Angels in Disguise (27 page)

Detective Williams moved toward the door. “I want to get a picture and description of Tiffany so I can send it out over the Amber Alert system as soon as possible. Its proved to be a good system for locating missing children. The faster we can get it displayed, the better."

"Excellent idea. I'm going to do some more scouting. Not sure what I'm looking for, but I can't hang around doing nothing."

Hawkman scurried back to his vehicle and drove aimlessly for an hour before he found himself at Tulip's apartment complex. He had no idea what drew him here, since he knew she was house-sitting at her father's place. Circling the area, he didn't spot her car and her flat was pitch black.

Resigned to the fact he couldn't do much at three in the morning, he decided to go home and snatch a couple hours of sleep. Depending on Jennifer's condition, he'd continue the search in the daylight hours.

Hawkman arose the next morning to find his wife in the kitchen drinking coffee, her bald head hidden by a pretty mauve colored turban. “That's a good color on you?"

"Thanks, but don't get used to it.” She refilled her cup. “Did you find Tiffany?"

He snatched his mug off the top of the refrigerator. “No. It's like she disappeared into thin air. Williams is afraid some maniac spotted the nightgown clad little girl. It makes me sick to my stomach. I'm going back out today, if you're feeling okay. The police are out in full force. They've probably already got her abduction up on the Amber Alert."

Jennifer sat down on one of the kitchen stools and ran her finger around the coffee cup rim. “It gives me the shivers to think of what could be happening to that precious little girl right now."

Hawkman rubbed her shoulder. “Let's pray nothing. Maybe she wandered too far and things look different at night, so she might have just lost her bearing. She's been preached to for a couple of weeks about being wary of strangers. Her fears could have caused her to hide from the very ones searching for her."

She reached up and patted his hand. “I hope you're right."

"So how are you feeling?"

"Fine and my next treatment isn't until Monday, so I'll probably be okay for several days. Hopefully that will give you time to find Tiffany. The only thing I ask is if you'd pick up the thing I need in town. With my immune system taking such a beating, I don't want to be around the public."

"No problem. Where's your list?"

She picked up a small paper pad off the counter, ripped off the top sheet and handed it to him. “You can get everything at the market, so you won't have to run from store to store. I really appreciate it. And there's no hurry for any of those items."

"I'll pick up anything you want."

"The main thing right now is find that little girl.” She stood. “Shouldn't you eat?"

"No appetite. I'll grab a bite in town if I get hungry."

She gave him a hug. “Good luck on your search."

Hawkman left the house and headed for Medford. He called Paul only to hear a very tired voice come over the line. “This is Casey. Any news?"

"Nothing. We're worried sick."

"How's Delia?"

"She happened to have some Valium and took one last night after the police left, but only if I promised on my life to wake her if I heard anything."

"I discovered over my police scanner, they have Tiffany's description on the Amber Alert. You never know who might call in with a good lead. The police will check out all of them."

"The waiting is the drain. It's really getting to me."

Hawkman could hear the catch in Paul's voice. “I'm going to talk to Detective Williams, then I'll search on my own again. I'll give you a call later today."

"Thanks, Mr. Casey."

When Hawkman reached the city, he headed straight for the police station. He'd already contacted the detective and knew he'd be there for a short period of time. Parking in the lot, he hurried up the steps only to find Williams surrounded by local reporters in front of the building. Hawkman could hear the news people asking about Tiffany Ryan and watched the detective as he cleverly answered some of their repetitive questions.

Williams finally raised a hand. “I've told you all I can without jeopardizing this case. Interview over.” He turned and walked into the station. The gang with their microphones hooked to recorders and notepads in hand were stopped at the door by several uniformed officers.

Hawkman made his way around the group and followed Williams to his office. After they were both inside, the detective slammed the door.

"Damn reporters. They ask some of the dumbest questions I've ever heard. What's happened to journalism? Don't they teach them how to report anymore?” Grumbling he sat down at his desk.

"You did a good job of turning them off."

