Death Perception

by Victoria Laurie

  Candice looked right into Mrs. Kelton’s eyes. ‘‘Mr. Delgado has been kidnapped, ma’am, and we have reason to suspect he may have been murdered.’’

  Mrs. Kelton’s face drained of color and her knees seemed to give out a little as she reached for the countertop behind her. ‘‘Oh, God,’’ she said. ‘‘Oh, no!’’

  Candice waited and watched Mrs. Kelton as tears began to stream down her cheeks and she looked anywhere but at us. It was a long minute before Candice spoke again. ‘‘You seem incredibly upset for a woman who was only the acquaintance of Mr. Delgado.’’

  ‘‘Of course I’m upset!’’ she snapped. Then she seemed to catch herself, adding, ‘‘Donovan will be devastated.’’

  ‘‘But you just said that they had ended their business relationship,’’ Candice probed. ‘‘Why would he care if they’re no longer partners?’’

  Mrs. Kelton looked at Candice sharply. ‘‘She told you, didn’t she?’’ she said, her lower lip quivering.

  ‘‘Yes,’’ I said, and gave Candice a look that said I could take over for a minute. ‘‘Mrs. Delgado intimated that you and Mr. Delgado had been quite close. She suspected that’s why her husband might have been kidnapped. Perhaps your husband’s trip out of the country provided him with a nice alibi and he made arrangements of some kind to have Mr. Delgado taken care of?’’

  Mrs. Kelton shook her head vigorously. ‘‘Donovan can be a son of a bitch,’’ she confessed. ‘‘But he wouldn’t have cared about Ricardo and me.’’

  Candice gave her a curious look. ‘‘Why is that exactly?’’

  Mrs. Kelton dabbed at her eyes. ‘‘Because Donovan doesn’t find me attractive,’’ she said bluntly. ‘‘I’m not his type.’’

  My jaw dropped. This woman could have held her own in any beauty pageant. How could a man not find her attractive? ‘‘I find that hard to believe,’’ I said, only then realizing my lie detector hadn’t gone off when she’d made the suggestion.

  ‘‘Oh, trust me,’’ she said with a laugh that held no mirth, ‘‘Donovan isn’t into me. In fact, he’s not really into women. He’s more of a young man’s man, and by that, I mean very young.’’

  A sick coil of alarm settled into my stomach. ‘‘How young exactly?’’ Candice asked pointedly.

  ‘‘Let’s just say it would only be legal in Thailand,’’ Mrs. Kelton said. ‘‘I’m decoration,’’ she added. ‘‘I’m here to keep up appearances.’’

  ‘‘Why would you stay with someone like that?’’ I asked, amazed that anyone would tolerate something so horrible in a partner.

  Mrs. Kelton’s face reddened and she gave me a hard look. ‘‘I have a high school education, Agent Milton. My husband proposed to me when I was eighteen and fresh off the beauty pageant tour. I was just a naive teenager back then, and I’d never had a real job in my life. Look around you—do you think I’d be able to get a job that would afford me to live like this with that for a background?’’

  ‘‘My apologies, ma’am,’’ I said, ducking my chin. ‘‘I meant no disrespect.’’

  Candice tapped her pen against her lip thoughtfully. ‘‘When was the last time you saw Mr. Delgado, Mrs. Kelton?’’

  ‘‘Last week,’’ she said sadly, and the tears seemed to return. ‘‘He had to go out of town for a few days, but he was going to call when he got back in.’’

  ‘‘Do you remember where he was going, specifically?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ she said. ‘‘But he was always flying somewhere in that plane of his. He had a hard time staying still.’’

  Again my radar hummed in my head. ‘‘Mrs. Kelton,’’ I said delicately. ‘‘We have interviewed another woman who claims that she was Mr. Delgado’s girlfriend. Did you know about her?’’

  Mrs. Kelton laughed, but there was little mirth in the sound. ‘‘You mean Bambina?’’ she scoffed, then shook her head. ‘‘Ricardo liked to have a cover too, I suppose. Bambina was nothing to him except an ego boost. He liked to show her off on the golf course, but their relationship certainly wasn’t serious.’’

  ‘‘And yours was?’’ Candice asked.

  Mrs. Kelton’s face reddened again and she stroked her cheek. ‘‘I’d like to think so,’’ she said quietly. ‘‘Besides, the last I heard, Ricky Junior had taken an interest in Bambina.’’

