by Linda Hanna
“What do ya mean, don’t touch nothin’? I’m a highly-trained security guard here, an’ this ain’t my first rodeo,” Wendell complained. “An’ don’t ya forget I know all about police procedures. I worked at the department for 30-odd years.”
Ed rolled his eyes. He was aware that custodial work was as close as his friend ever got to actual investigating. Still, the Texan was proud of his link to law enforcement. “Just let the police handle it, Wendell. I’ll be right there.”
It wasn’t long before Ed saw the damage in his home office. The doorbell rang, and he made his way back to the living room. Wendell, a policeman’s worst nightmare, opened the door.
“Howdy.” Wendell scratched his ample belly as Ed joined them. “I’m the senior secur’ty officer here. I done checked the house.”
“What do you mean you checked the house?” The police sergeant asked.
“Just what I said. Ol’ Ed called me first ‘cause I’m the senior secur’ty guard. He couldn’t reach the missus or her sister on the phone. He was worried ‘bout ‘em an’ wanted me to check things out ‘cause Cora’s sister has herself a heart problem. I’ve been all over the house an’ it looks like a buckin’ bronco’s been let loose.”
The policeman frowned at him. “Did you touch anything?”
Wendell took his clearly identifiable John Wayne I-got-it-all-under-control stance. His voice took on an air of importance. “Why is ever-body worried ‘bout me touchin’ stuff? I know this here is an official crime scene, an’ I ain’t been contaminatin’ no evidence.”
Three police officers pushed their way past Wendell and into the house. The sergeant looked at Ed. “Are you Ed Timms?”
“Yes, I am.” He impatiently answered the officer’s many questions.
Later, Wendell stood next to Ed in the far corner of the living room. “If I only had me a tad more time, I coulda found vital evidence.”
The two men watched the police go about their investigation, with the presence of the security guard obviously going unnoticed. Wendell muttered, “They might be makin’ me stand in the corner like a whooped pup, but, I’m gonna stay two jumps ahead of ‘em. I got me an idea. Yessiree. They’ll be singin’ therselves ‘nother tune when me an’ Jack crack this here case.”
Ed tried to change the subject. “Where did you say the handyman was?”
“Aww, he’s stuck at the plumbin’ store. He needed a new drain snake. That ol’ Letitia’s drain got plugged with poodle hair again. She scalps that dog every other month, like clockwork.” He frowned at Ed. “Ya, know, if ya weren’t so famous, we wouldn’t have but one cop here an’ I’d have me a better chance to do my sleuthin’.”
Ed smiled. Talk about dodging a bullet. He quickly pulled the plug on that thought when a bloodcurdling scream came from outside. Was it Cora?
A split second later, the policemen stormed past them and charged out the front door.
Wendell grabbed his Stetson and ran outside with Ed on his heels.
Their elderly neighbor, Letitia Bockman, was in her driveway. Her high-pitched voice screeched as she pointed to the policemen who ran into her garage. Then her feet stomped out an Irish jig and loose skin flapped under her flailing arms. What was going on?
Ed had never seen Letitia in such a frenzied state.
One of the policemen called, “Hey Sarge, better come see this.”
The police sergeant leaned over and put his arm around Letitia’s frail shoulders. With a stern look, he motioned for Ed and Wendell to join them. “Stay here with her.” He headed for the garage.
Letitia shook uncontrollably. “I was just taking my garbage out and Tinkle-Belle started scratching at those boxes in the corner. Then I saw it.” She shivered. “I saw it.”
“Well, what was it?” In one smooth move, Wendell whipped a notepad from his rear pocket and repeatedly clicked his pen.
“It was a bloody hand.” Her voice quivered. “Eewwwww!”
“Can ya describe it for me?”
“Eewwwww!” The feeble woman’s feet repeated the Irish jig.
Ed jerked Wendell aside. “They’ll need to question Letitia. Let’s get her calmed down so she can think.” He hugged her close. “Don’t worry, Lettie, everything will be all right.”
“You gotta be pullin’ my leg, man.” Wendell shook his head. “This has to have somethin’ to do with the Saguaro Sidewinder Case.”
“The what?”
