Murder by Design Trilogy

by Mary Jane Forbes

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  A GRAY SEDAN BUMPED over the ramp onto the Kingston to Edmond’s ferry. It was the last car to load. The ramp immediately lifted into place as the ferry pulled away from the pilings. The man behind the wheel and the woman in the backseat holding a baby girl laid their heads back, each expelling air with a whoosh.

  “Do you think that man we passed will remember the car?” the woman asked as she tried to soothe the baby who had begun to whimper.

  “Might. We’ve seen him every Saturday for the past seven weeks. I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Want one? I don’t think you should go up on deck.”

  “Yes. What is it, thirty minutes to Edmonds?”

  “Thirty-four if you believe the printed schedule. We lucked out all around. Baby left alone, perfect timing to get this ferry. I didn’t want to go the Bainbridge. Too far. We would have run a big risk of a roadblock.”

  “How’s the timing for the plane?”

  “Well, with lighter traffic than a weekday, we should be able to get to the airport in just under an hour, then park, clear security, and board. No bags. You’re sure you have the passports?”

  “Yes. Stop asking.”

  “Hey, don’t get snarly with me. I paid a lot for that kid’s passport. The cell phone picture the woman gave me worked like a charm. The hardest part is done. Now it’s just a matter of the damn plane taking off on time, our connections being on time, and then we handoff the kid to the woman and she hands us a hundred Gs. Not bad pay for twenty-four hours of fear and tension,” the man said as he chuckled. “Just don’t let that kid cry. You know how I get—crazy. Sit tight. I’ll be back in a jiff with your coffee.”

  “Get one of those little cartons of milk if they have it, if not then a water. I’ll slip a little of the sedative stuff in her bottle. And, for God’s sake, keep that damn temper of yours under control, or I swear I’ll—

  “Shut your fat mouth and be careful. That doctor said he didn’t approve of giving a baby anything to sleep, especially when you told him your friend’s baby was under a year. We’re lucky he gave it to us.”

  “Don’t you tell me to shut up. You shut up. Go get the milk. I wish we’d never agreed to this.”

  “Ya? Well, you’ll be happy enough when you have the money to throw around in Paris,” the man said, slamming the car door.

  The woman lifted the baby to her shoulder patting its back. The baby whimpered, her face turning red. She was about to howl bloody murder.

  Chapter 30

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  GILLY STRODE INTO THE kitchen, leaned on the dryer—hands splayed on the edge, head down, lips pursed tight into a thin line.

  “Be strong. Be strong,” she said over and over. “I’ll find you, Robyn. Mommy is going to find you.”

  Hearing a car roll into the driveway, she raced out the patio door. Three doors flew open—Anne, Gramps, and Skip emerged. They had picked up Skip down the road. He was the first to reach her, gave her a fierce hug, then pushed her away at arm’s length, holding her by the shoulders, his intense blue eyes searching her face.

  “What’s the latest?” he asked.

  “The police should be here in a few minutes.”

  “How long has it been?”

  “Less than an hour.”

  “And?”

  “That’s it.” Gilly responded staring back.

  Anne squeezed in front of Skip and hugged her daughter, and then Gramps was by her side. “Come on child, let’s go sit down. Tell us exactly what happened.”

  Each looked away from the empty playpen as they passed into the house.

  Anne put the kettle on the stove. Skip sat at one end of the table, Gramps the other next to Gilly. He placed his veined, leathery hand over hers, the pair looking into each other’s eyes for comfort.

  Gilly shot to her feet hearing a car park in the driveway. It was Deputy Kracker and his partner Claire Troxell. Escorting them into the kitchen they sat down to hear what Gilly had to say about the disappearance of her baby.

  Troxell asked Gilly for a picture, several if she had them, of baby Robyn.

  Kracker had contacted Detective DuBois in Seattle, explaining the situation. DuBois told him there would be an immediate Amber alert displayed on all western Washington’s highways, and the media would flash the alert on their news broadcasts. Deputy Troxell emailed pictures of Robyn to the Bremerton office as well as to DuBois—within minutes Robyn’s picture was dispatched to over a hundred squad cars, officers, and transportation points—ferry, bus, train, and airport.

