Call Of The Witch

by Dana Donovan

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  He put his hand out to shake, but I wouldn’t have it. Instead, I wrapped him in a bear hug so tight I nearly squeezed the life right out of him. It’s all in the timing, really. You gotta catch him on the exhale.

  I can’t say enough about Spinelli and his ability to get things done on a scale Carlos and I never dreamed possible. I guess in our hearts, we’re still just a couple of old school cops in a new school world.

  Carlos first partnered with Dominic after I retired and moved to Florida, nearly a year before Lilith took me through the rite of passage ceremony that made me young again. At the time, I suppose Carlos thought he was getting a neophyte detective, one he could mentor and mold into his own image. Fortunately for all, that wasn’t the case.

  In the few years Dominic’s been with us, he’s introduced more new-aged technology and modern principles of law enforcement into our lives than we could ever have hoped for. That’s not to say the technology, equipment, and training had not been available to us. It had. It’s just that Dominic had the ability to embrace it, take it all in, and present it to us in a way that Carlos and I could assimilate. And his ability to do so in a way that didn’t make us feel obsolete, was uncanny.

  His orchestration of the stakeout at the drop point was a prime example. He had nine officers, counting Carlos, Brittany and myself, planted at various vantage points throughout the park. Six of us concealed, either in vehicles, behind shrubbery or on rooftops and three others dressed as ordinary civilians. One posed as a mother with a baby stroller, one as a park maintenance worker picking up litter with a stick, and a third as a student on a bench listening to music on her iPod.

  We positioned ourselves in our designated sectors early, some, like the rooftop snipers, a full forty minutes ahead of the planned drop time. Once settled in, we maintained general radio silence. It was almost nine o’clock when I heard Carlos’ voice come over my earpiece. “Charlie Romeo to Papa Tango, do you read me?”

  I came back, “I read you Carlos.”

  “Tony, it’s Charlie Romeo.”

  “Right. Charlie Romeo. I read you.”

  “Just checking. You in position?”

  “I’ve been in position.”

  “How `bout you, Delta Sierra? You in position?”

  Nothing.

  “Delta Sierra, you read me?”

  Nothing.

  I came in, “He’s talking to you, Dominic.”

  “Oh, sorry. I’m in position too, Carlos.”

  Nothing.

  “Carlos?”

  “Try Charlie Romeo, Dominic.”

  “Charlie Romeo. I’m in position.”

  “Roger that, Delta Sierra. Bravo October, you read me? I repeat Bravo October. Do you read me?”

  Dominic said. “Tony, who’s Bravo October? Is that Brittany?”

  “Yes, it’s Brittany. Carlos can we cut the crap? All sectors, check in please.”

  “Sector one. Check.”

  “Sector two. Check.”

  “Sector three….”

  I waited for all sectors to check in before acknowledging my sector. The clock on my dash read eight-fifty-seven, and exactly as planned, Lionel Brewbaker’s car pulled into a parking space in the west side lot closest to the fountain. He stepped out of the car, tugged the wrinkles out of his coattail, and then reached on the front seat for the paper bag. I watched him check out his surroundings, trying to look inconspicuous, and failing miserably.

  When he had done about all he could do to draw attention to himself, just shy of blowing the car horn, he marched up to the trash can, looked inside and tossed the bag of money in.

  “Annnd we have a drop,” said Spinelli. “All units stand by.”

  “Dominic,” I said. “Radio a black and white to the Brewbaker house. Have them keep Lionel company until we get back there.”

  “Roger that, Tony.”

  “Do we have an ambulance standing by?”

  “Two blocks away. Motor’s running.”

  “Good. Thanks. All right everybody, keep your eyes peeled. Carlos you good?”

  Nothing.

  “Carlos?”

  Dominic came back, “Try Charlie Romeo.”

  “Papa Tango to Charlie Romeo. You good?”

  “Charlie Romeo looking good.”

  I no sooner keyed off the mike when the officer poising as the maintenance worker keyed in, “I got something here.”