“Ya know, Cora’s case.” Wendell pushed his Stetson to the back of his head. “Ya ‘member that night she said she saw a murder but none of us could find a body? Well, right chere it is.”
Ed stared at the garage. Was Wendell right? Did Cora actually witness a murder? Why hadn’t he believed her? Where was Cora?
Letitia was questioned while both the Timms’ home and hers were cordoned off with yellow CRIME SCENE tape. It was hung along the sidewalk and across the driveway to keep curiosity seekers at bay.
Blue and red lights flashed as the neighborhood crawled with law enforcement.
A police photographer came with a meticulous criminologist, and both homes were searched for clues.
Phoenix area detectives soon joined the primary contingent of police in the search for Cora and Emily.
22
The kidnapper had removed their gags and left them alone in a dimly lit motel room. Cora, bound with nylon cord, sat stiffly on a wooden chair lodged between a wall and an unmade bed. Her heart raced and terror welled in her throat as she checked the rope for any slack. Powerless to move her hands, the probability of escape seemed hopeless. With every ounce of strength gone, she allowed her head to rest back against the nicotine-stained wall. What place was this? Well, one thing for sure, they hadn’t been swept off to Shangri-La.
Pungent odors in the room filled Cora’s nostrils. Potent cigar smoke mixed with mold, mildew and probably jungle rot intensified her fear. Could a person get black lung disease from this revolting Petri dish?
She glanced over to her sister. Unconscious with a debilitating headache, Em was sprawled face down on the grungy mattress. The thought of the poor soul breathing in disgusting micro-organisms gave Cora the heebie-jeebies. She’d have to check Em’s hair for cooties and other specimens of wildlife.
Beneath her duck slippers lay orange shag carpet riddled with burn holes. She also recognized toenail clippings and wads of hair. Dampness and age had pulled the rug free from the walls as if it attempted its own escape from the filth.
Cora gasped as the door opened and the kidnapper stormed into the room. The hefty man leaned over and jerked her bindings, then went to the other side of the bed to make a call on the old rotary dial phone. The short cord tethered him to the nightstand, and offered only a scant three-foot area for his livid pacing.
His temper flared as he dictated his bidding. “Get to room 19 at the Catchpenny Motel now, Rita.” He lit a cigar clenched in his teeth, and listened impatiently before he bellowed his response. “Yes, I know it wasn’t our original plan, you dimwit. There are two of them and they walked in on me. Can’t tell one broad from the other. I had no choice but to take them both. Just consider it plan B and get your can over here on the double. I’ll expect you in fifteen minutes. If I get back to work on time, they’ll never suspect us.”
He slammed the receiver onto the cradle, swore, and shook his head with disgust at his hostages. “I’m not sure which one of you got me into this with your stupid code of ethics. If you hadn’t squealed on me, I wouldn’t have been behind bars for ten years.”
Cora closed her eyes and inwardly grimaced at the ranting and raving. She offered no response to his accusations. He was the one who served ten years, and since she wasn’t the squealee, it had to be Emily who turned him in. So that’s why he tracked her down. Cora couldn’t imagine what the man did, but the good news was her twin wasn’t the Bonnie to his Clyde after all. She released a sigh of relief.
Curses spewed from the man’s mouth as he ran chubby fingers through his h
air in exasperation. “Not only do I have to wait on Rita to get her lazy carcass in motion, I have to sit here and watch your sister pretend to have a stroke. You women always cause me grief.”
Cora peeked as the man dialed the old phone again. Who was he calling now?
“Why isn’t your answering machine kicking on?” He swore, slammed the phone down and kicked the mattress. “Can’t you do anything right, Cor-rah?”
The kidnapper turned to the antiquated TV perched on a flimsy stand. He inched his way around the bed and pulled the knob that turned the set on. As it slowly hummed to life, he plopped into the torn recliner. The artificial leather creaked as he shifted his weight to find a comfortable position.
He looked at Cora. “What are you smiling about?”
She blurted, “It won’t work.”
“Shut your pie hole. ‘Course it’ll work. You think they’d leave a useless set in the room?”
She cringed and lowered her head. This motel didn’t spring for bug spray. Did he honestly think they’d get cable?
