Best Defense (17 page)

Hammonds stared at the note, nodded, then turned to Sargent. “I'll need some manpower to help in putting the money in place.”

twenty-seven

While Sargent and Hammonds
discussed the best way to meet the money placement demands, I limped outside for fresh air. The pressure of the night was getting to me, and the pain in my side wasn't helping any. How Hammonds handled such pressure, I had no idea. He had crawled into his attorney shell and shut out the world. He gave me the impression that his only mission was delivering the money as ordered. Perhaps that was his secret to being a successful defense counsel. Ignore the world and concentrate on the sole objective.

I took a deep breath and decided to rest in the gazebo for a bit. It was one of those times when I wanted to be alone, to have a few minutes without interruption, to allow my mind to free-float, to land wherever it chose.

Naturally, it landed on the kidnapping. The logistics still baffled me. Hammonds had to get a million dollars in a used box to each of four locations. The kidnappers would hit one of the sites and pick up the ransom. Or, they'd hit all four and pick the one
they wanted. Or, they'd hit all four and take all the money. Or … There were so many possibilities, all of them bad, my head threatened to spin off m
y shoulders.

I stared into the eastern sky, wondering if I saw a crescent of light slipping up. Sunrise? Or the Fort Lauderdale skyline? I eased myself onto a bench in the gazebo and considered the day ahead. Unless they found a clear fingerprint on the cigarette pack and identified it, I was still without any real leads. The case was like one of those dreams where you're pursuing something that only appears as an indistinct shape, just beyond your reach. You're straining, attempting to run faster, attempting to catch up, but making no progress. The image stays beyond your fingertips and unidentifiable. In my situation, it was the kidnappers, and they were as undistinguishable as any nightmare I ever had.

I couldn't expect identification from the mask for several days, perhaps weeks. DNA takes a while to process, no matter how much you might want to speed it along, or how fast TV cops do it. No need wasting my energy on that. By the time it came in, things would be resolved—one way or the other.

I leaned into my hands, elbows on the table. The urge to put my head down and block reality was strong. Hopelessness and helplessness threatened to overwhelm me. Maybe it would have except the front door of the house opened, and Madeline Hammonds exited.

She paused, scanned the area, then headed toward me. I braced, not having a clue what to expect. So far, she'd been more a pain in the ass than anything else. But I couldn't disagree with her argument that I was not qualified to find Ashley. My performance so far did not inspire confidence, even mine.

“May I join you?” she said.

“Of course.” What was I to say? It was her brother's gazebo.

“Tough night?” She settled onto the bench a few feet from me.

“I've had better.”

“One of the policemen said you were assaulted. Is it true?”

I studied her, wondering if she had a motive behind her interest. Her attitude appeared to be genuine. “Some thug and I had a difference of opinion. Nothing serious.”

Silence followed. I had nothing to add, and, if she did, she kept it to herself.

After what seemed like several minutes, she said, “I love to sit here in the wee hours. It's so restful. Makes me forget the unpleasantness in the world—at least for a few minutes. Some might say the air is hot and humid. For me, it feels good, so different from New York.” She looked at me. “I was here earlier tonight, before you arrived. I hope you don't mind, but I said a prayer for Ashley and one for you. Half of it was answered.” She ran the back of a finger under her eye.

It was my time to examine her, one might even say stare. I'd sized her up as a hard-boiled businesswoman and no fan of mine. Yet, here she was opening up to me. Should I be wary, or had I found an ally?

She sighed. “I was tough on you when we first met, said some things that were out of line. Since then, I've watched you. I've watched the policemen watching you. I've come to the conclusion that John made the correct decision when he hired you. I might still wish he had more police presence, but you're the right person to lead.”

I was so shocked I almost forgot my manners. “Uh … thank you … I think. I hope your newfound confidence in me isn't misplaced.”

