Blood Brothers
Page 9
She steered folks towards the food and urged them to help themselves to wine or iced tea, feeling more like a glorified waitress than a real estate professional. Plus today she was also a babysitter. Glancing into the yard, she saw the boys dangling bits of lunchmeat from a string, trying to catch a catfish. Tom had the good sense to stay buried under the hydrangea.
What’s the secret ingredient in your chicken salad?” The plump wife of a local pediatrician tapped her arm.
“Curry?” Diana answered hopefully.
“Yes, now I can taste it.” The woman smiled.
Diana tuned out the wife’s culinary observations and focused instead on her husband. The good doctor was an eminently qualified buyer. He was as skinny as the wife was fat, but instead of being a jolly couple, like Jack Sprat and his wife, these two were the consumers from hell. While the wife found fault with the gourmet kitchen (not enough hip room between the island and the stove), the husband complained that the enormous closets in the master bedroom were too small (not enough room for my clothes). Fact was, these folks would never make up their minds.
By late afternoon, the Open House had become a circus. Diana performed like an acrobat, balancing her time between passing out brochures and business cards to answering tax and utility questions. One of the visitors, a shy country girl who wandered in from the street, required no sales pitch. Clearly this girl, with her faded print dress and plastic purse, had come to bask in the glow of wealth, if only for a moment.
Diana had cautioned Brenda to hide her jewelry and other valuables, yet she kept a watchful eye on the young woman. She hated to profile the girl, just as the FBI tagged all dark skinned men from Middle Eastern as terrorists, but the girl did seem excessively nervous as she tugged at her dirty blond hair. Plus, she refused to make eye contact or speak to Diana.
Diana followed quietly as the girl limped into the kitchen and discovered the food. She looked to see if anyone was watching, and then devoured a chicken salad croissant in two bites. Either the poor soul was extremely hungry, or the chicken salad was special indeed. The girl checked again, then stuffed a napkin filled with croissants into her plastic purse. Diana wondered if she was homeless, and her heart went out to the child.
Not wanting to embarrass her, Diana moved into the hallway and glanced out at the road. She saw Juan crawling out of a pup tent the boys had erected in the front yard, and then he dashed around the corner of the house, apparently hot on Johnny’s heels. The street was parked tight with expensive cars. Remembering the poor girl in the kitchen, Diana expected to see an old pickup truck or other modest vehicle amongst them, but the only car out of the ordinary was a glistening white sedan parked down the block. It was remarkable only because it was occupied by a bored husband who’d rather wait in the oppressive heat than look at real estate with his wife.
Just then, a bottle-green Jaguar turned into the lane, followed by a caravan of luxury vehicles including a Rolls Royce and a Range Rover. Diana groaned because Miles Lawton had threatened to bring his retinue of out-of-state clients to her Open House, but she had pushed that unpleasant possibility to the back of her mind.
“Cheerio, Diana!” Miles winked as he led a group of well-dressed prospects up the walk. “I hope you haven’t already closed a deal on this fine property, because this lot is ready to sign on the dotted line.”
She opened the door wide and welcomed them. At the same time, she distanced herself from Miles. She got busy passing out more business cards, and somehow in the confusion, she missed the country girl’s departure and that of Dr. Consumer. Just as well. By four, Diana was exhausted, yet happy, because she had avoided Miles’ advances and assembled a decent list of viable prospects. The last guests were leaving when Brenda bustled up the sidewalk.
“Whoa, you had quite a turnout!” she gasped.
Diana pulled Brenda inside the house and closed the door. “We call it a feeding frenzy.”
Brenda trailed her into the kitchen, barely able to conceal her excitement as Diana poured two glasses of chilled white wine. “So, did we sell the house?”
Diana enjoyed a long, welcome swallow, savoring the sharp flavor on her tongue. “Not yet, but we will.”
“With all those people, didn’t anyonebite?”
As Brenda fished for details, Diana heard the front door slam and prayed it was not a latecomer to the Open House. Instead, John Sorvino burst into the kitchen. His face was deathly pale under disheveled black hair, and his eyes were strangely unfocused.
“Where the hell is Johnny?” he demanded, tripping over a barstool as he rushed at Brenda.
“What’s wrongwith you?” Brenda shrieked as her husband lurched forward, grabbing her arm to break his fall. “Have you been drinking, John?”
Diana put down her glass and helped to steady the man. “Are you ill?”
Sorvino jerked free. “Are you deaf? Where’s Johnny?”
Brenda’s eyes were wide with panic as she looked to Diana for support.
“Calm down, he’s out in the yard,” she reassured them. “He’s playing with Juan. I saw him in the tent a little while ago.”
Sorvino took a deep breath and stared at his wife. He yanked his collar loose. “Go get him Brenda. Do it now!”
Brenda was too startled to argue. She scuttled through the French doors to the patio as her husband poured himself a stiff scotch.
“What’s the problem?” Diana asked. Sorvino was either drunk or sick, but there was no excuse for his rude behavior. Normally in a situation like this, Diana would make a fast departure, but at the moment, she actually feared for Brenda’s safety.”
