Private Dancer (The Bancrofts: Book 3)

by Barrett, Brenda

  He grabbed his schedule for the semester. He started a few weeks later than usual and had been assigned some of the under-graduate classes by his department chair. He would only teach a few because he still had the government study to complete.

  "Knock, knock," he heard a familiar voice, and when he looked up it was Natasha.

  "Hi." He smiled at her. "How are you?"

  Natasha sighed and walked into his office. "I got two weeks off from my job. I also applied for study leave to do my master’s up here. It's good to be back in the country area, especially up here in Mount Faith… I tell you. No more nightclub scenes. After my last assignment I doubt that I want to go undercover again, ever."

  Adrian nodded, "I can imagine. Have you heard anything about Cathy?"

  Natasha shook her head. "The person who is in charge of her case is Jamal Cooper. He is a friend of mine. He has been going over the surveillance tapes on Nanjo one by one to see if there are any clues to his or Cathy's whereabouts. The commissioner himself is involved in this one. He has labeled it top priority. Don't worry, she'll be found."

  Adrian nodded. "I am still hopeful, but I feel as if there is something I should be doing."

  Natasha shook her head. "Just be patient, and pray. I got to know Cathy when I was undercover and I am hopeful too. I am keeping close touch with Jamal, okay."

  "Thanks, Natasha," Adrian said gratefully. "I have to go to a meeting shortly, though. It's with the president."

  Natasha whistled. "I hear he is giving you the cold shoulder."

  Adrian nodded. "I can manage. Micah has handled his disapproval all these years and he is still alive. I will survive as well."

  Natasha got up. "Take care. I'll let you know if I hear anything, okay?"

  Adrian nodded.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cathy was locked up in a large container on what she assumed was a farm somewhere in deep rural St. Catherine. It seemed like it was used as temporary housing by a farmer or something. At the front were a cot and a small bathroom. In the middle was a kitchen with a small stove and several tins of food—mostly tuna and mackerel—and a hunk of stale bread.

  There were two gallons of water, which were okay for drinking; the taps also had water and the toilet could flush. At the back of the container were tons and tons of compressed marijuana. The container had a door but it was obviously locked. She had tried for days to open it.

  On day two she had found a battery radio, which gave her only one local AM station—RJR and one overseas station—BBC. She heard about Nanjo's escape and how the police were on a manhunt for him, and the realization came to her slowly that Nanjo wasn't going to come back for her. He had left her in the rundown rusty container to die.

  She had started rationing food and tried to recall how long a person could live on just water before they died. She had heard of shamans who fasted for ninety days on just water. Maybe she could live as long.

  On day three she had found an old chest in the back of the container near the marijuana and it had taken all day to break the lock on the front. Inside she had found an almanac, a small blue New Testament Bible, and a flashlight.

  She had started marking off the days, one by one. She knew it was daylight from the little beams of sunlight coming through the little rusty holes of the container. She had been prodding an especially big hole wider as the days went by. At the rate at which she was going, she figured that she would be out of the container by the time she was seventy.

  She read under the light in the day. She was thankful for the Bible because that was the only reading material she had. It made going through the long boring days bearable. Ironically, she had not panicked. Apparently, she had a source of inner strength, which even she had not known she had. For the first time in years, she felt at peace. She had never in all her years spent so much time prayerfully reading the Bible. It was like therapy. It was just her and God in the container of marijuana.

  She realized something profound on the fifth day. She had never really spent the time getting to know God in the past. There was a big difference between getting to know God and merely going to church. She felt sure her life would be a lot better now.

  On the sixth day, a Thursday, she realized that she was no longer the same Catherine Taylor. God had done something to her, and she was so happy that she got up that morning singing. She had "the peace that passes all understanding" and she surrendered her will to God.

  "Not my will Lord but yours," she whispered in the gloom. "If it is your will please allow them to rescue me; if not I accept that. If it is your will Lord please let the authorities capture Nanjo Jones and let him tell them where he has hidden me away."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nanjo and Natty were heading into Kingston; they were listening to the news.

