“I think that’s coming from your bag, Odelia,” Dev said. “It’s not my landline.”
I shrugged in confusion as I went into the kitchen to retrieve my cell phone, even though I knew it wasn’t the one ringing. I stared at it, dumbfounded, as another ring broke from the depths of my bag. Crap. It was coming from the burner phone Elaine had given me, which was buried in the bottom of my bag. Should I answer it now, in front of Dev, or ignore it? It rang again, then stopped. I let go of the breath I was holding. I turned around in relief, slowly, to give myself time to come up with a story to peddle to Dev. To some people I might be dumber than a box of rocks, but no one who had ever met him thought that of Dev Frye, who was eyeing me like a criminal he was about to cuff. I glanced over at Greg. He was looking at me with wide eyes, waiting to see what harebrained explanation I was going to fabricate. I looked back at Dev and knew I couldn’t lie to him. Not only would he see right through it like a sheer curtain, but he was a close friend and helping us.
“That’s a special phone for emergencies,” I said, grabbing my purse. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take it in the bedroom.”
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Dev said. “Take it here.”
“But it’s personal, Dev,” I said, hoping he couldn’t read in my eyes the fear that ran through me like a fast-moving fever. But he didn’t read it, he smelled it. He smelled my fear of discovery as clearly as Wainwright smelled bacon on a weekend morning.
“I’ll bet fifty dollars that’s a cheap burner phone,” Dev said, taking his hand off the doorknob and turning his all-seeing, all-knowing eyes on Greg. “Maybe she’s cheating on you, Greg, and that’s her lover calling.”
Greg plastered a lopsided grin on his face. “Maybe.”
Dev turned back to me. “Or is that your direct line to Willie Proctor? I always thought you might have one. Kind of like a hotline.” He waited, and when no one said anything, he added, “Look, guys, I meant what I said at dinner the other night. I don’t give a tinker’s damn about William Proctor. If he’s able to help with this situation, great. He has my blessing.”
The phone in my bag started ringing again. Dev put down his overnight bag and stepped toward me, holding out his hand. “Give it to me; I’ll tell him myself.”
Greg and I exchanged glances. Like Fehring did earlier in the day, Dev caught it. “What’s up, guys? Spill it.”
“Yeah, sweetheart, let’s tell Dev the truth,” Greg urged.
My eyes ping-ponged between them with uncertainty until I was slightly dizzy. “It’s not a hotline to Willie, Dev,” I finally said, understanding that Greg was right. Like before, the ringing stopped.
“Then who?” Dev insisted. He stepped forward. Towering over me, he latched his eyes onto mine and didn’t budge. “Who is on the other end of that phone, Odelia?”
“It’s Elaine Powers,” I finally confessed.
Dev stepped back and ran a hand roughly over his face. “You said you had no way of contacting her. Were you lying to me?” He turned to Greg. Anger flashed in his eyes. “Were you both lying to me?”
“No, Dev,” Greg quickly replied. “We weren’t. Until a few hours ago, we had no contact with her. She gave Odelia that phone just today.”
“Today?” Dev shook his head in disbelief. “This morning, bright and early, you went to see Jean Utley. After she plunged to her death, you were questioned by the FBI. Then you spent a good amount of time at the Long Beach PD and had a bit of a tussle with Alec Finch. After that, you packed your duds and your fur balls and came here. When,” he asked with exasperation, “when did you have time to have a chat with Elaine Powers?”
Greg wheeled closer for encouragement and gave me a nod. “It was between the FBI and Andrea Fehring,” I answered truthfully. “She called and asked to meet with us.” I carefully maneuvered around the fact that the face-to-face occurred at my mother’s place. “She saw the news about Zach and had some things to tell us.”
Dev checked his watch, then took my arm and directed us back into the living room. “I’ve got a few minutes before I have to go, so let’s make this quick—and bring the purse.”
Once we were seated in the living room, Dev started the questioning. “So she knew it was Zach Finch in your trunk before the press conference today?”