“You were supposed to be watching my son!” Sorvino downed another scotch.
The tiny pulse in Diana’s left temple started to twitch, a sure sign she was about to lose her temper. The wall phone at her shoulder nearly scared her out of her skin when it began ringing in the charged atmosphere.
Sovino froze. He made no move to answer, so Diana picked up and listened to the man at the other end. In the meantime, Sorvino sank into a chair. Diana was certain he was about to faint.
“Who is it?” Sorvino demanded in a hoarse whisper.
She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s a pediatrician who visited today. I think he wants to buy your house.”
“Hang up the damned phone!”
“But he’s making an offer…”
“Just do it!” Sorvino flew to his feet and wrenched the phone from her hand. He slammed it into the cradle before Diana could object.
At the same moment, another phone rang--- a faraway, muffled sound that hit Sorvino like a slap to the face. He located his briefcase, pulled out a cell phone, and then ran from the room to take the call.
Before Diana could compose herself, Brenda returned. Her hands were spread open, empty, and her eyes brimmed with tears. “God, Diana, I can’t find the boys! I looked everywhere. They sure as hell didn’t stay in the yard like they promised. I swear, I’ll kill them both when they come home!”
As the women stared at one another, helpless to alter the situation, a knot of dread tightened in Diana’s stomach. In the hyper stillness, the sailboat clock on the wall ticked off the minutes. A lone fly landed on the scraps of chicken salad, and Diana didn’t know whether to laugh, or cry. She feared she might throw up.
When John Sorvino returned to the kitchen, he dragged his feet like a sleepwalker. He melted against the counter to support himself, and when he looked up, his eyes were filled with terror. “They took Johnny…” He choked. “The kidnappers got my son!”
“A man called my cell as I was driving home from the Club. He made me listen, and I heard Johnny cry…”
Brenda rocked on her feet. She keened like a dying kitten.
“That was him again,” Sorvino explained. “Now he wants money…” Suddenly he broke into sobs. The violence shook his body and he couldn’t continue.
Sometimes truth hides. Sometimes it’s direct as a knife to the heart. Diana knew Sorvino’s words were true, and when the bile surged up in her throat, she ran to the sink and hung her head over the edge… just in time.
No one heard the door open.
No one saw the small figure walk quietly into the kitchen. He looked around, shy and confused by the scene before him.
“What’s wrong?” Johnny spoke at last.
His parents made sounds of joy and tearful relief. They embraced one another, then reunited with their son.
Diana slowly lifted her head. “Where is Juan?”
SEVENTEEN
The sacrificial lamb…
Only Johnny heard her question. He pulled free of his parent’s embrace and they locked eyes.
“I told you not to leave the yard!” Brenda scolded.
“We were worried sick, son.” Sorvino rocked back and forth on his heels, his voice gruff with emotion.
“What’s the big deal?” Johnny kept watching Diana. “I took a ride on the Blackwell’s pontoon boat.”
“Did Juan go, too?” Diana asked as another wave of nausea washed through her.
“No, ma’am.” Juan blushed. “Juan stayed in the yard.”
“So Juan was a good boy,” Brenda said. “What’s your excuse, young man?” She captured Johnny and swatted his bottom.
“But where is Juan now?” Diana unsteadily approached the trio.
“In the tent?” Johnny shrugged. “We were playing cowboys and Indians.”
“I’ll get him…” Sorvino stomped out the front door.
Diana heard Sorvino calling Juan’s name, his voice advancing, then receding like the last echo of hope.
“I’ll go help Daddy…” Johnny struggled to escape, but his mother dragged him back by the seat of his pants.
“Not so fast. You get a time out in your room, young man!” She hooked the child under his armpits, and with the strength born of maternal fury, she lifted and carried him, his shoes bumping on each step.
Johnny’s blue eyes were round with fear as he glanced back at Diana. “You’ll find Juan, right?” he whimpered.
“Yes, I will. I promise,” she told the child.
Why on earth had she promised such a thing? As soon as they reach the top step, Diana fled down the hall to seek sanctuary in the bathroom. She washed her face and rinsed the bitter taste from her mouth, but the horror wouldn’t go away. When she lifted her head, the woman staring back from the mirror bore no resemblance to any person she knew. Guilt was etched around her eyes and her lips were stiff with shame.
When she returned to the hall, she found Brenda sitting on the bottom step, her head buried in her hands. Lilting cartoon music drifted down from Johnny’s room, the comic sound seemed maniacal in a world gone insane.
“This isn’t happening,” Brenda moaned.
But when John came through the door, his sagging shoulders said it all. “I looked everywhere. Asked the neighbors, but no one’s seen him. Even walked down to our building sight---nothing.”
“Call the police,” Diana told him.
“No! The kidnapper said he’d killJohnny if I call the police.”
“But they don’t have Johnny…” The tension retreated from Brenda’s face.