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  THE GRAY SEDAN BUMPED over the ramp and off the ferry at Edmonds. The man drove the speed limit through the small town, and then merged onto I-5 south to Sea-Tac airport. The clock was still favoring their getaway.

  Ditching the car in the parking garage, the man dropped his cigarette on the cement, and the pair raced to the terminal—the woman clutching the drugged baby, the man running with three shoulder bags banging against his arms and back. Cleared through security showing passports with their tickets, they ran up to the check-in counter for seat assignments pushing three open tickets to Chicago in front of the female attendant—he was taking no chances on a hold up because of the baby. Luck was with them—the flight was not overbooked. Seat assignments in hand, they scampered down the jetway. They were the last to board the plane.

  The stewardess helped to buckle them in their seats.

  The plane slowly pulled away from the gate. The plane was cleared for takeoff. The plane gained speed over the tarmac and was quickly airborne.

  ───

  DUBOIS CALLED GILLY WITH an urgent request. “Reporters are asking to speak with you. I suggest you return to Seattle as soon as you can. Your personal appearance on television will bring more attention to your missing baby. You can help get the story out to the public faster if you’re here and better for ongoing news reports. Have available the most recent pictures of the baby. The networks will get them on the air and send them to the local papers.”

  “All right. I’ll leave immediately,” Gilly replied.

  “Call me just before you drive off the ferry. I’ll tell you where to go, however, it may be best to go straight to your apartment. I can have an officer escort you to meet with the media. In any event, give me a call.”

  “Okay, Detective, and thank you.”

  “Put Deputy Kracker on the line, please. But, Gilly, you get on your way.”

  Gilly handed the phone to Deputy Kracker and then faced her family. “DuBois wants me back in Seattle. Said the networks can get the story out faster if I’m readily available.”

  “I’ll drive you,” Skip said. “Get your things. I’ll be in the car.”

  “Thanks, but I’m going to want to have my car available, but I’d appreciate your following me.” She kissed her mom and Gramps, grabbed her tote and rocketed out the door, pausing at the playpen for the white bunny. It was missing, too.

  Kracker called to her to wait. “Gilly, I’ve put in a call for an officer and his search and rescue dog. He’s bringing a couple of deputies. They’ll start a search of the yard, the neighbors, the road. Maybe they can come up with some clues. I’ve also asked Skip to stay so we can interview him unless you really need him.”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  Skip joined her, took the tote off her shoulder, walking her to her car. “I told Kracker I’ve been running here every Saturday for seven weeks. There’s a motorcycle, passed me on almost every run. Maybe I can help. I’ll call you when I’m back in Seattle. And, please let me know if there are any changes.”

  “I will. Thanks.”

  Skip gave her a brief hug, set the tote in her car and shut the door. The wheels spun out of the driveway, darting south onto Hansville Road and out of sight behind a stand of pine trees.

  “Troxell, you wait here for the other deputies and the dog,” Kracker said. “I guess the dog can pick up the baby’s scent from that bonnet in the playpen. I’ll ask Gill
y’s mother for a picture and anything else she might have that could be helpful. Hunter, come with me. Tell me about that motorcycle. Being a reporter you should be able to give me a pretty good description,” Kracker said over his shoulder as he strode into the house.

  Chapter 31

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  THE STORY OF BABY Robyn Wilder’s kidnapping flooded the evening news. Her mother, Gillianne Wilder of Gillianne Wilder Fashions, was interviewed, and pictures of the curly red-haired child were seen by millions.

  The story quickly spread from the west coast to the east coast. Anyone watching was immediately taken with the plight of the young mother.