“Those messages from the kidnappers,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I can't imagine the type of person who'd write them, much less kidnap Ashley. This is your world, isn't it? These are the kind of people you have to associate with.” She stood and paced. “I never knew I lived such a sheltered existence. I'm ashamed to say I had no idea that such sub-human forms exist. Who are they? Where do they live? How do they face themselves in the mirror? How do they find others like themselves to associate with? Do they have friends who know what they're doing? It's just too incredible for me to comprehend. I'm not of this world, am I?”

“Ms. Hammonds, you're right. This is not your world. It's not something the vast majority of society knows anything about. For that, we must be thankful. Moreover, although John defends these people in court, this is not his world either. I'm surprised at how well he's coping.”

“Yes, I'm very proud of him.” She paused. “I'd feel much better if you'd call me Maddy. Ms. Hammonds is so formal, and there's no formal in this situation.” She sat down. “Beth, I'm sorry I was hard on you. I didn't know how much I didn't know. I couldn't imagine we'd get to where we are this morning. Do you really think they'll
sell
Ashley?”

I nodded. “Yes. Don't make the mistake of thinking they have any morals. That's one of the things that keeps them on the street. The judicial system will not accept that people so totally devoid of human emotions exist—and prey on society. Instead of putting them away forever, we pat them on the back and give them a second chance.”

She looked at me, and I could see a degree of understanding forming in her eyes.

She said, “I feel funny asking, but I'd like to go with you today. Is that possible? I know I asked before, and you said no, but I want to do something … anything to help Ashley. I feel so worthless, just sitting and waiting. Can I go?” She held up a hand. “I promise to stay out of the way and do whatever you say.”

Maybe I liked her better when she had me labeled as incompetent. This new Maddy was tough to pigeonhole. Did she want to accompany me to look over my shoulder, or was she sincere in her desire to help? Or was this case making me paranoid? Whichever it was, I didn't intend to take her along. But how to weasel out without costing me my newfound
friend
.

It took a moment, then an idea formed. “There is something you can do that's more important than a ride-along. When I picked up the DVD tonight, I found a partial pack of cigarettes and a fright mask. I can't be sure, but they might belong to the kidnapper. Maybe he dropped them while planting the envelope.” Telling her about Dabba was not in the equation. I still found Dabba's actions hard to believe. “Anyway, I turned them over to the police, hoping they could lift fingerprints and identify him. It could take a few hours or the rest of the day. What I need is someone here in the house to keep the pressure on. John will most likely be setting up the money drops. I have several stops I need to make and will be moving as fast as I can. I'd appreciate it if you'd stay here and keep reminding the police we need those prints. What do you say?”

She gave me a look of disappointment. “I can do that. And yes,
I agree I will probably be more helpful this way than trying to become an instant Wonder Woman.” She smiled. “You're pretty sneaky,
aren't you?”

So much for fooling her. “Truth. I move fast and loose, and sometimes that puts me in situations any sane woman would stay away from. I don't have time to take care of an amateur. However, that doesn't mean I don't need your help here. I do.”

“You're on. I'll harass the police every hour on the hour until they give us what we need.”

We did air kisses, then she rose and headed into the house. I changed my position to ease the ache in my ribs, then checked the skyline again. No evidence of the sun.

I returned to my study of the situation. Unless I received an identification and address from the police, my best bet was to find the right pickup place, follow the kidnappers to Ashley, and whisk her out of harm's way. All I needed was the wisdom of
Dumbledore
, a
Firebolt
for transportation, and the magic of
Harry Potter
. Unfortunately, all I had was me. No, not quite. I also had Bob and his people. The last brought a smile to my face. Maybe I wasn't as lost as I felt. As soon as the sun rose, I knew whom to call. In the meantime, a short nap wouldn't hurt.

_____

An impish sunbeam found its way into my left eye, prying it open. I sat up with a stiff neck and the disappointment of having a hangover without a party-evening to cause it. Also, I discovered that while I slept with my head down on the table in the gazebo, some foul creature had crawled through my mouth, leaving a horrible taste. Too much coffee, not enough dental floss and toothpaste. After running my tongue over my teeth a couple of times, I arrived at the conclusion I needed to brush them, then find some breakfast. I was hungry.

