The Stolen Girl

by Linsey Lanier

  “And you never knew he was part of a gang called the Savage Skulls?”

  She looked away.

  She knew it. And more. Miranda slid off the table and paced again like a lawyer giving summary remarks. “Five whole years you two were living together. Eating together. Sleeping together. Do you expect me to believe after all that time, you don’t know anything at all about Draco’s gun running? His drug smuggling operations?”

  “He kept me out of it. Besides, we haven’t been together for months.”

  She folded her arms. “Is that right? Didn’t he come to see you the other night?”

  Marie glanced around the room as if looking for somewhere to hide. “Okay. Yes, he came to see me the other night, but he didn’t tell me anything. He’s never told me anything about his plans.”

  “He just happened to stop by?”

  Marie put her hand down on the table with a small slap. “Yes. He just happened to stop by.”

  “At midnight.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t ask questions. I take what I can get. At least he spent some time with the boys. I don’t know what Draco’s involved in now.”

  Probably most of that was true. Draco probably treated Marie the same way Axel had treated Olivia. That thought pushed Miranda’s buttons. But she still needed answers.

  “Okay, let’s try something else. What do you know about what happened at Pacific Bank yesterday?”

  Marie’s eyes grew wide with confusion. “That bombing? I heard about it on the news. It was awful.”

  “Did Draco plan it?”

  She looked up at Miranda as if she were crazy. “You think Draco had something to do with that explosion? Why?” She seemed genuinely shocked at the idea.

  Miranda tapped her foot on the floor.

  She glanced over at Parker, then at Sloan. She could see the g-man was losing patience with this woman.

  He got to his feet, ready to take over the questioning. He’d go hard on Marie.

  But not as hard as Wesson would be on him. After they’d picked up Applegate, Miranda had called Becker and told him to gather the team and meet them at the safe company.

  Ten minutes later Wesson had called her back. Miranda had never heard such cussing and fuming from her colleague. Wesson had been livid, furious with Sloan for bringing in Marie for questioning after he promised not to. As calmly as she could, Miranda had explained that this was their best chance to find Imogen.

  Right now Wesson was sitting in a nearby break room with Becker and Holloway waiting to hear what they could get out of the woman. When she got a chance to talk to him, she was going to bite Sloan’s head off.

  With an authoritative air, Sloan strode over to the table and put his hands in his pockets. “Ms. Applegate. It’s a serious offense to withhold information in a federal investigation.”

  She blinked, clearly rattled. “I’m not withholding information. I promise.”

  “Marie,” Miranda said. “We need you to cooperate with us.”

  “I am cooperating.” Her eyes began to water.

  Parker came over and spoke in his warm soothing tone. “You may know a piece of information you don’t realize is important. Think back. What did Draco say the other night?”

  That seemed to settle her a bit. She stared at the wall for a long moment, then shook her head. “He didn’t say anything—wait. Where was that bank?”

  Miranda’s pulse quickened. “On Washington.” In the general area.

  “I used to have a girlfriend. Well, until she slept with Draco. Haven’t seen her in about a year. She used to work for Pacific. I think she said they were moving her to that branch.”

  Miranda glanced at Parker. “Do you think she had something to do with the explosion?”

  Marie shook her head. “Not her. Her guy.”

  “Draco?”

  “No. After she was with Draco, she started seeing a friend of his. Somebody Draco worked with at the movie studio.”

  “Thunderclap Studios,” Sloan said.

  “Right. I remember she thought it was cool because she’d work late and let him into the bank. They’d sit around in the break room and drink beer. I told her she was going to get fired. I think someone caught her and that’s why she got moved.”

  Miranda leaned on the table. “And who was this boyfriend?”

  “His name’s Crow.”

  Another nickname. “Did you ever see this guy?”

  “A few times. He used to come over and drink with Draco. I never liked him. Draco can be a pig, but Crow was worse.”

  “What does he do at Thunderclap?” Parker asked.

  Marie’s eyes widened as she answered. “He’s—a pyrotechnician.”

  Miranda’s breath caught. “You mean a guy who does explosives for special effects in the movies?”

  “Yes. That’s right,” Marie said, her voice quivering.

  They were onto something.

  “Hold that thought.” Sloan rushed out of the room and returned a moment later with a DVD player. He set it down on the table in front of Marie. “This is footage from the video camera inside the bank.”

  Why hadn’t he shown that to them last night? Miranda thought, irritated.

  The scowl on Parker’s face as he came around to watch told her he was just as annoyed with Sloan’s secrecy. But it didn’t matter now.

  Sloan pressed a button and the interior of the bank appeared on the small screen.

  The camera was positioned on the back wall, near where she and Parker had sat. The view from it revealed the teller counter, the blue tiled floor, the dancing dollar sign.

  They also had a view of the customers in line. Miranda recalled the man in the gray pinstripe suit, the two middle-aged women. Olivia was at the far end of the counter, finishing her business with the teller.

  “Stop the video,” Marie said.

  Sloan complied. “What do you see?”

  “That guy there.”

  She pointed to the last guy in line. The one in baggy jeans and a T-shirt. He was wearing a ball cap, though the sign outside requested customers to remove their hats.

