by Kate Merrill
Bo understood Juanita has suffered her share of hard knocks, a kindred spirit of sorts. America’s underdogs come in all colors, so he hoped she’d give him a fair shake.
Only Bobby Porter held back. He shifted uncomfortably in the shadow of the overhang, his odd, watery blue eyes unable to meet Bo’s.
“Let’s move this conversation inside,” Bo suggested, nodding towards the group of curious workers drifting in their direction.
They trailed into the bungalow, ladies first, with Bobby bringing up the rear. Bo had to duck under the eaves in order to enter the cozy living room.
“You sure you’re from the FBI?” Bobby asked the inevitable question.
“That’s what they keep telling me back at the office.” Bo held his temper in check.
“Sure you ain’t Magic Johnson?” Bobby smiled shyly, exposing a row of crooked teeth.
Bo laughed in relief. Bobby’s perceived prejudice was just another figment of his imagination. “Funny you should ask. Folks make that mistake all the time. Matter of fact, I played a little basketball in college, but my feet got in the way.”
“How’d you get a name like Beaufort?” Bobby asked.
“Guess my parents lacked imagination, so they named me after the town where I was born. It’s on the North Carolina coast, above Wilmington.”
“Do they call you Beau?” Diana wondered.
“Yes, ma’am, only I spell it Bo, so people don’t confuse me with those folks from the other Carolina who call their town Byooofort.”
“I guess I have a lot to learn.” Diana smiled.
They continued to question him about how he got hooked up with the Bureau, so Bo explained about his stint in the Marines, the training program at Quantico, and finally how he landed in Charlotte. When he completed his resume, an uneasy silence descended like poisonous smog. They could no longer ignore the unhappy reason for his visit.
He and Diana settled into easy chairs on either side of an old stone fireplace, while Bobby and Juanita sat stiffly on the sofa. No one sampled the iced tea Juanita had provided as Bo explained the progress the authorities had made so far.
“The neighbors saw nothing?” Diana was disappointed.
“I’m afraid not, at least nothing useful. They saw cars and people coming to the Open House, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“What about the Blackwells, the neighbors who took Johnny out on their pontoon boat?”
“They spoke to Juan. He declined their invitation and stayed in the yard. When the Blackwells left with Johnny around three, they noticed no one suspicious in the vicinity.” Bo watched Diana very closely. Keener had kept her at the station until well after midnight. She had been tired, upset, and unable to remember. “What was happening inside at that time, Diana?”
She answers slowly. “I was very busy. I looked out the window and saw the boys playing in the tent.”
“Both boys?”
She stretched for a memory. “No, just Juan. I saw him running around the corner of the house, like he was chasing somebody…” She closed her eyes. “I also saw a man across the street.”
“What man?”
Before Diana could answer, a phone rang from the bedroom. Its shrill intrusion startled them all, but Bobby and Juanita seemed frightened by the sound. Bo had seen it before, agonized parents afraid that any news was bad news.
Finally Bobby climbed shakily to his feet. “I’ll get it…”
Bo knew better than to proceed until the phone call was resolved, so he tried to ease the tension by sampling some of the tea. Diana and Juanita did the same until Bobby returned.
“It’s for you, Juanita.” Bobby looked sick.
The couple left together, closing the bedroom door behind them. Bo was distressed. The team had not yet placed a trace on the Porter’s line. He turned again to Diana: “Tell me about the man you saw…”
“He was sitting in a white Chevy Malibu… I think.”
Bo’s heart rate quickened. Diana had not offered this information last night, but today she was rested and not so prone to second-guess herself. When witnesses responded quickly, their instinct was usually correct and the information accurate. “Can you describe him?”
“His face was in the shadows, but he was young.”
“Dark hair?”
“No, he was blond, or light brown.”
Bo moved to the edge of his seat as Diana extracted details from her subconscious. The man was young, with blond hair. Unfortunately, that description matched a large percentage of Charlotte’s population, while white Chevy Malibus were standard issue in most rental car fleets.