  “What do you have sector three?”

  “A jogger. He’s run by here twice already after stopping to watch the drop go down.”

  “Roger that. All sectors stand by. Keep your eyes on the jogger.”

  From my vantage point, I could not see the jogger, though I did hold a prime view of the drop point. I waited until I heard someone report that the jogger was moving in before I made my own move. I opened the car door, slipped out and made myself skinny behind a tree. I drew my weapon, stretched my finger across the trigger guard and waited.

  “He’s almost there,” I heard Dominic report. “He’s there. He’s looking into the trash can. He’s reaching into the can.”

  I gave the command. “Move in! Now! Move it! Move it!”

  The poor bastard nearly wet himself. With seven of us swooping in on him, and two snipers pinning him in their crosshairs, he never had a chance.

  “Where is she?” said Dominic, his voice noticeably high and squeaky for the excitement. He was still crouched in a shooter’s stance even though another officer had already cuffed our suspect. “Where’s Kelly? What did you do with her, scumbag?”

  “Whoa, cowboy,” I said, blanketing Dominic’s weapon with my hand and palming it toward the ground. “He’s not going anywhere. We got him. Park your piece, son.”

  Dominic holstered his gun, shook the loose energy from his body and steadied his breath. “That’s right. We got him. We gotcha motherfucker. Ha!”

  “You got nothing,” our suspect argued. “What’s this about? I didn’t do anything.”

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Smith. John Smith.”

  “That’s a good one.”

  “No, it is,” said Carlos.” He handed me the man’s wallet. “It’s on his license.”

  “Mr. Smith, where’s Kelly Brewbaker?”

  “Who?”

  “Brewbaker,” said Dominic. “Tony, you want me and Carlos to kick the crap out of him?”

  I had to laugh. To see Dominic so wound up was a rare event, akin to seeing Carlos make a hole-in-one at the windmill putt-putt in Saugus. “Nobody’s beating anyone up,” I said, hiding my smile from Mister John Smith. “Not here, anyway. Too many witnesses.”

  “I want a lawyer.”

  “You’ll get one, if you need one. Now tell me why you retrieved that money from the trash can?”

  “Money? I didn’t know it was money.”

  “Then why were you digging it out of the trash?”

  “I was curious. I saw that guy get out of his fancy car and look around like someone was watching him. Then I saw him get something from the car, walk over to the trash can and pitch it in.”

  “And just like that you figured it was something worth getting?”

  “I figured it was worth a look.”

  I gave Carlos the high brow. “What do you think, Partner?”

  He took a second to look around the park. “If he’s not our man, we’re screwed.”

  I did the same. “Yeah, if anyone else were about to move in, we surely played our cards too soon.”

  “Uh, guys?” Spinelli held a finger up on one hand while fishing into his pocket with the other. “Brewbaker’s phone is ringing.”

  Carlos, Brittany and I huddled around Dominic as he put the phone on speaker and answered it.

  “Hello?”

  “You fucked up,” the caller said, his cold mechanical voice sending a shudder through my entire body. “Kelly’s dead.” And he hung up.

  Dominic looked u
p at us. His hands shook. “They killed her.”

  We all turned to look at Mister John Smith. His expression seemed genuine. He didn’t know who Kelly was, but he understood what was happening. “Get him out of here,” I said, dismissing him with a flip of my hand. “Read him his rights and take him downtown.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Brittany, and she and another officer loaded Smith into an unmarked cruiser and drove off.

  “You think he’s involved?” Carlos asked.

  My eyes settled on a mother and child playing on a seesaw halfway across the park. I wondered if the mother knew how lucky she was. “No,” I said, after reeling my thoughts back into the moment. “He doesn’t know anything.”

  “Then why––”

  “Carlos.” Spinelli reached out and touched him on the arm. Carlos looked at him. Spinelli shook his head no. They let it go at that.

  I checked my watch. It was ten after nine. “We blew it,” I said. “Send everyone home.”