  ‘‘Who told you that?’’ I said.

  ‘‘Ricardo,’’ she said. ‘‘Who else?’’

  ‘‘He knew his girlfriend was cheating on him with his son?’’ Candice said. ‘‘Didn’t that upset him?’’

  Mrs. Kelton shook her head. ‘‘Obviously not,’’ she said. ‘‘I think he even felt relieved.’’

  ‘‘So why was Mrs. Delgado so furious about your affair with her husband, and not so upset with his affair with Bambina?’’ Candice said.

  ‘‘Probably because Ricardo always came back to her after he got through playing with the bimbos. But I’m different,’’ she said. ‘‘He was willing to leave her for good for me.’’

  ‘‘He told you that?’’ I said.

  ‘‘Yes, just last week, in fact. And I believed him, especially when I heard that his wife was filing for divorce. Ricardo said that he was going out of town to tie up some loose ends, and when he got back, he was going to have his attorney move forward with the divorce.’’

  ‘‘When was the last time you talked to Mr. Delgado?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘It would have been last Wednesday,’’ she said. ‘‘Whatever date that was.’’

  Candice and I shared a look. Delgado had been kidnapped either late Friday or early Saturday morning. ‘‘And you hadn’t heard from him since last Wednesday?’’ Candice asked.

  ‘‘No,’’ Mrs. Kelton said. ‘‘Not a word.’’

  Candice got up from her seat and I got up too. ‘‘Thank you for your time, Mrs. Kelton. We appreciate it, especially Agent Robillard.’’

  ‘‘Why especially Agent Robillard?’’ she said as we walked out of the kitchen toward the front door.

  ‘‘Because of his friendship with your husband, of course,’’ Candice said casually. ‘‘Agent Robillard says they go way back to their days in the CIA.’’

  Mrs. Kelton looked surprised. ‘‘Agent Robillard is ex-CIA?’’ she said.

  ‘‘You didn’t know?’’ I asked, watching her intently over my shoulder.

  ‘‘No,’’ she said, and my lie detector said she was telling the truth. ‘‘But then, Donovan doesn’t talk much about those days. He says that some memories are better left in the past.’’

  We arrived at the front door and Mrs. Kelton opened it for us. Before we took our leave, Candice said, ‘‘Again, we appreciate your honesty and cooperation, ma’am. Oh, and one more thing: We’re obviously holding back the details of this case to the press, and we’ve been getting a few reports of eager journalists trying to impersonate FBI agents to get information. That’s actually the lead that Agent Robillard is tracking right now. It seems that someone is even going as far as trying to impersonate him. If anyone comes to your door pretending to be the FBI, or Agent Robillard, do not answer the door unless they give you the password.’’

  ‘‘Password?’’

  ‘‘Yes, Agent Robillard said that anyone coming to your door should say the name Cynthia Frost. If they fail to say the password, then they’re an impostor. If that happens, simply call the police and tell them that someone impersonating the FBI is trespassing. They’ll know what to do.’’

  ‘‘Oh, my,’’ said Mrs. Kelton. ‘‘Do you really think they’ll come here?’’

  ‘‘I’m afraid we suspect a leak in our office, ma’am. Someone’s got ahold of our list of interviewees and has been making the rounds. So far, they’ve been one step ahead, but with your help, we finally might be able to catch the bastard.’’

  ‘‘I’ll do what I can,’’ Mrs. Kelton said. ‘‘And one more thing, Agent Barlow. Do you really think Ricardo is dead?’’

  Candice looked at me and I gave a smal
l nod. ‘‘Unfortunately, ma’am, we have some solid evidence that may in fact be the case.’’

  Mrs. Kelton’s eyes watered again. ‘‘Oh, Ricardo,’’ she whispered.

  I reached up and put my hand on her arm. ‘‘We’re very sorry, Mrs. Kelton.’’

  She nodded and we left the house.

  * * *

  ‘‘That was interesting,’’ said Candice as she and I walked out of the gate and down the street where we could already see Cat parked at the bottom of a hill. ‘‘I thought I told her to hide out a couple of blocks over,’’ Candice said when she saw the blue Mini.

  ‘‘And when have you known Cat to listen to details?’’ I asked. ‘‘Should we call her?’’

  ‘‘Nah, let’s walk and talk this out.’’

  ‘‘Good,’’ I said. ‘‘We now know that Kelton didn’t appear to have motive for kidnapping Delgado, and the fact that he’s out of the country makes it seem like he isn’t even aware that Delgado’s been abducted.’’