“Who was with the man?” Bo drove the point home.
Diana blinked in surprise. “How should I know?” She paused. “But I think he came with the country girl. That’s why I noticed.”
Bo was fascinated as Diana spun a yarn about a poor young girl with a limp and long, dirty blond hair. The girl wore a print dress and carried a plastic purse. She stole chicken salad croissants off the hors d’oeuvres tray.
“She seemed out of place, don’t you see?” Diana continued. “I was afraid she’d steal Brenda’s jewelry, but then I felt guilty for profilingthe poor thing.”
“Whydid the girl steal the food?” Bo pressed. “Was she creating a deliberate distraction, diverting your attention so you wouldn’t see what was happening out in the yard?”
“No way.”
“Stay with me, Diana…” He leaned forward, twisting his long dark fingers together. “Why did you think the man in the car came with the country girl?”
“I don’t know. When I looked outside, I expected to see a pickup truck, or something….” A strange light ignited behind Diana’s lovely blue eyes. “The girl came in alone, but I knew she hadn’t driven herself to that neighborhood. She couldn’t have.”
“She couldn’t drive a car?”
“I can’t explain it, but I feel she wouldn’t have had the courage to come on her own, and the man was the only one waiting. They were together. I am absolutely certain.”
TWENTY-ONE
It’s not fair…
After answering Bo’s questions about the country girl, Diana sat bolt upright in her chair. This FBI man had a knack for getting at the truth, like he’d been pulling her teeth without the benefit of Novocain, but why hadn’t she made those connections last night?
Before she could explore the idea, Bobby and Juanita returned from receiving their mysterious phone call. Bobby was drained of all color, while Juanita was as red as her halter-top, her eyes spilling with tears.
“Assholes!” Juanita strangled the remote receiver in her fist. “They called my sister Maria a whore, and when I told them what has happened to Juan, they called me something even worse!” She shook the phone at Bo. “You people are all alike. Chief Keener forced me call those bastards, and what the hell good did it do?”
Bo seemed confused.
Bobby placed a calming hand on Juanita’s arm, but she slapped it away. He turned to Bo. “We left a message for Juan’s grandparents last night, the McCords out in California. They just now got ’round to calling back, more’s the pity.”
Diana moved close to Juanita, longing to comfort her. “What on earth did they say?”
“They didn’t say anything, they screamed! Juan’s grandmother blames me for the abduction, can you believe it? Like she gives a shit? To them, Juan’s always been a stray cat. If they had their way, they would’ve tied him in a bag and drowned him at birth.”
“Will they help with the ransom money?” Bo seemed stunned by Juanita’s account of the grandparents.
“I asked, but Mr. McCord just laughed and hung up on me.”
> How could these people reject their own grandson? Diana’s heart went out to Juanita. She watched in silence as Bo shook his head and gazed sadly at his feet. Finally Bobby eased the phone from Juanita’s hand and gently urged her to sit on the sofa. His kindness induced a fresh flood of tears:
“It’s not fair!” Juanita pinned Bo with stricken eyes. “You know what I’m talking about, Mister FBI man. You know your place, I know mine, and even though folks pretend we’re all equal, weknow different.”
Bo wiped a large, dark hand across his face. “Public servants like myself are supposed to grant all citizens equal protection under the law. Fact is, we have rich white justice and something less for black, red, and yellow. We have a sworn duty to investigate all crimes equally, but certain groups may get better service.”
“Amen, brother!” Bobby nodded vigorously. “And it ain’t just about color. I’ma white man, but I’m dirt poor. We don’t get no favors neither.”
Diana looked at each in turn. Being advantaged by almost any definition, should she feel guilty? In her experience, life was seldom fair, but did they need to worry about that now? “Look, maybe everything you say is true, but I don’t see how worrying about it helps us.”