  At 8:15 p.m. an American Airline’s flight from Seattle landed at Chicago’s O’Hare airport. The passengers disembarked, among them a family with a very sleepy baby bundled in a footed sleeper. They made their way to a ticket counter to purchase tickets for the next flight to Paris. The agent suggested Turkish Airlines. If they hurried they would have time to board a flight leaving in two hours. The man thanked the attendant and asked how to get to the Turkish Airline terminal.

  With the information, the man flagged down a transporter to drive them to Terminal 5, International Flights. As the couple with the baby were driven from American Airlines, they caught a brief CNN news report about a missing baby in Hansville, Washington. The baby’s picture filled the screen for a few seconds with a tip line if anyone had information on the whereabouts of the infant. The woman rearranged the baby’s blanket so a large piece of fabric covered the sleeping infant’s head.

  The transporter let the family off at the ticket counter for Turkish Airline. Now at Terminal 5 they did not see the news report air again. The woman poked the man and pointed to a newsstand displaying billed caps. The man nodded, hurried over to the display and purchased the smallest cap they had—blue with a Velcro adjuster tab in the back.

  The man purchased tickets for the Turkish Airline 10:20 p.m. flight to Istanbul with a connection to Paris. The flight was scheduled to land at Ataturk International Airport at 5:05 p.m. the next day with a connecting flight departing Istanbul at 7:50 p.m. arriving Paris, Charles de Gaulle Airport at 10:30 p.m.

  They immediately entered the line leading to the security attendant checking passports. The man handed the attendant their three passports and was told they could proceed to the gate. They walked to the gate and boarded the plane.

  The plane took off on schedule. Destination: Turkey.

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  BY MORNING OF THE next day the disappearance of the baby was capturing the hearts of Europeans over breakfast, stopping for coffee at a café, or reading the latest news on their electronic devices—cells, tablets, and computers.

  Maxime flipped on his bedroom television as he knotted his tie. Pushing the knot in place under his collar he heard the reporter say the name Gillianne Wilder. Turning, he saw the picture of his baby holding the white bunny he had given her flash on the screen. The next frame displayed a reporter sitting next to Gillianne, stoically answering the reporter’s questions, looking into the camera, asking for help in finding her child, her emerald eyes filled with pain.

  The screen switched to a close-up of the reporter. “If anyone has information as to the whereabouts of this adorable baby girl, please call the tip line number on the bottom of your screen.”

  Maxime strode to his dresser, picked up Gillianne’s business card, snatched his bedside phone and punched in her number. Hearing her strangled voice on the other end his eyes closed.

  “Gillianne … I just saw—

  “Maxime?” she whispered.

  “Yes, my darling. Have they found her?”

  “No.”

  He could barely hear her. If only he could reach out and touch her, pull her tight, reassure her, support her, love …

  “Maxime, what if …”

  “No, no, you mustn’t think the worst. Stay strong, my darling. You can … I know. What can I do to help … please … what can I do?”

  “There’s nothing … only wait … the police are trying very hard …”

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  MAXIME LEFT HIS APARTMENT, hailed a cab, and asked to be taken to the Palais de Luxembourg, the seat of the French Parliament. The Senate was in session today. Maxime stopped briefly in his office then joined the other senators and deputies in the meeting hall.

  He couldn’t concentrate on the legislation being discussed, his mind constantly wandering to Seattle and the welfare of the small infant, his baby, his and Gillianne’s child. He allowed his head to drop, eyes to close, what in God’s name would he do if anything happened to the baby, he wondered?

  The second he had seen her bright dark eyes, the clusters of red curls, he had fallen in love with her, the same as he had when he first laid eyes on her mother. When Robyn grabbed his finger with her little fist he knew he would protect her with his life. So what was he doing here, this moment sitting in the seat of the French government, listening to speech after speech?

  Excusing himself, he left the hall, left the building and strode into the Luxembourg Garden. It was the largest and most beautiful park in Paris, a fifty-five acre public garden. Even though it was later in September, the broad expanses of lawn remained a rich green, and the manicured flower beds were still ablaze with vibrant color.