The set sputtered, followed by grating static and a screen-full of electronic snow. He looked at Cora and pointed at her mouth. “Pie hole, lady, pie hole.”
His explicit language turned the air blue while he wrestled his stocky form out of the sagging chair. He turned the TV off and went outside. His vocabulary was obviously limited since he used the same four-letter words repeatedly.
Within a few minutes, he returned with a portable radio, and placed it on the windowsill. The man opened the tattered drapes a bit, then pushed the chair closer to the window as a news report blared from a local station. He muttered and glanced outside while his backside searched for the same ruts he’d rested in before.
With the captor’s attention diverted, Cora continued to assess the meager surroundings. The assessment wasn’t good. Cobwebs dangled directly overhead in a complex pattern. Clearly, the motel owners hadn’t consulted Martha Stewart for any cleaning or decorating tips.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of an unidentifiable insect as it skittered across the floor. Was he a scout for a whole battalion of buddies? Her skin crawled. If only her hands were free to scratch...everywhere.
In an effort to ward off the creepy sensation, she again concentrated on a possible means of escape. She looked at Emily. Oh, she needed her help. What was this brute going to do to them? No doubt about it, this was a perfect setting for murder and the less time spent here, the better.
If there was anything to this twin telepathy thing, now would be a good time for it to kick in. She sent concentrated brain waves to the quiet form on the bed. Wake up, Em. Cora nudged the bed with her knees.
Emily’s head turned slightly. She winked at her.
Hey, maybe there was something to that twin stuff after all! Cora gave a half-grin and mouthed, “OK?”
Em replied with a nod.
Cora tried to send another subliminal suggestion through the airwaves. She squeezed her eyes shut. Stay still, Em. Feign unconsciousness. She searched her sister’s face for an answer.
Emily smiled and squinted.
The chug of an ailing car engine drew the man’s focus to the window. A door slammed and soon they heard a timid knock.
The kidnapper unbolted the door and allowed the woman to enter.
“¡Hola!” the señorita said. She took a sip from the Java Joe’s cup in her hand and flung her fuchsia-colored purse onto the bed.
While he waited, the senior partner-in-crime had built up a head of steam. “You stopped for coffee?” he shouted and knocked the Styrofoam cup from her hand. Brown liquid splattered on the wall. With ham-hock hands, he grabbed the girl’s upper arms and jerked her further into the room. “You knew I had to get back to work to cover my tail.”
He pitched the young woman sideways. She landed awkwardly on the floor, and cracked her head on the nightstand. The phone fell off with a crash. Anger flashed in woman’s dark brown eyes as she rubbed her throbbing hairline. She stood and bit her lip. She spoke softly in her rich, lilting accent, “Perdón, mi amor. I hurry fast.”
He roughly pushed her away. “It wasn’t fast enough. Don’t let it happen again. If this thing is going to work, you have to be reliable. You made me late and now I’ll have to explain myself.”
“Do not be in such mal humor, amado. You can count on me.”
“Remember, if I go down, I’m takin’ you and your illegal family with me. Just watch every move those two make and don’t let them talk you into anything, understand?”
Rita stared at Emily bound on the bed. “What is with dama antigua? ¿Ella es doliente?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? You’re in America, speak English. And no, she’s not sick.” He made a dismissing gesture. “That’s a sympathy act. Just ignore it.”
Rita squinted and bent down to observe Em more closely. “She is breathing?”
“Forget her and listen to me.” He handed his partner the gun. “Here, don’t be afraid to use it. Remember, we’ve got five million riding on this deal. You’d better not be the one to let the ball drop.” He checked his watch. “I still have to deliver a ransom note. Simpleton, over there, didn’t have their answering machine on.”
Cora listened to the dialogue, and her mind quickly came to attention. Five million? Ransom? She peeked at them from her seat of confinement. Of course there’d be a ransom. She and Em had been kidnapped. But, five million smackers? Wow!
A cloud of dense cigar smoke circled the heavy man. “Everything’s in order so don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be back soon.” The ex-con left in a huff and slammed the door behind him.
Rita used the barrel of the .38 to hold back the curtain as she watched out the window. Squealing tires announced her accomplice’s hasty departure. She muttered, “Adios, bandido.”