I went into Hammonds' house and availed myself of the facilities. Using the travel toothbrush and toothpaste I'd packed, I made my mouth taste better. My hair still looked like a fright wig, so I stripped and jumped into the shower. Five minutes later, I toweled myself dry and combed out my wet hair as best I could. After redressing in the clothes I'd taken off, I couldn't see much improvement, but I felt better—all except the hole in my stomach.

I shifted to the kitchen, hoping to find someone with a big breakfast and a willingness to share. Nope, only a pot of hot coffee. I filled a cup and sat down to sip and plan my day.

_____

Ninety minutes later, I pulled into Bob's parking lot, got out, and entered through the back entrance. Walking in, I saw Bob leave the men's dorm as Dot came from the women's.

“Hey, guys,” I said. “Do we have enough people?”

“No problem,” Bob said. “As soon as you called, I put out the word. So far, we have Dot, Ralph, Viaduct, and Blister. There'll probably be others checking in as the day goes by. How many do you need?”

I looked at Dot who wore her homeless attire. In today's outfit, she'd have a hard time getting into Walmart, much less being a Greeter.

She glared at me. “Before you start, don't think you're skipping me, dearie. I'll be with you every step of the way.”

“But I need you to keep an eye on a drop site. You—”

“Dearie, anybody can do that. Somebody's got to cover your back. That's me. You tell 'er, Bob.”

Bob shrugged. “She is good in the pinch.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “But there are four drops. I need at least one at every location and would prefer to have someone at each place you can get in and out. That's a minimum of eight. Think we can come up with that many
invisible
people? I don't want anyone hurt, so they have to know how to disappear.”

Dot cackled. “Only the live ones know how to disappear. The ones that didn't learn ain't with us no more.”

“I'll take care of it,” Bob said.

The back door opened, and Street walked in. “Heard y'all need some hep. Ain't much goin' on out there so figgered I'd see what's up.”

I wanted to hug him, but decided to save my nasal passages. Street lived up to his homeless tag. He smelled like he'd slept in a dumpster. No, I didn't ask.

“Git in there and take a shower,” Dot said. “We got work to do and that stink ain't gonna cut it. Go,
now
.”

Street shrugged and headed into the men's dorm. The rest of us went into the bar where a pot of coffee begged for our attention.

twenty-eight

No complications to my
plan. I'd post one, preferably two, of my homeless friends at each drop. They'd watch through the night. If the kidnappers showed, my friends would get a license plate number and car description—if they could without endangering themselves. Anything more than that was candy. Once the kidnappers left the area, they would call me with whatever information they had gained.

Simple plan, but I believed simplicity was called for. When the kidnappers claimed their prize, we'd have our best chance to track them. Not apprehend them or get in their way, but track them.
That let out anyone in a position of authority. They'd stand out like
a camel in a sheep pen. The homeless knew how to not be seen, and that was the secret ingredient. Night after night, they disappeared in plain view. I had faith they could do it once more, and Ashley would benefit.

I laid out my route from north to south so Murder on the Beac
h Mystery Bookstore was my first stop. It was on Northeast 2nd Avenue in Delray Beach, about three blocks north of West Atlantic Avenue, the main drag through the city center. Dot, Street, and Viaduct were with me. I figured Street for the bookstore and Viaduct for the bandstand at Mizner Park. Back at Bob's place, each had evinced a familiarity with the area. Dot, of course, would stay with me. If Bob came up with other volunteers, I'd get them to their destinations somehow. Maybe my newfound friend, Maddy, would drive them. If she wanted South Florida reality, my homeless friends were it.

At the intersection of Lake Ida Road and Swinton Avenue, a few blocks north and west of the store, I stopped and let Street, Viaduct, and Dot out. If the kidnappers were watching the alley behind the store, I didn't want my accomplices compromised. Viaduct, Dot, and I agreed to meet in an hour. Street would stay and cover the site.