  Miranda had only seen the back of him yesterday morning. From this angle, she could see his chubby frame and the frizzy lime green curls sticking out from under his cap.

  It was the guy Draco had been talking to outside The Wet Guillotine.

  “That’s him,” Marie said, her finger on the screen. “That’s Crow.”

  Sloan pressed a button and the image began to move again. Just as Olivia turned from the counter, the guy with the green hair put his hand in his pocket.

  The next second, the dollar sign exploded and all hell broke loose.

  That was it. Crow had been the one to set off the bomb with some remote device in his pocket.

  But they needed more.

  “I’ll be right back.” Miranda spun around and headed through the door.

  Parker followed her into the safe-lined hallway. “I don’t think she knows much more, Miranda. Draco kept her in the dark.”

  “She knows one thing,” she told him.

  She turned into the break room and saw her three colleagues dressed in jeans and casual tops, sitting at a round table nursing soft drinks and looking frustrated.

  “Anything?” Wesson said.

  “Marie just ID’d the guy who set off the bomb. Says he’s a pyrotechnician for Thunderclap. Only name she knows him by is Crow.”

  “I’m on it,” Holloway said picking up his tablet.

  Miranda turned to Becker. “Do you have that altered voice recording you did?”

  “Sure. It’s right here on my phone.”

  He scrolled around a bit and handed the cell to her. “Just press that button and it’ll play.”

  “Thanks.”

  She turned around and left, catching the look of admiration in Parker’s eye.

  Back in the make-shift interrogation room, Miranda took a deep breath before she a
pproached Marie. The recording had left the poor woman shaken, and Sloan was handing her a box of tissues he’d gotten from somewhere.

  “I have something I want you to listen to, Marie.”

  “What is it?” she said weakly.

  Miranda moved to the table and set Becker’s phone down. “This is a call the kidnapper made the night before the explosion at the bank. He used something to disguise his voice, but we managed to filter that out and reproduce the original sound.”

  Marie nodded.

  Miranda pressed the button and the rough-sounding voice filled the room.

  “Listen carefully and do exactly as I say. Go to Pacific Bank on Washington at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Withdraw fifteen thousand dollars.”

  Marie raised her head, the tears now streaming down her cheeks. She waved a hand at the phone as if it were a tarantula. “That’s Draco. What is he talking about?”

  Miranda stopped the recording. Time to get tough. “Ms. Applegate, your boyfriend is a kidnapper. He obviously colluded with his friend Crow to set off that explosion in the bank.”

  “What?”

  Miranda picked up the phone and waved it in Marie’s face. “He took a seven-year-old girl from in front of her school three days ago.”

  In denial, Marie shook her head. “No, No. That can’t be. Draco would never do that.”

  She was telling herself Draco was better than he was. Miranda knew that mind game.

  “Why not?”

  She reached for another tissue from the box. “He isn’t that bad. And Draco isn’t into kids. We had two boys together, and he won’t even admit they’re his. He wants nothing to do with them.” Her voice breaking, she pressed her hands to her face.

  The desperation in her voice made Miranda feel sorry for her. She wished she could help her. Parker had taught her to be objective, but it could be painful at times.

  Marie bunched the tissue in her hand and stared down at the table. “When Jojo was two months old Draco kicked me out of his house.”

  Miranda froze. This was the puzzle piece they needed the most. She kept her voice low and calm as she asked, “Where was this house?”

  “The house where I stayed with Draco?”

  “Yes, that house.”

  She waved a hand toward a window. “It’s off Culver Boulevard. Not far from here.”

  “Does he still live there?”

  “As far as I know. I was there about a month ago.”

  Bingo. “What’s the address?”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Miranda’s hunch the other day to search this area had been a good one. They’d been close. Draco’s house was only two blocks away from Better Than Good Auto and Transmission. She wondered if Axel was in on this kidnapping, after all.

  “We need to get a SWAT team together,” Sloan said as he marched down the hall with her and Parker to the break room.

  She shook her head. “There’s no time.”

  Sloan pointed over his shoulder. “That woman isn’t going to squeal to her boyfriend. We’ll keep her here until we pick him up.”

  He’d left one of the men from this office to guard her.

  “And how long will it take for a SWAT team?”

  “Half an hour, minimum.”

  And it would mean getting the local police involved. “That’s too long,” Miranda said. “We’ve got our team and a couple of your men. That will have to do.”

  “We’ll need weapons,” Parker said.

  “And equipment. We’ve got some here.” With a nod Sloan led them down the hall.

  Fifteen minutes later, in another black van Sloan had gotten from somewhere, their makeshift SWAT team pulled up to the curb in front of Douglas Vaughan’s residence. They were wearing Kevlar vests under their clothes, holsters with the handguns Sloan had provided, and hand held radios for communication. But Miranda had decided a full-fledged SWAT uniform with black body armor and helmets would only spook their target.

  Stealth was the watchword now.

  The house sat in the middle of a block of tightly-crammed homes. It was painted an unattractive mint green and had rust-colored trim. Overgrown weeds and thick trees sheltered the house on one side, a long three-foot high hedge grew on the other.