Cora sighed. Good. He was gone. One kidnapper down and one to go. She needed to stay calm and think of some way to escape. As bad as their predicament was, Cora was relieved that her sister had regained consciousness and just one female now stood guard.
The amateur criminal shuffled across the floor and grumbled about the purpling goose egg on her forehead and her never-ending bad luck. “I do not trust him. Not uno momento.” She marched to the radio, and turned the set off.
In the gratifying stillness, Cora decided it was time to size up the enemy. One thing for sure, the beautiful señorita enjoyed bright colors. Rita was 30ish and had a petite frame much like her own. That was good. At least, size-wise they were on a level playing field.
As Rita leaned over to get her bright-colored purse from the bed, Cora spotted slight discolorations on her neck. Concealed bruises. How much abuse had this poor child been through? She was in over her head and needed help.
Their new captor flopped on the worn recliner, searched through her purse, and pulled out a pill bottle. She shook it, and then angrily threw the empty container at the door.
Cora continued to give her the once-over. The woman’s bleached blonde ponytail had crow-black roots which advertised overlooked hair appointments. Her lethal-looking fingernails were covered with red chipped polish and her makeup was unusually heavy. No doubt to hide the bruises. Not exactly the fresh-scrubbed look of the girl-next-door.
Emily’s bloodcurdling scream jolted Cora from her thoughts.
Rita’s fuchsia purse flew into the air, its contents rained on the bed.
“Cora, roach on your foot!” Em yelled.
The granddaddy of all cockroaches scaled up Cora’s slipper. It was slightly larger than a bar of soap.
Cora screamed a perfectly pitched trio with the other ladies. Even with legs bound, she managed to kick her slipper two feet up.
“¡Ay-yi-yi-yi!” Rita screamed. “¡Cucaracha!”
Gunshots rang out. Glass shattered. The TV died its second death. The lamp bit the dust, and the lovely señorita faced seven years bad luck when the mirror splintered into smithereens.
Finally, the giant cockro
ach went belly-up and gave one last kick.
Stillness hung in the air as the dust settled. As if repulsed, Rita tossed the smoking gun onto the bed next to her empty fuchsia purse and Emily. She shuddered, wrung her hands, and wiped them on her jeans. An anxious expression surfaced as she paced the floor.
Emily cleared her throat, which broke the awkward silence. “Your partner sure left you holding the bag.”
“Do not worry, dama antigua. It is under control.” Rita’s tone was bitter and defiant. “Once we have dinero, he will kill you like that man and his mamá. Then we will live in abundancia.” She stopped short. The stunned look on the señorita’s face indicated that she’d blurted too much information. She crossed her arms over her multi-colored shirt, and quickly turned her head.
“So he’s going to kill us?” Cora asked. “And you think he’ll let you live?”
Rita’s eyes darted about the room. “We have many plans.”
“I bet he said you’d live in a fancy house or a big mansion, didn’t he?” Cora hoped to make the young woman think. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting, but this dive is an example of how you’ll live. Once you’ve murdered someone, you’ll be a fugitive, constantly on the run and looking over your shoulder. Is that what you want?”
Rita picked up the gun and pointed it at Cora. “If you do not shut up I will get rid of you now. ¿Comprende?”
Cora sighed. Obviously that approach didn’t work. Rainbow-girl needed a reality check. What was going to sway her? She closed her eyes. Dear Lord, if You’re really there, we desperately need Your help. Please give us wisdom and a way to escape.
Emily looked at the girl with caring eyes. “It’s hard to imagine a pretty lady like you with that burly old coot. You could do so much better. Your whole life could improve.”
“You do not know about my life. He say he love me.Besides, why you care?” She wedged the .38 into her waistband.
“You’re holding us hostage and threatening to kill us, but we still care what happens to you. Others have helped me when I didn’t deserve it. That’s God’s love at work. Real love is patient and kind.” Emily paused. “Calling you names and slapping you around doesn’t sound like love to me. This man is using and abusing you to get the money. When you get it, you’ll see it won’t buy the kind of love you’re looking for. Only God can give pure love.”