  Nanjo Jones and his accomplice Leon 'Natty' Carter are on the loose. They were last spotted in Westmoreland in the wee hours of the morning. Here is a report from Duane Brown:

  The notorious drug kingpin was hiding out in the peaceful community of Shrewsbury in Westmoreland. Neighbors have reported that they spotted a deadlocked man fitting the description of Leon 'Natty' Carter and Nanjo Jones leaving a mansion on the outskirts of Negril.

  "I told you we should have worn disguises," Nanjo said to Natty. "Cut off your locks. They are looking for a deadlocked man. And put some makeup on that scar of yours."

  Natty growled. "I am not cutting off my locks to suit nobody. And only girls wear makeup." He sneered at Nanjo contemptuously.

  Nanjo shook his head. "We are in deep, hot water, Natty. There is no reason to be harping on about a hairstyle. We all know you are no true Rastafarian. And men wear makeup when they are going on TV, you know that."

  Natty muttered, "Leave me alone. Do you hear me complaining about that ratty wig you have on? You look like a girl."

  "The hair is to cover the tattoo. They have been talking about it in the news. They even analyzed it on a talk show. Remember that prime time discussion when the hostess carried in a psychologist who said I wear a tattoo of a dragon because I consider myself able to vanquish my foes."

  Natty smirked. "You wear the tattoo for style. My take on it is don't mark up your skin if you are a criminal."

  Nanjo shook his head. "Why are you so grumpy? We are going to book the best lawyer, Mark Mathison, and fight these charges against us. They did not catch us doing anything."

  "You forget they have surveillance tapes?" Natty asked. "And maybe some of the people who used to work at the club were cops; this thing was well planned. And when squeezed, your Columbian friend, Juan Feliz, will sing like a canary, not to mention the fact that Banga is easy to bribe and they did catch him red handed. We are doomed."

  They reached the bypass for the highway and Natty took the old road. A car flashed him indicating that police were on that section of the road doing spot checks. He slowed down pulling over on the side of the banking.

  "What are we going to do now?" Natty asked.

  "Go on the highway," Nanjo said, "and act normal. Don't speed too much and when you reach the toll booth smile with the cashier."

  Natty turned back and headed onto the highway. He tried to relax his shoulders, but he spotted so many police cars heading into Kingston, it was hard to act as if he wasn't afraid for his life.

  He reached the toll and barely wound down the window. The girl in the booth took a long time to give him his change, and he felt like driving through their flimsy barrier and speeding off. They could be taking the license plate number while they sat there like sitting ducks. When she finally gave him the change, she took a long time to raise the barrier.

  "Something's up," Natty said to Nanjo. "I felt the same way the other night, during the drug bust."

  Nanjo was sitting up straight. "I feel it too. Once we are off the highway, turn back into Spanish Town."

  "Are you crazy?" Natty asked. "Spanish Town is crawling with cops."

  Nanjo frowned. "All right then, head on
downtown. All we need to do is reach Mark Mathison. He'll work out the rest."

  Natty looked over at him. "I'll chance it then."

  Nanjo nodded. "You must, if you want us to get any help at all. Mathison has managed to get several criminals off the hook. He defended that man who they caught on videotape killing a next man. That was straight up murder and he got the videotape thrown out of court."

  Natty sighed, "All right."

  They exited the highway and found themselves hemmed in by a police spot check.

  "Let's make a run for it," Natty said, shaking.

  "They'll shoot us." Nanjo had a tremor in his voice too. He looked behind and realized that they were stuck in a line of traffic, and there were police cars in the line behind them.

  They were caught.

  "See them allowing those cars to go," Natty said hopefully.

  "That's because they are only stopping black SUV's and tinted cars." Nanjo said.

  Natty placed his head in his hand. "That's it for us now. Lord, have mercy."