“Yes and no,” I began. “She saw the clip on TV, like a lot of us did, and recognized me. She wanted to offer help if she could. When she was told about Zach’s identity, she told us that she had been contacted by someone who wanted to hire her to take him and his sister out. It was a man, but she turned it down before learning who it was.”
“She turned down the hit job?” Dev asked with suspicion. “Why?”
“Two reasons,” Greg said. “Elaine said a job like this would come with too much media attention, and she was right. But she also said she saw no good reason for Zach and his sister to be executed.”
Dev chewed on that for a few seconds in silence.
“Elaine said she’s having her people nose about and see who might have accepted the contract and placed the body in Odelia’s car,” Greg continued, then he reached over and took my hand. “I believe Elaine, Dev, like Odelia does. I know that’s nuts, but I believe Elaine is telling the truth here.”
Dev stood up just as the phone in my purse rang again. “Persistent killer, isn’t she? Answer it,” he ordered. “And put it on speaker.”
I dug through my tote bag and pulled out the ringing burn phone. “Hello,” I said into it after hitting the speaker feature.
“Where in the hell have you been?” Elaine snapped on the other end of the line.
“I’m kind of hiding out,” I answered. “Police orders.”
“Not a bad idea,” she said, calming down. “Well, now that I have you on the horn, I’ve got some big news for you. Did you see the news conference about the Finch kids, by any chance?”
“Yes, we did,” I told her.
Dev was dancing around foot to foot, antsy to talk.
“By the way,” I said to Elaine. “Dev Frye is with us, and he wants to talk to you. You’re on speaker.” I hoped she wouldn’t hang up. She didn’t.
“Nice to finally meet you, Detective Frye,” Elaine said in a cheerful voice. “I feel like I already know you.”
“Cut the bullshit, Powers,” Dev growled into the phone. “What’s going on?”
“First, the little matter of this phone,” Elaine said. “Please understand that there is no way to trace my whereabouts from this call or by hitting redial. I’m not that stupid, just to be clear.”
“Understood,” Dev snapped.
“Did you catch the news conference?” she asked again.
“Yes,” I answered. “We all did.”
“Well, the guy who tried to hire me to take out Zach Finch was there today,” she told us.
“But I thought you hadn’t met him,” I said at the phone in my hand.
“I haven’t, but I heard him loud and clear both times we spoke,” Elaine explained. “It’s that guy with Finch—the young one in the fancy suit.”
“Nathan Glick?” Greg asked with surprise.
“I don’t know his name,” Elaine answered, “but as soon as that guy opened his mouth, I knew it was him.”
“That’s a serious accusation.” Dev was staring up at the ceiling, blowing out gusts of air at it. “How sure are you?”
“I’m getting old, Frye,” Elaine said. “My teeth are all capped and my back and knees are shot to hell, but my hearing is still sharp. I’m 99 percent sure.”
“Elaine,” I said into the phone, “have your people learned anything yet?”
“Nothing, but they’re still on it. I’ll let you know if I do find out anything.” She paused. “And who was that fool shouting out Odelia’s name?”
“His name is John Swayze,” Dev told her. “Ever hear of him?”
The other end went silent for a few seconds, then Elaine answered, “Can’t say that I have.”
A cold ch
ill went through me. “Elaine, please don’t kill him.”
She laughed. “Who? Dev? Of course not. He’s one of the good guys. In spite of my profession, I like the men in white hats. There’s not enough of them.”
“No,” I clarified. “John Swayze. He’s a pill, but please don’t track him down and take him out. I don’t need you to fix this.”
“Oh, all right. I promise,” she agreed with reluctance. “But it would certainly make your life easier.” She cut off the call.
Once again Dev checked his watch. “I’ve got to get out of here or my daughter will kill me.” He picked up his overnight bag again. “I’m going to call Andrea on the way over there and fill her in.” He pointed a finger at us. “You two are to go nowhere tonight. Nor are you to tell anyone where you are if you talk to them, and that includes your mother and the Washingtons.” He paused in his rant. “Or do they already know where you are?”