  Maxime stood still a moment, watching a mother with three toddlers speaking rapidly to her children. She turned to look at him and he saw she was holding an infant in her arms. She smiled, looked down at a little boy tugging at her skirt and continued walking.

  Maxime wandered on and realized he had reached his apartment building. The sun was low in the sky, painting the Seine in ripples of gold. He crossed the street, slowly stepped down the old stairs to the benches beside the river. He sank onto a worn wooden bench supported by a black wrought-iron frame. Leaning forward, forearms on his legs, palms together, fingers forming a steeple, he asked God for his help, pleading with him to keep his baby safe, pleading that she be returned unharmed to her mother. Maxime did not think of himself as a religious man, but this hour he prayed, this hour he was a believer, this hour he needed and asked for God’s help.

  Returning to his apartment, he checked his phone for messages. There were none. It was 6:11 p.m.—9:11 a.m. in Seattle. He placed the call to Gillianne, listened to the rings, waiting for her to answer. The phone was picked up, but he didn’t recognize the voice, a voice with a decided French accent.

  “Mademoiselle, my name is Monsieur Beaumont.”

  “Oui, Monsieur, I’m Nicole.”

  “Ah, yes. We met a few weeks ago. Tell me, is there any word of Robyn?”

  “No. Monsieur, we’re scared to death. Gilly is at the KOMO television station. They are taping another plea for information. Oh, Monsieur, I’m so afraid for her. If anything should happen—

  “Nicole, I pray with you. Please tell Gillianne I inquired. I’ll call again in the morning.”

  “Morning?”

  “Yes, Mademoiselle. It is evening here in Paris.”

  “I’ll tell her, Monsieur.”

  ───

  A COMMERCIAL FOR DOG food snapped on the screen replacing the sweet face of baby Robyn and her mother’s pleas for anyone with information to call the tip line. Gabby quickly walked to Gilly’s side, took her hand, leading her from the bright lights of the television studio. The live telecast had been taped and would be aired every hour.

  Gilly felt the vibration of her cell and pulled it from her suit pocket.

  “Gilly, DuBois here. I only have a minute but wanted to tell you the dog found a white baby’s sock, pink lace on top. Sound familiar?”

  “Yes, yes. She had those little socks on. Her fa … yes.”

  “A few yards from the sock, my deputy also found cigarette butts. Lots of them in various stages of decomposition. I’d say the guy, I’m saying guy because we don’t know if the kidnapper was male or female, had been there a long time. I don’t mean just yesterday, but several days, weeks ma
ybe. Because it rained the night before, the dirt next to the driveway of your neighbor … is the neighbor at home to the north of your grandfather’s house?”

  “No. They’ve been gone for several months. Why?”

  “We found a tire print in the dirt to the side of their driveway—almost to the road but next to some bushes, same area as the butts. There were also a couple of footprints in the wet dirt, but only a couple—large, deep, probably a man’s. My guy thinks he found another one about six feet from the other two, but in the leaves so it could be wishful thinking. That’s it.”

  “Thanks, Detective. I just finished with another television interview. I—

  “I saw you. Good job, Gilly. Keep getting the word out.”

  “I’m going back home, my apartment. Let me know if—

  “Yes ma’am, I will.”

  Chapter 32

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  THE TURKISH AIRLINE FLIGHT from Istanbul to Paris touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport at 10:40 p.m. It was ten minutes late.

  The woman, clutching a fussy baby, followed the man off the plane. With the aid of escalators, elevators, and asking numerous questions on how to exit the airport and find a cab, the family was finally traveling the streets of Paris to the Verlain Hotel.

  The weary travelers quickly checked in and were escorted to their room on the fourth floor. The man had informed the desk clerk that, even though it was late, he was expecting a visitor, a woman, sometime in the next hour and to please give her their room number.

  Closing the door behind the bellman, the man looked around the small room. The walls were a pale yellow with blue, white, and yellow stripped drapes covering the only window. A bed, made up for sleeping, was pulled down from a wall pocket. An open door revealed a closet-sized bathroom.