The detective leaned back and sighed loudly. “Well, I've barred the whole bunch from coming into the police station or we'd have them swarming in here like a bunch of bees. My men know to stop them the minute I step inside."

"Yeah, I noticed. Good idea.” Hawkman stood observing Williams. “Did you get any rest last night?"

"No. And we haven't found the little girl either. We've had a few calls from people thinking they'd seen her, but nothing panned out. You have any suggestions?"

"I don't even know which way to turn. Yet, I feel she's close.” Hawkman adjusted his hat. “I'm not going to waste any more time. Just wanted to check and see if you've come up with anything before I proceeded. Why don't you try to get a few hours sleep. You look beat. Keep your cell phone nearby and I'll contact you if I come across any leads."

Williams raked his fingers across the bristles on his chin. “Yeah, I must look like death warmed over. Think I'll do what you suggest and go home for awhile. I could use a good shower and a few winks."

The two men left the office.

In the hallway, the detective poked Hawkman's arm. “Let's go out the back way. I'm in no mood to face those unanswerable questions again."

They parted ways at the corner, and Hawkman headed for his SUV. He glanced back and grinned. Williams said the reporters would be waiting and sure enough they were crowded around the front door of the station.

He drove toward town and stopped at the butcher shop. The bell on the door jingled as he stepped inside. It surprised him to see a young Asian man behind the counter. “Hello, who are you?"

"My name John,” he said with a big grin, showing a row of nice straight teeth. “I help Mr. Withers with shop."

"Is he back from his trip?"

"No, but soon. Ms. Withers needed me this morning. She'll be here at noon. Can I help you, please."

"I'm curious. How often do you help at the shop?"

He gave Hawkman a big toothy smile. “Oh, maybe twice a week."

"You cut the meat, too?"

"Oh, no. I only help sell. I know nothing about butchering. That's Mr. Withers’ specialty.” He laughed nervously. “And Ms. Tulip Withers."

"I need to talk to Ms. Withers about business. You say she'll be in at noon. How come she's not here this morning? I understood she'd take care of the shop for her dad while he's gone."

"She called early and asked me to open the store. Said she had things to do before coming in.” He threw back his small shoulders. “I very trustworthy, have key."

"I'm confident you are. I'll come back after lunch."

"You have name? I can tell Ms. Withers to expect you."

"Yes. Tom Casey."

John pointed a finger in the air. “I know you. You private investigator. I hear about you. You once a spy."

"That was a long time ago."

Hawkman turned to leave, but stopped when John spoke again.

"You no buy any meat?"

"Not this morning."

"Is there trouble?"

"Why would you ask?"

John's shoulders sagged. “You serious man. Came in here all business, but no buy anything."

"Tell Ms. Withers I'll be back."

Hawkman left the butcher shop wondering if Tulip had word of her father's return. When he arrived at his office, he sat down at his desk and booted up the computer. He'd run a search on Mrs. Thompson's aunt before leaving the office yesterday and sent a query to several assisted living homes. Three answers awaited him. The last one hit the jackpot and stated the woman now resided at a place in her hometown called The Homecare Facility for Alzheimer's Patients.

He picked up the phone and called the Thompson's. They appeared very relieved the aunt was still alive and thanked Hawkman profusely for locating her. Now they could handle things from here on out.

Hawkman had no more replaced the receiver than it rang. When he answered, the muffled voice hit him like a shot between the eyes. ‘I told you something would happen if you didn't drop the case.’ He stiffened and punched the record button, but the line went dead. He glanced at the caller ID and noted it came from the pay phone. This time the voice sounded familiar.

Hawkman stared at the instrument for a few seconds, then punched the play back button. Unfortunately, he'd only caught the last two words on the recorder. Hardly enough to make any sort of identification. But this time he thought there was something about the tone of the voice he'd heard before, or was it just because he'd already received several of these calls? This person obviously had Tiffany. He prayed the kidnapper hadn't harmed her. He swiveled the chair around with his back to the door and contemplated calling Detective Williams. He felt in his gut Tiffany was being held somewhere in the area. The call had come from the same pay phone on Main Street as the others. Maybe he should ask the store owners closest to the phone if they'd noticed a person making a call. He slapped his hand on the desk. No busy clerk would pay that much attention.