I thought about it. “No,” I said. “We just told Mom to stay put until everything gets ironed out. We didn’t say we were going anywhere. And we haven’t talked to Seth or Zee today.”
“Good,” he said. “Only Andrea and I are to know you are here. Got that?” He was speaking to both of us but pointed a meaty finger only at me. My nose twitched.
We both nodded. I didn’t have to consult with Greg to know he didn’t want to budge tonight either. We’d had a full day of driving around Southern California and talking to people.
Dev snatched the phone from my hand and started for the door. “Hey,” I said, following him. “Where are you going with that? You heard Elaine—she can’t be traced.”
“Maybe not,” Dev said right before he walked out, “but you can with this. I’ll bet Elaine is using it to track you right now.”
“But what if she learns something about who killed Zach?” I argued.
“Then she’ll just have to tell me.” He left, slamming the door behind him. It was a crystal-clear message that he was not listening to any additional arguments on the subject.
Dev was barely out the door when my cell phone rang. I held it out to Greg. “It’s Clark. Do you mind, honey? I think I’m all talked out.”
Greg took the phone and answered it with the speaker feature. “Hey, Clark. How are things going out there?”
“Interesting,” Clark said. “Very interesting. But more interesting out there. I caught the press conference about the Finch kid and his sister. Who was that ass yelling out Odelia’s name?”
“That was John Swayze,” Greg told him. I’d gone into the living room and plopped down again on the sofa. Greg wheeled in next to me while he talked. “Too bad Odelia didn’t take out his mouth instead of his hand when she swung that bat at him yesterday.”
“Yeah, he’s a real jackass,” Clark said. “Are you sure he doesn’t have an axe to grind against Odelia instead of just being a nosy nerd?”
“We’ve both given that a lot of thought, Clark,” Greg said, “and we’ve come up with nothing. To our knowledge, we’ve never come across him or anyone by the name of Swayze.”
“I read his Marigold report,” Clark said, “and you’re right, it’s pretty mundane stuff.”
“Have you learned anything?” I asked, mustering up some energy.
“Yeah, quite a bit, in fact,” Clark said. “First of all, the Finch family wasn’t a Norman Rockwell painting of love and healthy living. Seems Mrs. Finch had a bit of a drinking problem long before Zach disappeared. Alec Finch was a very controlling father, overbearing and abusive.”
“How did you find that out so quickly?” Greg asked.
Clark laughed. “Seems there’s a Jean Utley right here in town. I read about her in a little local weekly newspaper and looked her up on a gut feeling. She’s a retired librarian and remembers the Finch kids quite well, especially Jean. At the time I spoke with her, the news hadn’t broken yet about Jean’s death. I’m sure Mrs. Utley will be quite torn up over it when she hears.”
“Jean told me that woman was dead,” I said, surprised.
“Far from it,” Clark said. “She’s quite old but very spry and sharp. When I told her I was a writer looking to write a book about the Finch kidnapping, she opened right up. Librarians love writers.”
“You couldn’t write a grocery list,” I said.
“No, probably not,” Clark laughed, “but she didn’t know that. Mrs. Utley said Jean used to spend a lot of time in the school library hiding in the stacks, reading. She said she never wanted to go home and once even asked Mrs. Utley if she could go live with her.”
“Instead, Jean took her name when she ran away as an adult,” Greg noted.
“Sure looks that way,” Clark agreed. “I asked Mrs. Utley if she knew why Jean didn’t want to go home, and she got very upset. She said it was suspected that Alec Finch abused his wife and kids. When I pressed about how much people suspected it, she confessed it was common knowledge but that no one would do anything because of Finch’s power and money. She said she never saw bruises on the kids, but emotionally they had all the signs of being battered, especially Jean. Mrs. Utley said she’s always felt guilty about not stepping in herself and stopping it.”
“Was any of it sexual?” I asked.