“You’re right, Diana, but it doesn’t hurt to be realistic.” Bo said. “I got into this game to equalize the odds, and as long as I’m on Juan’s case, the investigation will be first class.”
Bo’s eyes lingered on the abandoned baseball mitt in the corner. His passion was obviously colored by his own agenda, but suddenly Diana was confident that Juan was in good hands. She continued to watch as Bo shucked off his jacket, and then everyone gasped to see the gun holstered under his left arm.
“Hey, man…” Bobby inched closer for a better look. “What is that thing?”
“Glock semi-automatic.”
Diana was unimpressed. Weapons left her cold, as did men who brandished them as an extension of their masculinity. This was Bo’s job, however, and it was reassuring to know that Juan was being protected by some actual firepower.
“So the grandparents are out of the picture?” Bo changed the subject. “Maybe that’s a blessing, because now we can proceed with you two as the sole responsible guardians. Is that okay?”
Bobby nodded solemnly.
“Yeah, that’s good.” Juanita dried her eyes.
Again Diana was moved by the woman’s apparent change of heart. Only two weeks ago Juanita had been ready to ship Juan off to the family in Mexico. Odd how tragedy sometimes brought folks together. Bobby took Juanita’s hand as Bo told them about the potential lead from Diana’s Open House:
“So we’ll work with Chief Keener on this one. He’ll run the Chevy Malibu through the Charlotte database and look for matches in the area. Then we can narrow down the hits to Malibus owned by young couples.”
“Must be hundreds like that out there,” Bobby moaned.
“Yes, it’s a long shot.”
“But they don’t own the car!” Diana interrupted, surprising herself. “Intuition tells me it was a rental.”
Bo lifted his eyebrows and smiled. “I agree. My office will handle that end. We’ll contact every agency and nail these guys.”
“What else are you doing?” Juanita demanded.
“As we speak, the Cornelius police are interviewing everyone who signed in at the Open House. We also tapped the Sorvino’s phones.”
“Have the kidnappers called back?” Diana held her breath.
“I’m afraid not.” Bo picked at an imaginary fleck on his knee. “By now the kidnappers must know they grabbed the wrong boy. How they’ll react is anyone’s guess.”
No one in their small, unhappy band cared to speculate. The pain, which had never left Diana’s chest these past hours, intensified as she tried not to imagine the worst scenario.
“We’re also investigating any enemies John Sorvino may have made in the banking industry. Maybe snatching Johnny was an act of revenge.”
Bobby snorted. “You start listing that man’s enemies, the names will fill a phone book. You can write my name at the top of that list.”
Diana agreed that Sorvino’s behavior since the abduction had endeared him to no one. Even Johnny, who overheard his father refuse to help with the ransom, now refused to speak to his dad. Last night Diana felt almost sorry for Brenda as she tried to calm the boy’s tantrum.
“We work closely with the National Center for Exploited Children in Washington, DC,” Bo proceeded in a strong, positive voice. “As soon as we get a handle on these criminals, we’ll plug them into VICAP, the most sophisticated criminal profiling system in the world.”
It all sounded good in theory, but no one seemed convinced. As Bo rambled on about the powerful capabilities of the FBI, their three long faces attested to the sorry fact that the authorities had little, or nothing, to go on.
“Why don’t you put his picture on a milk carton?” Juanita asked snidely.
Bo frowned. “Actually, those milk carton people do a lot of good. They’re put out by The Missing Children Information Clearing House, and we have a branch here in North Carolina. We will file Juan’s information with them.”
“But it’s a last resort, right?” Juanita asked. “Let’s do something now. Let’s go on TV and let people know what’s happened. Someone out there has seen Juan.”
“Can we offer a reward?” Bobby asked. “We ain’t got much money, but maybe we can come up with a couple of thousand…?”