  ‘‘What does your radar say about that theory?’’

  I swirled the idea in my head and came back with an affirmative. ‘‘Kelton didn’t kidnap Delgado,’’ I said. ‘‘Someone else did.’’

  ‘‘And how interesting that Delgado was really going to leave his wife. I wonder what loose end he had to fly out of town for.’’

  My radar hummed. ‘‘I don’t know, but we keep hearing about this supposed trip out of town, and yet we know he was at the strip club on Friday. Maybe we need to look into his flight plan and see where the hell he went?’’

  ‘‘Good idea,’’ Candice said. ‘‘And as it happens, I know a guy who can give us that info.’’

  ‘‘Of course you do,’’ I laughed.

  ‘‘What?’’ Candice said. ‘‘So I know some people. Is that a crime?’’

  ‘‘With the types of people you claim to know? Oh, I think it may be, yes.’’

  Candice rolled her eyes. ‘‘Whatever. But, speaking of knowing people, what about Robillard and Kelton?’’ Candice said. ‘‘Do you really think they knew each other?’’

  ‘‘My gut says yes, but it’s proving it that’s going to be difficult.’’ And then an idea hit me and I grabbed Candice’s arm and stopped her. ‘‘There is one person who might know,’’ I said.

  ‘‘Who?’’

  ‘‘I don’t know his name,’’ I admitted.

  ‘‘That’s helpful,’’ she said.

  I shook my head. ‘‘No, I mean I don’t know his name yet, but I may know how to find out.’’

  ‘‘Who are you talking about?’’ she said, growing impatient.

  ‘‘Raymond Robillard is the ASAC, or the assistant special agent in charge,’’ I explained. ‘‘And the guy above him, the SAC, used to be Robillard’s boss at the CIA before bringing the both of them over to the FBI.’’

  ‘‘Is this the guy that told Dutch to investigate Robillard quietly?’’

  ‘‘Yes!’’ I said. ‘‘We’ve got to get in touch with him.’’

  ‘‘So let me ask you,’’ she said, ‘‘if the SAC has known all along that Dutch was digging into Robillard’s past, why the hell did he send Robillard to investigate what happened to Dutch?’’

  That stumped me. ‘‘I’m not sure,’’ I admitted. ‘‘But I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.’’

  Candice looked at me skeptically as we reached the car. ‘‘How’d it go?’’ Cat asked, getting out of the car so Candice could drive.

  ‘‘It went,’’ Candice said tiredly. ‘‘How about we find a safe place for the night and get some takeout?’’

  ‘‘Works for me,’’ I said. ‘‘Besides, I’ve got some calls to make.’’

  * * *

  Candice wasn’t taking any chances at being spotted close to the city, so we ended up renting a cabin near Lake Mead about thirty miles southeast of Las Vegas. ‘‘How do you know about this place?’’ Cat asked as we pulled up to a stop in front of our cabin, which was one of twelve spread out over about a half mile of land with a distant view of the lake.

  ‘‘Came here on my honeymoon,’’ she said.

  Cat and I both looked skeptically at the cabin. ‘‘I see Lenny spared no expense,’’ Cat said.

  ‘‘You saw his trailer,’’ Candice said as she got out of the car and stretched. ‘‘He never was the big spender he thought he was unless it came to placing a bet.’’

  ‘‘At least the pizza smells good,’’ I said as I got out holding the box that had kept my lap warm for the last ten miles.

  ‘‘Some of the best in town,’’ Candice assured me. ‘‘You won’t be disappointed.’’

  We entered the cabin, which admittedly was far nicer on the inside than I’d expected, comprising a small sitting area, a galley kitchen, two separate bedrooms, and a pullout sleeper sofa, which I offered to take. We ate our pizza at the kitchen table and told Cat what had happened at Mrs. Kelton’s. ‘‘That’s horrible!’’ she exclaimedwhen we told her about Donovan’s sexual preferences.

  ‘‘Yep,’’ I said. ‘‘He’s a sick bastard. Seems like he and Robillard ought to know each other if they’re members of the sick-bastard club.’’

  ‘‘How were you going to find out the name of this SAC again?’’ Candice asked me.