Murder on the Beach Mystery Bookstore was located in a small
strip mall containing an Italian restaurant, a U.S. Post Office, the usual Chinese restaurant, a couple of medical offices, and several other small shops. As with most strip malls, some units were vacant. I drove around back and through the alley. It was a narrow, one-lane blacktop without much to distinguish it. As described in the kidnappers' note, a dumpster sat near the rear door of the bookstore. It was far enough from the wall for a large box to fit and be invisible unless you were looking for it. Across the alley was an apartment complex with balconies. I assumed the occupants did not pay extra for the view.

As a drop site, it had negatives and a single positive. The positive was its isolation in the middle of the city. I doubted there was much traffic through the alley after the stores closed. In fact, there was probably little activity when the stores were open. The biggest negative was there were only one way in and one way out. Plus, theoretically, the police could commandeer one of the apartments and watch the alley. But the kidnappers had negated surveillance with their ploy of keeping Ashley for a week after the payment. So overall, it looked pretty good for their purpose.

After learning all I could about the alley, I parked out front and strolled along the sidewalk. The most interesting place was the bookstore, displaying books in the windows along with several posters showing book covers and author pictures. A sign on the door announced a signing by Deborah Sharp, an author whom I'd read. She wrote a humorous series featuring Mama getting into scrapes and her daughter, Mace, rescuing her. Lots of chuckles. In some ways, Ms. Sharp's stories made me mindful of my mother, making me feel bad I wasn't more supportive.

The store was open so I went in. An attractive woman stood behind the counter. I stopped inside the door and looked around at a small room with every available inch packed with bookshelves and books.

“Can I help you find something?” she asked.

“Nice place,” I said. “I love the name. Does it have a story?”

“Not really. It's the only bookstore in Florida specializing in mysteries. And every mystery has at least one murder. Thus, I put murder in the title.”

“On the beach?” I said. “Not exactly.”

“True, but my first store was in Miami Beach, and that one was on the beach. So, when I moved to Delray, I kept the title. Besides, it's Delray
Beach
, right?”

“Touché.” I stuck out my hand. “I'm Beth.”

“Joanne.”

I handed her a business card.

She looked at it. “Beth Bowman, Private Investigator. For real? I have a ton of books in here about you.”

I grinned. “I'm sure those PIs lead far more exciting lives than I do. My cases are on the humdrum side. Nothing to write a book about. But I am working today, trying to locate a husband for his wife. He has memory issues and may simply be lost. His wife says he loves to read, mostly mysteries. Have you seen anyone strange around here in the last few days?”

Joanne smiled. “I told you this is a mystery bookstore. You've described half my customers.”

“Touché again. Maybe I should reword my question.”

“No, I understand.” She appeared to think about it. “There was
a guy the other day. He was out back near the dumpster when I took
out some trash. I thought he might be looking for boxes, so I offered him some. When you receive book shipments almost every day, the boxes pile up. I keep some and donate most of the others to anyone who wants them. Anyway, the man backed up, ‘No, no, I have to leave.' Then he quickly walked away.”

Bingo, I wanted to scream. That had to be my guy. “Can you describe him?”

“Oh, my,” Joanne said. “Let me see. He was tall, well over six feet—maybe six-three, six-four. He had a paunch, but didn't appear much overweight. No facial hair. Nothing really definite except his height. Sorry, that's as good as I can do.”

I thought back to my attacker at the soccer field when he turned me to look at his face. His hand on the nape of my neck had forced my head up. Yes, he was tall, quite tall. “Thanks, but I don't think that's my lost husband. My guy is short and skinny. Anyone else?”

“No. We don't get a lot of extraneous traffic through here. Most of the people I see are regulars.”

I thanked her, then checked the shelf labeled
New Releases
. There was an autographed P.J. Parrish I hadn't read, so I bought it, thanked Joanne, and went to my car. Once inside, I reviewed what I had learned—not much. Nothing I didn't expect. The man Joanne saw could have been one of the kidnappers scoping out the area, most likely the same guy who attacked me. It was the first time I felt like I had found a trace. Didn't get me any closer to Ashley, but made me feel a little better.

I took out my notebook and made notes about what I'd learned. On a scale of one to ten, I gave the alley a six.

After retrieving Dot and Viaduct, we discussed our impressions of the alley as a ransom drop location.