  A short driveway led to the garage door. Trash cans were lined up along the hedge. No car in the drive.

  “No front door,” Sloan observed.

  “Interesting,” Parker said.

  Miranda decided to send Holloway, O’Cleary, and another one of Sloan’s men through the neighbor’s yard to the back. “Make sure they don’t escape out that way.”

  “We’re on it,” Holloway said, climbing out of the van.

  When the trio had disappeared, Miranda turned to Becker. “You stay here and call for back up if anything goes wrong while the rest of us check out the front.”

  “Okay, Steele.”

  She could tell he was disappointed not to be in on the action, but she felt protective of him. Besides, his tech skills could come in handy here.

  She got out of the van and with Parker, Wesson, and Sloan behind her, Miranda made her way up the driveway and stood on tiptoe to peer through the garage door windows. There was nothing inside. No car with a dent in its side, like the one Kale had told them about at Imogen’s school. No black-and-gold Harley Sportster, like the one she’d seen Draco next to outside The Wet Guillotine. But she could see an inner door that was probably used for entrance.

  A door they couldn’t get to.

  Looking around, she notice a wooden gate behind the trashcans that made an entrance through the fence created by the hedge.

  Parker spotted it first and was already moving toward it. He gestured to her.

  She hurried to his side and peeked over the top. There was a side door.

  She nodded and he opened the gate.

  “You two stay here,” she whispered to Wesson and Sloan. “In case he makes a run for it out the garage.”

  Wesson gave her a military-like nod. “Will do.”

  “We’ll cover you from here,” said Sloan.

  And they headed off to crouch behind the trashcans so as not to be seen by any escaping parties.

  Miranda lifted the latch on the gate and stepped onto a narrow sidewalk. She reached the back door, climbed the two concrete steps, and found a rusty doorbell. She pressed it.

  No chime.

  “It’s disconnected,” Parker said.

  “Guess so.” She reached for the screen door and found it unlocked. She tried the wooden door behind it. This one wasn’t.

  Time to play cop.

  She banged on the door. “Douglas Vaughn? We need to speak with you.”

  Parker stood on tiptoe peeking through a small window. “I can see a kitchen. No one in sight here.” He ran his hand over the window’s frame. “Ah hah.”

  “What is it?”

  He held up a small bit of metal. “A key.”

  “Nice security system.”

  He handed it to her and she tried the door. Fit like a glove and the door creaked open. Miranda reached for the radio Sloan had supplied. “We’ve gained access through the side. We’re going in.”

  “Roger that,” Holloway replied.

  She repeated the message to Becker, but she left out Wesson and Sloan. They didn’t have a warrant and she didn’t want Sloan coming down on her about illegal entrance. To her mind there was plenty of probable cause.

  Parker had already drawn his weapon. She removed the 9mm Beretta from her holster, glad Sloan had had her favorite model on hand, and stepped into the dark room.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The kitchen was silent.

  The mustard-colored appliances looked old, as did the worn cloverleaf patterned tiles on the floor, but it was clean. No dirty dishes in the sink. A loaf of whole wheat bread lay open on the counter, but there were no other signs of activity.

  Weapon drawn and with Parker behind her, Miranda stepped across the kitchen and through an archway
in the opposite wall. She found herself in a narrow paneled hallway with the same scuffed tiles on the floor as the kitchen.

  She heard a low humming sound. A dryer running?

  On one side of the hall another arch led to a living room.

  Peeking through the opening, she took a moment to scan the space. Flat screen TV on the wall. A couple of folded blankets on the arm of a shabby olive green couch. Threadbare chairs in an ugly flowered pattern stood against the window on the opposite wall.

  No one in here.

  What caught her eye was the inflatable mattress on the old-fashioned shag carpet. Sleepover? Extra company? Or was that for Imogen? She’d come back to that later.

  Turning, she headed down the hall.

  She found the laundry and the source of the humming sound, a utility closet, and a small bathroom. She looked on the sink and opened the medicine cabinet. Toothbrushes were missing.

  Parker’s grim look told her he was thinking the same thought she was.

  Somebody ran.

  His gaze moved to the floor. He bent down and picked up something from a dark corner near the small worn vanity.

  As he rose and held it up, Miranda’s heart sank.

  It was a blue crayon.

  Not something a member of the Savage Skulls would have lying around. But it could belong to one of Draco and Marie’s kid’s, she told herself as she headed for the last door at the end of the hall.

  She opened it and found a bedroom. It wasn’t as clean as the rest of the house and smelled of dirty underwear. A dingy mattress with no box springs lay in one corner, a pillow and a tangle of sheets had been left at the foot. A cheap dresser stood against a wall with one drawer hanging open, a stray sock draped carelessly over the edge.

  Miranda stepped over to it and peeked inside. No other clothes. She stepped across to a small closet and opened it. Nothing but a few old shirts and empty hangers.

  “I don’t think anyone’s here,” Parker said.

  “Looks like somebody left in a hurry.”

  “They were tipped off.”

  Her stomach tensing at the thought, she spotted another door in the other corner. The floor creaked a little as she crossed the room to open it.

  “Stairs,” she said, eyeing a narrow wooden staircase.