  Cat looked confused, so I filled her in on my plan to contact Robillard’s boss. ‘‘I just need to get into my e-mail,’’ I said. ‘‘I remember a couple of months ago Dutch sent me some directions to a restaurant I was going to meet him at, and he mentioned that he might be late because he was meeting with so-and-so, the SAC.’’

  ‘‘You have no memory for names,’’ Cat said with a tsk. ‘‘Me? I remember my kindergarten teacher and all of my classmates.’’

  That made me laugh. ‘‘It’s true, I barely remember kindergarten.’’

  We finished dinner and Candice loaned me her laptop. I hopped online and logged into my e-mail, sorting through my folders until I found one that I thought could be the one I was looking for. I gasped when I opened it.

  ‘‘What?’’ Cat said, peering over my shoulder. ‘‘Oh, look, that’s a cute picture of the two of you.’’

  My eyes watered. The file I’d opened had been sent from Dutch. He’d taken me for a long ride on his motorcycle out to the beach along Lake St. Clair and we’d watched the sun set together. The photo was taken from the digital camera his mother had sent him on his birthday and it showed the two of us smiling in the lens while Dutch held it at arm’s length. ‘‘He’s alive,’’ I said, and sucked in a sob. ‘‘Oh, thank God!’’

  Candice came over to also peer over my shoulder. ‘‘We’ll find him, Abs,’’ she reassured me. ‘‘I promise.’’

  I nodded and clicked the file closed. After watching Delgado fade away, I felt a bit scared to linger over photographs. A few minutes later I found the e-mail I’d been looking for. ‘‘Special Agent in Charge Bill Gaston,’’ I said. ‘‘All we need to do is call the FBI and ask to speak to him.’’

  Candice looked at her watch. ‘‘It’s nine p.m. Eastern time,’’ she said. ‘‘Maybe it’d be better to wait until tomorrow morning, first thing?’’

  I jotted down the name on a piece of paper. ‘‘Good idea,’’ I said, then reopened the file with Dutch’s photo for one more quick peek.

  ‘‘Save that to the desktop,’’ Candice advised.

  ‘‘Why?’’ I said, glancing at her over my shoulder.

  ‘‘Because I think you’ll need to reassure yourself from time to time, Abs,’’ she said gently.

  ‘‘You’re a good friend, Candice.’’

  ‘‘Back atcha, girlfriend.’’

  * * *

  Before we all turned in, Candice made a call to her ‘‘guy’’ about Delgado’s flight plan. It was a short conversation and she filled us in after she hung up with him. ‘‘Delgado didn’t go anywhere,’’ she said.

  ‘‘What?’’ I said. ‘‘But Mrs. Kelton said he’d gone somewhere to tie up some loose ends.
’’

  Candice shook her head. ‘‘No flight plan was filed,’’ she reported. ‘‘My buddy said the last time Delgado’s plane put in a flight plan was three weeks ago. He flew to New York and back.’’

  ‘‘That would explain why everyone was surprised when it turned out Delgado and Chase were in town the night he was kidnapped,’’ Cat said. ‘‘Didn’t you tell me that Laney thought Chase was going out of town?’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ I said, scratching my head as my radar said it didn’t jibe with the report from Candice’s source.

  ‘‘They could have driven somewhere,’’ Candice offered. ‘‘Maybe they drove out of town?’’

  ‘‘What for?’’ I asked.

  ‘‘Maybe they drove to L.A.?’’

  I shook my head. ‘‘Something doesn’t fit here, ladies,’’ I said.

  ‘‘What?’’ Cat asked.

  ‘‘I wish I knew.’’

  We talked for a while after that and came up with possible theories for Delgado’s whereabouts leading up to his kidnapping. I didn’t know where he and Chase had gone, but I was certain that wherever their trip had taken them was integral to why they’d been abducted.

  That night I slept fitfully. My mind felt full of information, like a million tiny pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle that needed to be sorted through to find out how everything interlaced and connected. At the end of that puzzle was my boyfriend, but I kept feeling like I was missing something obvious. Like I had the answer, but I just didn’t know which pieces held the answer and how it could connect me to Dutch.

  At some point I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, I was staring at a huge oak tree. The branches of the tree were thick with green fluffy leaves and on each leaf was written a name in black ink. I went to the tree and pulled one of the lower branches toward me. Just then, my deceased grandmother stepped out from behind the tree. ‘‘Hello, Abby-gabby,’’ she said.

  ‘‘Grams!’’ I shouted, and flew into her arms. ‘‘Ohmigod! I’m so glad to see you!’’