I . . . I’m fine. Just . . . I don’t know.”
He slid next to me but thankfully didn’t put his arm on me. “Something’s got ya spooked. Is this about what happened at the warehouse?”
I looked up at him, struggling to maintain eye contact. “No, that was . . . doesn’t matter. I’m just in a weird space is all. Pissed off at being outed. Pissed at missing Comicon. Frustrated at not finding Holly. I’ll be all right. Just need a shower.”
“Ya want company?”
“Not really.”
I took a shower and did some breathing exercises my father had taught me to deal with panic attacks. They seemed to help. Afterward, I got dressed and ate a bagel.
With food in my stomach and a clearer head, I printed out the docs Becca had sent me. I laid them out on the floor in Conor’s spare bedroom, along with the photocopies from the murder book, and the bills and fan mail I’d picked up at the Schwartzes’ house.
Conor walked in. “Feeling better?”
“A bit.”
“That’s a shite-load of paperwork,” Conor said.
“Just trying to get an overview of the situation and figure out where she might be. My mind keeps going back to the description her lawyer gave of her mother’s alleged attacker.”
“Aye, it sounded familiar to me too. Hold on a sec.” He disappeared down the hall and returned moments later holding a Sports Illustrated. “How did Swearingen say Holly described the attacker?”
“Six-eight, medium-dark skin, long hair, black wing tattoo on one arm. Gold earring and an orange shirt.”
“Like a Phoenix Suns jersey?” He held the magazine open to an article. On the page was a photo of Cedric Wilson, the Suns player who’d injured himself a while back in an accident. The description matched the photo exactly.
“There was an Arizona Republic article on Wilson in the Schwartzes’ house. Must’ve made up the attacker’s description based on Wilson’s photo.”
“Interesting.” Conor tossed the magazine to the side.
“Still doesn’t tell us where she is or who’s helping her.” I studied the paperwork laid out before me.
The bank statements had thumbnails of checks deposited. As Becca had pointed out, there was a distinct difference between check values and the amounts deposited. Nothing illegal in that. But highly suspicious under the circumstances. The question was, what was she doing with all of that cash?
It was nearly lunchtime when Becca called back.
“Hey, Becks! What’d you find?”
“According to the Department of Child Safety, there’ve been three complaints filed against Bonnie Schwartz. All cases were closed after social workers found no abuse.”
“Who filed the complaints?”
“The first one was eight years ago by a doctor. The second a couple years later by Kimberly Morton, the aunt.”
“That’s interesting. She didn’t mention that when Conor and I talked to her. What about the last one?”
Becca chuckled. “The last complaint was filed a year ago by a George Peavey.”
“Why does that name ring a bell?”
“He was on both Holly and Bonnie’s call logs. That’s where things get interesting. Apparently, Peavey filed a request for a paternity hearing, claiming he’s Holly’s biological father. But he withdrew the request after Bonnie’s murder.”
“Wow, this just keeps getting weirder and weirder. So what do we know about this guy?”
“He’s a mechanical engineer in Mesa, no criminal record. I can keep digging if you want.”
“No, just text me his address and phone number.”
“Will do. I also followed up on this Richard Delgado. He’s a visiting nurse working for Compassionate Care and assigned to Holly. So no real surprise there.”
“Thanks. Anything else?”
“Yeah, one thing. I rechecked Bonnie’s cellphone account. There have been some recent phone calls. All local.”
“How’s that possible? Detective Hardin has both phones in evidence. And according to the evidence report, Bonnie’s was smashed beyond repair. How could anyone be using it?”
“Could have pulled the SIM card before the police arrived,” Becca said.
“She’s a mentally disabled girl. How would she think to do that? I wouldn’t think of that.”
“Maybe she had help.”
I looked at the array of paper in front of me. “Maybe she did. Question is from who?”
“Whom,” Becca corrected.
“Whatever,” I said. “So who’s she calling?”
“The most frequent calls appear to be to prepaid phones. Burners. Not getting names on them. The rest of the calls are mostly food delivery. Jade Palace. Sub Barn. Tony and Maria’s Trattoria.”
“Tratto-what?”
“It’s an Italian restaurant.”
“Do we know where these deliveries are going?”
“I tried to look it up but came up empty.”
“Damn.” I pondered what we had so far. Nothing was gelling. Nothing made sense.
“I could try to trace the phone’s location.”
I felt a glimmer of hope. “How long will that take?”
“Hold on a moment.” There was the tapping of computer keys in the background. “No luck. I can’t ping the phone. It must be off with the battery removed.”
“Crap. Okay, send me the info on Peavey. If he really is her father, maybe he has her. That would explain why he dropped the paternity suit. Keep checking that phone number every so often. See if you can get a location. Whoever has the phone with Bonnie’s SIM card must be connected to Holly’s disappearance.”
“Will do.”
I hung up. Moments later, I got a text from Becca with Peavey’s information.
I found Conor on the phone with his team. When he hung up, I asked, “How are Deez and the boys doing up in Salt Lake City?”