  A knock came on the window. A heavily armed policeman was knocking on the glass with his gun.

  Natty wound down the car window, defeat evident in the slump of his shoulders. He was sweating profusely.

  "Yes officer, can I help?" he asked weakly.

  The officer looked at him, hatred blazing in his eyes.

  "Get out of the car… hands on your head. Both of you!"

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Three weeks since Cathy has been missing," Adrian said dejectedly to Taj. Taj had been coming over to his new house every few days to check how he was doing. He suspected that this was instigated by Micah, who was like a regular mother hen.

  They were on the back patio, sitting on the steps. He had gotten an unfurnished place and had only roused himself to buy the necessary furniture for Avia and Mrs. Pink's rooms. The rest of the home he would slowly furnish. He was sleeping in a sleeping bag. He wanted the ladies in his life to be comfortable, but he did not care about himself so much anymore.

  "Has Natasha said anything about Nanjo talking?" Adrian asked. He was becoming frustrated with the justice system.

  Taj shook his head. "No additional news. They got Nanjo. Nanjo told his lawyer that Cathy left him for you. That's the last thing he knows about her."

  "Liar," Adrian spat. "He captured her. That guy makes me so angry."

  Taj looked at him sadly. "It's almost a month."

  "Three weeks, three days," Adrian said morosely. "I am not giving up hope, though."

  Taj sighed, and choosing his words carefully, said, "You know, there are five steps in the grieving process. The first one is denial. It's a temporary response which carries us through the first wave of pain."

  Adrian shook his head. "Taj, stop! She is not dead. She is not!"

  Taj nodded contemplatively. "The second is anger."

  "Why are you doing this?" Adrian asked angrily. "I can't give up hope. Please stop psychoanalyzing me. I don't need it."

  Taj shrugged, "I understand. Look, I did not say she is dead, just pointing out the stages of grief and loss."

  "I know the stages," Adrian said, "I went through them when I lost her the first time. I went through the denial and the anger. What are the other stages again?"

  "Bargaining, depression and acceptance," Taj replied quickly.

  "And I have been stuck in depression for five years ago. I have never reached acceptance, and I am not going to." Adrian got up and headed to a patch in his back garden where the previous owners had planted tomatoes and bell peppers—some were still struggling against a patch of grass.

  "When I saw her again this time, I knew that it wasn't over." He turned around and looked at Taj. "I know her life has not been perfect. I know she lied to me. I know all of that, but deep in my heart I thought that we would finally have another chance together… this can't be it. You understand? She has to be alive. We have not had our time together yet."

  Taj joined him and put his hand around his shoulder. "I understand. Want us to pray about it together?"

  Adrian looked at him warmly. "Thank you. You know, you are fast becoming a real brother to me."

  *****

  Three weeks five days and Catherine Taylor was nowhere to be found. She had disappeared without a trace.

  Adrian was heading out for work, a cloud over his head. He stopped in the kitchen and watched Avia as she slowly ate a fruit salad. She had not had an asthmatic attack since they moved to Mount Faith, he realized. She was dressed in her little blue and white uniform for the private school he had enrolled her in two weeks prior, and was carefully eating the fruit in her bowl with her fork. Mrs. Pink was humming at the sink.

  "Good morning." He put his briefcase beside the table and sat across from Avia.

  "Good morning." Mrs. Pink said pausing from her humming. She looked around at him with a look of despair in her eyes.

  Adrian tried to ignore the look and concentrated on Avia. "How is my girl this morning?"

  "I am fine Daddy." Avia said, her brown hair swinging as she looked up at him brightly. "I was just wondering something though."

  "What?" Adrian asked cautiously. He had tried to shield her from Cathy's disappearance as much as possible but she was becoming increasingly agitated.

  "Is my Mommy dead?"

  Adrian swallowed. She had started calling Cathy "Mommy" over the past couple of days. Taj said she was grieving and wanted to associate her relationship with Cathy in a more affectionate manner.