Viaduct said, “If I was in a pinch, I might stay there, but I'd be up and off early. Not the kind of place I'd feel safe.”

“I agree,” Dot said. “One of the things I learned since I been on the street is always look for the way out. Now, in this case, it's not just out of the alley, but out of the area. Wouldn't they want some place they wouldn't get bogged down in traffic? I mean, most any way you go, you got little city streets with lots of red lights and such.”

“Good point. They could get bottled up pretty easy in downtown Delray Beach. Maybe I better lower my grade to a five.”

“That's high enough for me,” Dot said.

Viaduct nodded.

I crossed to Federal Highway and headed south toward Mizner Park in Boca Raton. Mistake. Although it was only a few miles, there were what seemed like ten-thousand traffic lights, one on almost every corner, giving strength to Dot's words about using the bookstore alley. Of course, heading in the opposite direction to catch I-95 with its bumper-to-bumper traffic probably wouldn't have been any faster.

North of Mizner Park, I pulled into a strip mall and let Dot and Viaduct out. Dot and I agreed to meet at the same place in one hour, as we had in Delray Beach. Then I continued my trip south.

I found a spot in the parking garage and hoofed it back to the amphitheater, then worked my way to its rear. The dumpster was as described in the ransom note. NE Mizner Boulevard bordered it on one side and Federal Highway on another. Ingress and egress offered no problems for the kidnappers—unless the police were ready to pounce on any car that pulled into the driveway. The small turnaround where the dumpster sat had only one way in and the same way out. Again, I assumed the kidnappers thought holding Ashley for seven days after the pickup would keep the police at bay. I gave the location a five on my scale.

I met Dot at our rendezvous, and we headed toward Bob's. Viaduct had disappeared into the scenery—just another homeless victim with no face.

“So?” I said.

“Same as the other one. Maybe even worse. No good way to escape.”

Once again, we agreed. I wondered if I should be worried about that. I mean, I was, by definition, the professional. If I only saw the same things as Dot, maybe I wasn't so professional after all.

My plan was to pick up Ralph and Blister and take them to their assignments. I had no reason to examine the soccer field. I'd had quite enough of it. Also, I figured the kidnappers wouldn't go near the place after Dabba's ambush, in spite of its quick access to the Sawgrass Expressway. Again, Dot and I agreed.

I needed to check the West Atlantic site, though. Perhaps it would have obvious advantages for the kidnappers, one demanding they use it.

At Bob's, three surprises occurred. First, several others had answered Bob's call. With a smile I couldn't suppress, I called Maddy Hammonds and asked her to deliver them to their observation points. She agreed, and I could hardly wait to get her impressions later.

The second surprise was that Blister had already taken off for the soccer field. Bob explained that Blister had been my
observer
on my two trips there, so he knew exactly where it was. He was embarrassed he hadn't been close enough to help when the attacker jumped me. By the time he closed the distance, the thug was in hot retreat, so he faded back into the darkness. Bob further explained that Blister had been assaulted a couple of times by punks out for a night of
fun
. After dark, he hid—and hid well. I told Bob I understood and would let Blister know the next time I saw him.

The third surprise was a bit of the good-bad variety. Dabba walked in the back door, her large bag in her hand. “Glad I caught you here. When we gonna git them bastards got my Linda?”

The good—she saved me from a worse beating. The bad—I didn't want her anywhere near me or the kidnappers. She was a loose marble that could roll in any direction, and I couldn't afford any diversions.

“You did your part last night,” I said. “I'll take it from here.”

Her giggle carried an edge of insanity. “No way, honey. I almost got 'em on that field. Next time, he's mine.”

I glanced at Bob, and he gave me one of those
you're on your own
looks. He was right. Dabba was my problem.

“Okay,” I said. “You can stick with Dot and me. But, please, don't jump out and do anything unless I tell you to. Remember, Ashley's life is at stake here.”

“Oh, I remember, Beth,” she said, her eyes taking on a dreamy
look. “I been trying to find her a long time. I ain't about to let them
escape agin.”