  Dominic keyed his mike. “Pack it up, team. It’s over. Go home.” He looked up at me with worried eyes. “What do we do now?”

  “We go back to the house and wait.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “For the kidnappers to call back.”

  “But they said––”

  “I know what they said.” I set my hand on his shoulder. “She’s not dead.”

  Carlos said, “How do you know?”

  I gestured a hand sweep to encompass the entire park. “Look where they had us do this; right out in the open. They knew we would try to set a trap. This was their way of flushing us out. That’s why the ransom demand was so small. I see that now.”

  “So Kelly’s alive?” This from Dominic, who’s voice was back to squeaking.

  “Of course, she’s alive. The kidnappers don’t want to hurt her anymore than they want to hurt their chances of scoring a huge ransom.”

  Carlos laughed. “Ten-thousand dollars is hardly a huge ransom.”

  I smiled back at him. “It’s no longer ten-thousand dollars.”

  “No? Then how much is it?”

  “We don’t know yet. Why don’t we get back to the house and find out?”

  Lionel Breaker already knew the results of the ransom drop by the time we made it back to his place. It’s not that anyone told him; it was the fact that no one called to report that we had his daughter back, safe and sound. We found him standing on the front steps waiting for us as we pulled into the driveway.

  “Carlos!” he said, rushing to the car before it came to a complete stop. He opened the driver’s side door and practically pulled Carlos out by the sleeve. “What happened? Where’s Kelly. Is she all right?”

  “We didn’t get her, Lionel. Something went wrong.” Carlos grabbed Brewbaker by both forearms to steady him. “The whole thing was a setup. They were never going to make the switch.”

  “But…I don’t understand. We gave them the money they asked for?”

  “I know. It’s complicated. Tony can explain.”

  The two looked at me. I came around the front of the car and offered to help lead Brewbaker back into the house. “Let’s get inside,” I said. “I’ll tell you what I think is going on.”

  Once inside, Brewbaker took a seat on the sofa, and I laid out my theory as best I could. I told him I thought the kidnappers knew all along that Carlos and I were handling the investigation, and that they wanted to verify the extent of our involvement to the exclusion of all other agencies, including the FBI.

  “They’re definitely smarter than we’ve given them credit for,” I said. “The ten-thousand dollar ransom demand was just the bait. And we took it.”

  “Bait for what?”

  “To see if we were willing to negotiate with them. Now they know we will.”

  Lionel pitched his head back against the sofa cushion and crossed his hands at his chest. “I can’t take this. It’ll be the death of me.”

  I set my hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Brewbaker, are you all right? Can we get you anything?”

  “Yes, aspirin please. I have some in a cupboard in the guest bath off the kitchen.”

  “I’ll get it,” said Dominic.

  Carlos and I settled into a couple of chairs opposite the sofa and waited for Dominic to return. We watched Lionel Brewbaker’s expression fade to a porcelain stare, seemingly void of spirit and emotion. Carlos nudged my foot with his. I looked at him. He gestured a subtle nod in Brewbaker’s direction. I took that to mean he wanted me to say something.

  “What?” I mouthed.

  He mouthed back, “Anything!”

  I leaned forward in my seat, pressing my elbows to my knees. “Lionel,” I said. “Kelly’s all right. I’m sure of it.”

  He blinked and pulled back from a distant stare. “Do you really think so, Detective?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  I could see the color coming back to his face. “So what happens next? What do we do now?”

  “Now we wait. That’s all we can do.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “For the real ransom demand.”

  “Tony!” I looked up to see Dominic hurrying back from the kitchen. “Someone’s been here.”

  “What?” I stood up and met him halfway.

  “The back door’s open.”

  “Maybe one of us forgot to shut it this morning.”

  “No. Impossible. I locked it myself. I threw the deadbolt.”

  “Has it been forced?”

  “Doesn’t look like it.

  “Somebody with a key must have let himself in.”

  “Who?”