“I asked specifically about that, and she said she didn’t think so but did say both kids spent as little time as possible at home. She said Zach was always running around the streets with his friends. Sometimes Mrs. Utley and her husband would see him walking alone late at night or just sitting on the swings in the school yard. The cops knew the situation at home and left him alone because he wasn’t a troublemaker.”
“How sad,” I said, shaking my head.
“What about the happy photos in the paper?” Greg asked.
“I asked Mrs. Utley about that,” Clark answered, “and she said Alec Finch often trotted out his family for public appearances. They were well liked, except for Alec, and when he was travelling, which he did a great deal, Maryanne and the kids seemed like a happy and close-knit family.”
A new thought, fresh and shiny, occurred to me. “Do you think Zach convinced his kidnappers to let him go, and he went into hiding to get away from his father?”
The two men went silent while they considered my question. Finally, Clark said, “Now there’s a plausible thought, although it would be pretty difficult for a kid of fifteen to go on his own without hitting the mean streets as a runaway. If the cops picked him up for any reason, they’d know immediately who he was. And his photo was plastered all over the media, so people might have recognized him, especially since Daddy Finch offered a nice fat reward.”
“So who would help him?” asked Greg. “The kidnappers would probably take the money and send the kid packing before they took off. They wouldn’t care what happened to him once they got their payoff.”
“True,” Clark agreed. “Maybe they even gave Zach a few bucks as seed money, but that still wouldn’t get him far.”
Something buried in my memory was waving at me, and it wasn’t being subtle. It was jumping up and down and spinning its arms in the air like a driver stranded on the side of a road. Before it sent up a flare, I focused inward, finally recognizing the tidbit of information so determined to come out.
“Honey,” I said to Greg, “didn’t Jean mention something about someone reported to have spotted Zach somewhere near Vegas a few years after he disappeared?”
His eyebrows came together as he gave my question thought. “Yeah,” he said, “I remember her saying something like that. Didn’t she say the police investigated the report and found it not to be true?”
“Yes,” I said, “but what if it was true, and Zach took off before they could investigate it?”
“Or the witness could have disappeared or recanted,” Clark suggested.
“Clark,” I said, “I found a comb left behind in the spare bathroom at Jean’s. It had blond hair stuck to it. I gave the comb to Fehring, and she’s going to have the hair analyzed. What if Zach eventually contacted
his sister, and they met up in California? Maybe that’s why she left Aztec so soon after she went to work there. Maybe the two of them took the surname of Utley and lived together.”
“Jean wasn’t exactly in hiding, though, was she?” Clark asked.
“Not really,” Greg answered. “She’d cut off ties with her father, but she was an actress. Even though she mostly had bit parts on TV, it doesn’t seem like she would have pursued such a career if she had been in total hiding.”
“It’s going to take the police days, if not weeks, to process that hair,” Clark said, “unless the FBI can put a rush on it.” He paused. “Didn’t you say Jean claimed another actor lived with her but had moved out recently?”
“Yes,” I confirmed, “but they didn’t take any furniture, just their personal effects.”
“But if it was Zach and not another actor who lived there, what spooked him to make him leave suddenly?” Greg asked. “Do you think he knew someone was out to get him?”
I shook my head. “If he thought he was in danger, then he would have assumed Jean was too, and she would not have stayed behind. If she was hiding him, she would have known too much.”
At the same time Greg and I yelled out, “Glick!”
“What?” asked Clark.
“Nathan Glick,” Greg responded. “That was the slick dude next to Finch at the press conference—the one who spoke after him.”
“What about him?” Clark asked, his voice slow with suspicion.
“Shortly before you called,” I said, “Elaine Powers called. She recognized Glick’s voice from the TV as the guy who tried to hire her to take out Zach and Jean.”
“Elaine Powers got in touch with you?” Clark asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That’s one of the reasons why I texted you to call me,” I said, getting defensive. “We’ve been a bit busy with the cops out here, you know.” Truth is, I didn’t want Clark to know yet that Elaine had contacted us through Mom. I wanted to tell him that in person, just in case he had a stroke and we needed to call 911.
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