“Zeroing in on their defendant. Almost had him at one point, but he managed to sneak out before they arrived. What’d Becca say?”
I filled him in on what Becca had told me. “You up for an outing? I want to talk to Daddy Dearest.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve shootouts with human smugglers, I’m game.”
25
Before we left, I called George Peavey’s phone. I didn’t want to drive all the way to Mesa only to discover he was spending his Saturday elsewhere. At the same time, I didn’t want to risk spooking him.
“This George Peavey?” I asked when he answered.
“It is. To whom am I speaking?”
“Oh, hi, I’m Liz Windsor. I live a couple streets over from you,” I said in an overfriendly voice. “For some reason the post office delivered a box addressed to you.”
“Again? They’re
always misdelivering my packages. Probably a book I ordered.”
I decided to play along. “Yeah, judging from the size, that’d be my guess. You gonna be home for the next hour or so? I gotta dry my hair, and then I can drop it by.”
“Yeah, I’ll be around.”
“Great. Toodles!”
“Liz Windsor?” Conor guffawed. “So now you’re the bloody queen of England?”
“Could be. Never know what a girl can accomplish when she puts her mind to it,” I said with a smirk.
What would have normally taken us thirty minutes ended up taking closer to an hour because ADOT had closed Highway 60 at the I-10 interchange. After twenty grueling minutes of slow-and-go traffic, we exited onto Baseline along with everyone and their brother. The traffic eased up once we crossed over the Loop 101and turned in to the Dobson Ranch area.
George Peavey’s house was a white brick two-story with brown trim, set behind a three-car garage. We geared up with vest and weapons and walked up to the front door. After two quick doorbell rings followed by a good door pounding, I yelled, “Open up! Bail Enforcement!”
The door opened. George Peavey was a dumpy guy in his late thirties with a receding hairline. But his upturned nose, large eyes, and dark hair bore a strong resemblance to Holly Schwartz. The tangerine polo shirt he wore clashed with his mustard-colored cargo shorts.
“What’s all this about? Who are you?”
“You’re George Peavey?” I asked. “Holly Schwartz’s father?”
His eyes narrowed. “Who wants to know?”
I held up my bail enforcement badge. “Jinx Ballou. Assurity Bail Bonds hired us to return Holly Schwartz to custody after she missed her court date.”
“Geez, you people! She’s a little girl who’s lost her mother. Why can’t you leave her alone, for God’s sake?”
He turned to shut the door, but Conor held it open. “If she’s here, mate, or ya know where she is, ya need to tell us now, or we can arrest you for obstruction. Ya could also be charged with conspiracy to commit murder after the fact.”
Conor’s words did their job. Peavey looked at us, clearly frustrated with the situation. “Look, she’s not here. I haven’t seen her in months.”
“You filed a request for a paternity test?” I asked.
“Yes, I believe she’s my daughter. I saw her and her mother interviewed on TV about a year ago. She looks just like me, and Bonnie and I had a thing about eighteen, nineteen years ago. I reached out to the two of them and was starting to get to know Holly. We bonded instantly, Holly and me. Then Bonnie got killed.”
His face darkened. “I feel bad about talking ill of the dead, but I believe Bonnie was hurting Holly. In the brief time I spent with them, I realized Bonnie was obsessed with taking Holly to the doctor and the hospital for one thing after another. To the point of being abusive. Holly thought her mother was poisoning her. I reported her to DCS. Not that they listened.”
“So Holly wasn’t really disabled?” I asked.
“Holly insisted it was all a lie.”
“How could Bonnie fool the doctors? Didn’t they run tests?”
“I don’t understand it all myself. Holly was so skinny from malnutrition and all the drugs the doctors were prescribing. The people from the charities simply never questioned them about it. The whole thing was nothing more than a twisted scam. Bonnie was obsessed with playing the saintly mother when she was closer to the devil incarnate.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” I said.
“She can walk. Can you believe that? Her mother threatened that if she spent too much time out of the wheelchair, her legs would become infected and have to be amputated.”
“And Holly believed her?”
“She’d been manipulated by her mother since she was an infant. She was terrified of Bonnie. That’s why I wanted to establish paternity and gain custody. Holly hated living in that house.”
Conor narrowed his gaze. “Yet ya dropped the paternity claim after Bonnie was murdered? Having second thoughts about keeping a murderer under your roof? Or are ya hiding her from the law?”
“I don’t know who killed Bonnie. If it was Holly, then she had a damned good reason, what with all she’s endured.” Peavey leaned against the door and stared out past us. “But I dropped the case temporarily until this whole mess got cleared up. I’ve talked to Bonnie’s sister, Kim. Let her know I was willing to help in any way I can. Once all of this is behind us, I intend to file for custody. Holly wants to live with me.”
So Morton did know about Peavey. What else was she hiding?
“Where’s Holly?” I pressed. “We need to find her now, or the court will declare the bail bond forfeited, and Ms. Morton loses her house.”