  Brewbaker answered, “Amanda. It has to be. Aside from Kelly and Karina, no one else has a key.”

  “Dominic, is anything disturbed?”

  “Just the medicine cabinet.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “The door was open. I found pill bottles scattered on the floor and in the sink.”

  “Mr. Brewbaker, do you keep narcotics in that cupboard?”

  He shook his head faintly. “No, the only medicines we keep in that cabinet are pills for my blood pressure, my cholesterol, some antacids, sleeping pills…. Uh-oh.”

  “What?”

  “Kelly’s medication.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I told you about that, about her heart condition that causes her palpitations. She takes Propranolol to control it.”

  “Dominic. Go see if Kelly’s meds are missing.”

  “You got it, Tony.”

  “Mr. Brewbaker. Does the key to the back door also fit the front door locks?”

  “No. The back door is keyed differently. Why?”

  “Yeah, Tony.” Carlos crossed the room to meet me. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking if Amanda came in while we were gone, she’d have used the front door, not the back.”

  “So you think Karina Martinez used her key to let herself in?”

  “Possibly. Lionel, does Karina know about Kelly’s heart medication?”

  “Of course.”

  “What are you thinking, Tony?”

  “I’m thinking the kidnapper cares enough about Kelly to make sure she gets her meds.”

  “You think Karina came in and got them?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just saying.”

  “No meds for Kelly,” said Dominic, returning with an empty prescription bottle in his hand. “I found this one with her name on it. It’s her Propranolol. Whoever emptied it probably meant to put it back, hoping we wouldn’t notice.”

  “You’re probably right,” I said, “except Lionel returned from the drop this morning earlier than expected. He must have interrupted the intruder who got scared and ran off.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Carlos. “You’re suggesting Karina Martinez kidnapped Kelly. I can’t believe that for a minute.”

  “Then who else had a key to this place?”

  “Raul Martinez.”

  “Raul?”


  “He could have stolen it from Karina.”

  “You think Raul possesses the compassion to risk sneaking in here to get Kelly’s meds?”

  “Tony’s right,” said Dominic. “Sneaking back into the house suggests an up-close and personal relationship between kidnapper and victim.”

  “Maybe Kelly gave her key to the kidnapper so that he could come back here and get her medicine.”

  “Whatever the case, I think we need to––”

  “Wait! Phone’s ringing!” Dominic pulled Brewbaker’s phone out and handed it to me.

  “It’s them,” I said. “Lionel, don’t try to negotiate with them. Just accept their demands and conditions for release. Do what they say.”

  I gave him the phone. He answered.

  “Hello?”

  The mechanized voice replied, “You have one more chance. Don’t blow it.”

  “Please. Did you give my daughter her medicine?”

  “You brought the police in.”

  “No I didn’t. I mean, just the local before you told me not to. I haven’t brought in anyone else. I swear.”

  “Like I said, you have one more chance. Fuck it up and she dies.”

  “Dear God, promise me she’s all right. She needs that medicine. If she doesn’t get it she’ll––”

  “Silence! Listen carefully. We want two-hundred-thousand dollars in unmarked bills.”

  “Two-hundred-thousand? I don’t keep that kind of money in my safe. I can give you fifty thousand.”

  “Fine. Make it two-hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “What? No! That’s not what I meant. We’ll do two-hundred-thousand like you asked.”

  “Are you negotiating with me? Make it three-hundred-thousand.”

  “Three-hundred-thousand?”

  “In unmarked one-hundred dollar bills. New drop instruction are forthcoming.”

  “Alright, but please, I have to know if she’s okay. Let me talk to her.”

  Click.

  The call ended. Lionel Brewbaker rolled his eyes up at me. His face grew pale again. I took the phone and handed it back to Spinelli.

  “I told you not to negotiate with them, just to accept their terms and conditions.”

  “This is a nightmare. I don’t keep that kind of money in my safe.”

  “They know that. You’re going to get it from the bank.”

  “But it’s Sunday. The banks are closed.”