Bo shifted his long body in his chair and looked to the ceiling for an answer. “It’s a good idea, but it’s risky. The kidnappers have demanded that there be no police intervention. A public appeal is like spitting in their faces. Once we go on TV, they’ll be on the run. They may even panic and hurt the boy.”
As Diana listened, her mind reeled with indecision. If either of her children’s lives were on the line, what would she do? She watched as Bobby opened Juanita’s hand. Wordlessly, he stroked it inside, then out.
At last Juanita lifted her face. “I say we either shit, or get off the pot.”
Her words broke the tension. Diana felt like laughing and crying, but mostly, she was relieved. “I agree with you, Juanita.”
Bo jumped to his feet and clapped his hands. “Okay, I’ll call the major networks and set you up on the evening news. Let’s do it!”
TWO
Johnson’s Hideaway…
Leona shuddered when thunder rattled the plate glass window and lightning flashed behind the drawn drapes. She pulled the limp boy closer in her arms as they lay together on the bed. Ever since the accident, she couldn’t tolerate a storm. If she had her way, she’d drag the child under the bed, but the broken springs hung down to the floor. So she began singing again, soft and low, so she wouldn’t rile the men in the next room, and she rocked the boy to push back her fear.
The room stank of cigarette smoke and cat box. The combination of odors made Leona sick to her stomach, so she couldn’t rightly remember when she last ate. The past two days were dizzy and unreal, like a bad dream where you never woke up.
After they took the boy, they had driven the back roads until it got good and dark. Darryl and Floyd sat up front, her in the back seat with Johnny knocked out on her lap. Floyd swore the nasty stuff he
poured on a rag and pressed to the kid’s face wouldn’t hurt him none. Each time the boy came ’round, Floyd made Leona press the rag to his nose until he passed out again. But Leona was worried she was giving the kid too much, so when Johnny threw up on her skirt, she only pretended by using the dry end of the rag and didn’t give him no more.
When they come to Johnson’s Hideaway, she laid low on the back seat while Floyd checked in. They backed the rental car clean up to the motel door and snuck her in behind Darryl, and then Floyd carried Johnny under an overcoat with an armload of clothes. Once they were inside, the men locked her and Johnny in the bedroom and made her close the curtains.
Now they were prisoners, but Leona didn’t mind. At least she had a lock on the inside of the door, so that when Darryl went out for supplies an hour ago, she put the bolt between herself and Floyd.
By the time Darryl came back, the burgers and fries he brought were cold and greasy. The boy was too sleepy to eat anyway. Darryl handed her a sack from the drugstore.
“Now, Leona, you give him two of these pills every four hours, you hear?”
“What are they?” Leona held the little pink and white box up to the bed light. It was Benadryl. “Will it hurt him?”
“No. I talked to the man behind the counter myself. It’s the stuff you take for a bee sting. It’ll make him sleepy, that’s all.”
“What’s this?” She pulled out a box of ladies’ hair color and some scissors.
Darryl smiled and ruffled the sleeping boy’s hair. “He’ll look cute as a blond, don’t you reckon?”
Leona had never done hair before. Should she put on the bleach, or do the cutting first? Before she could ask, Darryl left, locking them in the room again.
After that, Leona lost track of time. Life became a blur of waking, then sleeping, and with the drapes closed, a body couldn’t tell night from day. Once the boy peed his pants, so after that she helped him use the toilet after she gave him the sleeping pills. She would hold him gentle, under his arms and help him do his business. He was so little and frail, like a bird.
Like Baby Bird. Leona knew she was losing her mind, but once the idea took hold, she couldn’t let it go. She always knew Bird was out there somewhere looking for his mama, and now he’d come home.
Bird threw up during the night, so she washed his little face and skipped the next pills. When he woke up sniffling and crying for his real mommy, Leona held him close and told him that she was his new mommy. She helped him suck warm milkshake through a straw and fed him little chunks of the biscuit Darryl left in the room for their breakfast.