He picked up the handset and punched in the detective's number. At that moment, a change in the light of the room made him twist in his chair.

Detective Williams never reached home before he received an urgent call to come back to the station for some unfinished police business. Things eventually calmed down and he finally caught a moment to stretch out on the small day bed in his office. He'd no more dozed off when his cell rang. He fumbled in his pocket for the phone, and put it to his ear. “Hello,” he grumbled. But all he heard was a groan and a loud thump, like someone had fallen. He sat up and glanced at the caller ID. Slapping it back on his ear he held it tightly. “Hawkman, are you all right?” A gasping voice came over the line.

"Call an ambulance, someone just tried to kill me."

Williams immediately dialed the emergency number, and called for a back-up as he dashed through the lobby. Two officers trailed him, jumped into their black and white, then followed the detective's unmarked vehicle with sirens blaring.

When they reached Hawkman's office, the ambulance had already arrived and were rushing up the steps. Clyde, in his white apron and floured hair, stood outside his bakery with wide eyes.

The detective took the steps two at a time and gulped when he spotted the red smeared carpet. Hawkman lay on the floor where the paramedic had cut off his shirt and jacket, revealing slashes in his upper and lower arm. After the young man called for the stretcher, he glanced up at Williams.

"He's lost a lot of blood."

"Has he been shot?"

"No. The wounds appear like deep cuts."

Williams leaned close to Hawkman's face. “Who did this?"

"Don't know, everything blurred,” he whispered. “I had my back to the door when he came in. On me before I could make a move. Barely missed getting it in the back."

The second paramedic gave the detective a little nudge with the stretcher. “We need to get him to the hospital."

Williams jumped back out of the way. “Sorry."

After the ambulance left, the detective turned to his officers. “Tape off the area and get the lab boys over here. Maybe they'll find some fingerprints. Have to wait until I talk to the doctor or Hawkman to find out exactly what made the injury. But I suspect a knife, so search the alley and in the trash bins for any suspicious looking weapon."

He jogged down the stairs where Clyde still stood spellbound by all the activity. “Did you see anyone come into Hawkman's office?"

Blinking, he stared into space, then slowly twisted his head back and forth. “No.” He gestured toward the bakery, “My store sets back a few feet and I can't see who goes up those stairs. I'm usually at the back with my ovens and only come out front when I hear the bell ring above my door. I hurried outside when I heard the sirens.” Clyde grimaced. “Is Hawkman going to be okay?"

Williams patted him on the shoulder and a cloud of flour dust lifted into the air. “I'm sure he'll be fine. It doesn't appear his injuries are life-threatening. I'm going to the hospital to check, but I'll be back shortly and let you know how he's doing. My officers will remain here to secure the upstairs."

"Thank you.” Clyde turned with his head bowed, and strolled back into the bakery.

When Williams climbed into his vehicle, he didn't want to waste any time, so left the red light on top and punched the siren. As he squealed around the corners, his thoughts went to Jennifer. Would Hawkman want him to contact her? He'd wait until a physician had examined the private investigator, then he'd have something to report. When he reached the hospital, he quickly found a parking place, and rushed into emergency. At the desk, he showed his badge. “Did you just admit Hawk ... uh, Tom Casey?"

She glanced at the clipboard on the counter. “Yes, Detective Williams, the doctors are getting him ready for surgery."

Williams snapped up his head in surprise. “Surgery? How serious is he hurt?"

"All I can tell you is his condition needs special attention."

"Whew, didn't expect anything but stitches,” he said, and turned away. The detective slowly walked outside and decided to call Jennifer. This is just the news she needs to hear while going through the effects of chemotherapy. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in Hawkman's home number.

"Hello, Jennifer, Williams here.” He heard her suck in a deep breath.