“I wish I knew where Holly was. Truly.” He frowned. “I hoped Kim was hiding her, but I don’t think she is. I keep expecting her to turn up. Somehow.”
“Look, mate,” Conor said. “We’d like to believe ya. But we’re gonna have to take a look inside to confirm the girl’s not here.”
“Fine, be my guest.” He stepped aside and let us in.
The place was simple, Scandinavian modern. Peavey was clearly a man who appreciated furniture that could be assembled with an Allen wrench. An entertainment center featured a fifty-inch flat screen surrounded by models of ships from a laundry list of sci-fi franchises. A copy of Phoenix Living with me on the cover lay on a coffee table. I did my best to ignore it.
In the master bedroom, there was an entire wall of DVDs. Mostly sci-fi and fantasy titles, with some westerns and action flicks thrown in for balance. But nowhere was there any indication of Holly’s ever having been there. No teenager-sized clothing or accessories in the spare bedroom. No meds except for a prescription bottle for statins, written for him, not Holly.
As we were leaving, Peavey stopped me. “Do I know you? You look so familiar for some reason.”
My eyes instantly darted to the Phoenix Living on the table behind him. “I have no idea, sir.”
I watched the wheels in his mind turning, then his eyes lit up. “Wait, I got it! Didn’t I see you at Comicon last year? Wonder Woman, right?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, you caught me.”
He grabbed a framed photo off the entertainment center and showed it to Conor and me. It was Peavey with his arm around me, in full superhero costumed glory. “I had no idea you were a bounty hunter. That’s seriously rad!”
“Look at that, love,” Conor said, chucking me on the shoulder. “You’re a celebrity.”
I forced a smile. Doing cosplay at Comicon was one thing. Getting recognized in my day job by grown-up fanboys felt a little surreal. My hunting his daughter made it more so. “Lucky me.”
“I’d really love it if you could sign the photo.” He popped it out of the frame.
“Sure. Why not?” I said as he scrambled for a permanent marker. “How should I sign it?”
“How about, ‘To George, with all my love.’ And your name, of course.”
“Of course.” Because signing it “Your daughter’s bounty hunter” would be really awkward, I thought.
I signed it, and he put it back on the shelf. “Holly’ll be thrilled to see that.” His face grew somber. “Please, find her before anything bad happens to her.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll do my superhero best.” Where the hell’d that come from?
He escorted us out the front door and waved at us as we climbed into the Gray Ghost.
“See there, love,” Conor said as I pulled out of Peavey’s driveway. “You thought you were going to miss all those gushing fanboys at Comicon.”
“I guess today’s my lucky day. Let’s hope we luck out and find Holly.”
I was threading my way back onto the I-10 freeway, pondering Holly’s possible whereabouts, when my phone rang. “Please let that be Becca with another lead!”
It wasn’t. I didn’t recognize the caller ID. “Jinx Ballou.”
“Yeah, this is Edie Miller
. You put up posters in my neighborhood, looking for Artie Renzelli.”
Renzelli was one of Liberty Bail Bonds’s fugitives wanted for dealing dope. I’d put up flyers asking for leads—on my dime, no less, because Big Bobby could be a real tightwad. Bobby had reassigned the case to Fiddler, but screw them both.
“Thanks so much for calling. Edie, is it? So you saw Renzelli?”
“He and Li’l Mike were out partying with some skank last night a couple doors down. I’m pretty sure they still there.”
I had no idea who Li’l Mike was, nor did I care. But I took down the address Edie gave me.
“The poster didn’t say nothing ’bout no reward. But I should get something for turning him in, right? I’m on a fixed income.”
Nothing came free in this business. “Tell you what. If I catch him based on this tip, I’ll give you twenty.”
“Twenty dollars? Shit! Silent Witness pay a whole lot more than that.”
“All right, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll be there shortly.”
“You got a lead on our girl?” Conor asked.
“Nope. A tip on Artie Renzelli, one of Liberty’s skips. I’m going after him.”
Conor guffawed. “D’ya miss the part where Big Bobby sacked ya, love? What’s the point if he’s not gonna pay?”
I grinned mischievously. “Trust me. I’ll make him pay, one way or another. You’re down for this, right?”
“I was actually hoping we could grab lunch. I’m famished, and there’s a new Irish pub near Thomas and the 51 I been meanin’ to try.”
“Come on! You help me bring this guy in, and I’ll treat for lunch once we’re done.”
“Okay, fine! Let’s get this guy.”
“Oh, by the way, you got any more cash?” I asked.
26
I passed the address to Conor, who navigated us north to a neighborhood in Peoria with roundabouts and speed bumps every hundred yards. They called them traffic-calming devices, but they made me anything but calm. Maybe if I slowed down for them, but who had time for that?
We stopped in front of a small ash-gray house with wooden siding and a patchy yellowing lawn, littered with empty beer cans, liquor bottles, and a child’s overturned tricycle. A line of scraggly Texas sage shrubs stood vigil in front of the iron-barred windows.
Chaser_A Jinx Ballou Novel Page 13