“No, but they probably thinkthey grabbed the right kid.” Sorvino’s expression echoed his wife’s as his fear faded to cold composure.
Diana witnessed the couple’s transformation with alarm. “Look, the kidnappers will soon know the truth, because Juan will tell them. At least heknows who the hell he is.”
Sorvino’s eyes narrowed. “So, the bad guy figures he’s made a mistake, and he lets the kid go?”
“Or, he figures he has nothing to lose and kills him!” Suddenly, Diana was frantic. Now that these selfish parents were off the hook, they seemed willing to make Juan the sacrificial lamb. “For God’s sake, call the police!”
Brenda sighed and massaged the bridge of her nose. “Diana’s right, John. Call the damned police.”
Sorvino’s expression, void of all human emotion, prompted Diana to recall her first impression of the man: a kid from the tough ghettos of Camden, a heartless scrapper who respected the bloody code of the streets, a guy who wouldn’t hesitate to greet violence with violence.
Finally, Sorvino squared his shoulders and managed a smile. “You win. We can’t handle this alone, so I’ll call 911.”
Diana turned her back and stared out at the patio. These long summer nights never get fully dark until ten---five hour to go. She couldn’t bear to think of Juan alone out there, confused and scared, in the company of strangers. She prayed with all her heart that he’d be home safe before sunset.
Sorvino closed his cell phone and dropped it in his pocket. “Okay, the cops will be here in ten minutes…”
Diana excused herself and wandered into the Sorvino’s master bedroom, closing the door. She perched on the edge of the bed and picked up the princess phone on Brenda’s side. She made the call, the hardest of her life, and understandably, Juanita Cruz did not take the news well.
Diana concentrated on breathing…in, then out…as Juanita screamed, then cried, then lapsed into Spanish. All the verbal abuse in the world couldn’t ease the guilt that all but paralyzed Diana’s vocal chords. In the end, she managed to convey the basic facts without imparting too much detail.
She continued to listen to Juanita’s tirade as a white Crown Victoria, exactly like Diana’s Queen Vic, parked in the driveway outside the room. The police logo on the door was the Cornelius town seal. It depicted a sailboat floating through a peaceful sunset. The incongruity jarred her, as did the enormous young officer who stepped from the vehicle. He tucked his white shirt into crisp navy trousers, and then hiked up the heavy holster supporting his weapon.
“The police are here,” Diana muttered into the line.
As Juanita tearfully ended the conversation, assuring Diana that she and Bobby were on the way, Diana followed the cop’s gaze to a second story window, where the last rays of sun glanced golden on the glass. She caught her breath to see the ghostly face of little Juan McCord pressed against the pane. In that moment, she was seized by a terrifying premonition: a vision of death. In the next moment, the officer lifted his cap and waved at the apparition, and it waved back. Of course, the ghost was Johnny.
EIGHTEEN
The wrong kid…
“He took the wrong kid?” Officer Andy Monroe’s round, boyish face was incredulous under a close-cropped fuzz of blond hair.
“Jeez, what a fuckup!”
They were all seated around the kitchen table--- Brenda and John together at one end, Monroe presiding at the head, and Diana on the side. As the policeman asked the same questions over and over, Diana started to lose confidence. The young cop took copious notes, but he couldn’t learn how to spell Juan. So far, he has established that John Sorvino was a banker, Brenda a homemaker, and Diana a Realtor. These facts were hardly front-page news.
Clearly Monroe was in over his head. He couldn’t cordon off a crime scene, since no one knew where the abduction took place, and the whole challenge of physical evidence had him completely stumped.
“What about fingerprints?” He scratched his duck-like head. “Can you give me a list of names? Whose prints should we reasonably expect to find in this house?”
Everyone groaned as Diana explained yet again about the Open House. “So that list includes you, me, the family, and about fifty others… and that’s just today.”
As Brenda refilled everyone’s glass with iced tea, Officer Monroe put in another call for a detective or shift commander.
“We’ve never had a kidnapping before,” he admitted. “Least not since I’vebeen here.”
Diana figured Monroe had been on the force about five minutes, so she was extremely grateful that more experienced help was on the way. To be fair, the case was bizarre, even in terms of big city crime. In all her years in Philadelphia, Diana had never read about a kidnapping involving mistaken identity, and she was an avid news hound. Indeed, no one around the table could believe what had happened.
Neither could Chief Jay Keener, who had been summoned away from a dinner party. The moment Keener entered the house, some of the weight shifted off Diana’s shoulders, for clearly the Cornelius Chief of Police was a take-charge kind of guy.
Monroe sprang to his feet. “Wasn’t expecting you, Chief. I thought they’d send Joey.”
“I hope you approve.” Keener smiled. “Joey and the others are on the way.”
Keener wasted no time. A small, intense man in his mid-forties, his clipped manner and brisk movements conveyed urgency, so that even the sullen Sorvino rose to shake his hand. The chief was impeccably dressed in dark trousers, navy blazer, and a conservative tie. He pulled a small black leather wallet from his breast pocket and quickly flashed his badge.