  "I don't think she is dead," Adrian said carefully. I think they will find her and she will be back."

  Mrs. Pink cleared her throat, swung around, and gave him a disapproving look. Everyone had given up hope, including her. She had even taken to crying about Cathy in the nights.

  He seemed to be the only one who was still holding out for a miracle. He got up jerkily, kissed Avia on her forehead, and grabbed his briefcase. "I'll come pick you up after school, hear," he said to her softly.

  "Yes Daddy." Her little face was scrunched up in concentration. "Can my friend come over and play?"

  He looked at Mrs. Pink, his eyebrows raised. She nodded.

  "Sure," he said to Avia. "I am happy you are making friends."

  "I have four friends." Avia held up her fingers.

  "Good for you," Adrian said, relieved. She was fitting in seamlessly in her new life. He, on the other hand, was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate these past few days.

  He drove to work slowly, parked in front of the Social Sciences building, and locked his car.

  When he strode into his office after a polite good morning to his secretary, he was shocked to see his father in his chair. Up until now his father had been avoiding him like the plague."Have a seat," Dr. Bancroft said abruptly.

  Adrian felt like pointing out that it was his office and was not obligated to follow his dictates, but he sat down anyway. He owed it to his father to hear him out. He was the one who had gone and screwed up his life.

  "I am sorry about Cathy's disappearance."

  Adrian inclined his head disbelievingly. "But you hate her."

  "No, I don't," Dr. Bancroft said, "I just did not want her for you. I wanted her out of your life. She didn't fit the plans that I had for you."

  Adrian nodded. "I got that. That's why you paid her off both to get rid of my child and to leave me alone."

  "I am a fool, Adrian." His father looked him in the eye. "I am not too proud to say it. I am sorry."

  Adrian cleared his throat and asked, his voice strained, "Why are you telling me this? Because you think she is dead?"

  Bancroft sighed and hung his head. "I shouldn't have paid her off. I should have left you two alone to plan for your future. I see Avia now, the child that I bankrolled to be killed, and I feel regret. You understand? My parents did the same thing with me and Annette when we conceived Taj."

  "You think she is dead." Adrian said. His father's apology had the effect of making him feel
worse than he did before. "Dad, you are telling me this because you think she is dead?"

  Bancroft got up from the desk and went and stood at the window. "One month is a long time to be missing without a word to you or your daughter. You heard that Nanjo took her. Adrian I think you should start moving on."

  "Never!" Adrian said, an icy shudder running over his body. People keep telling me to move on. I just found her again after five years of hell without her."

  "Well," Bancroft pushed his hand in his pocket, "know that I am sorry. I am here to support you now. I regret not doing so in the past and for the past couple of weeks. I know you love her. I could sense the intensity even when you were young. I know this has to hurt."

  Adrian turned his face away from his father. Tears were threatening to seep through his closed eyes. He felt his father's hand touch his shoulder just before he exited, and he just sat there refusing to let the tears fall. Cathy would be back. She had to come back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Cathy marked off another day on her almanac. It was March 3. Forty days in the rusty container. March 3 was significant because it was her last day with food. She had used up her last tin of mackerel. She had eaten the small bite of fish with such relish one would think she had been sitting down at a feast.

  All the days were blending into one seamless replica of the other. She had never in her life felt so bored. She had tried to exercise, doing stretches, planks, and squats for at least five minutes for the day. She had a nightmarish thought that her muscles would atrophy and when they found her, if she was alive, she would be as rusty as the container she was locked up in.

  She had lost a lot of weight on her starvation diet and was feeling weak in her limbs. Sometimes she sang with the radio to exercise her vocal chords, and last week she had cried all week screaming at the top of her lungs. First she had been happy that Nanjo was captured, but then she heard last week on the radio that he told the police that she had run away of her own free will. That's when the water works began. She had had a raging headache after the first initial crying bout that lasted for three solid days.