Call Of The Witch (21 page)

“
Maybe Kelly gave her key
to the kidnapper so that he could come back here and get her
medicine.”

“
Whatever the case, I
think we need to––”

“
Wait! Phone’s ringing!”
Dominic pulled Brewbaker’s phone out and handed it to
me.

“
It’s them,” I said.
“Lionel, don’t try to negotiate with them. Just accept their
demands and conditions for release. Do what they say.”

I gave him the phone. He answered.

“
Hello?”

The mechanized voice replied, “You have one
more chance. Don’t blow it.”

“
Please. Did you give my
daughter her medicine?”

“
You brought the police
in.”

“
No I didn’t. I mean, just
the local before you told me not to. I haven’t brought in anyone
else. I swear.”

“
Like I said, you have one
more chance. Fuck it up and she dies.”

“
Dear God, promise me
she’s all right. She needs that medicine. If she doesn’t get it
she’ll––”

“
Silence! Listen
carefully. We want two-hundred-thousand dollars in unmarked
bills.”

“
Two-hundred-thousand? I
don’t keep that kind of money in my safe. I can give you fifty
thousand.”

“
Fine. Make it two-hundred
and fifty thousand.”

“
What? No! That’s not what
I meant. We’ll do two-hundred-thousand like you asked.”

“
Are you negotiating with
me? Make it three-hundred-thousand.”

“
Three-hundred-thousand?”

“
In unmarked one-hundred
dollar bills. New drop instruction are forthcoming.”

“
Alright, but please, I
have to know if she’s okay. Let me talk to her.”

Click.

The call ended. Lionel Brewbaker rolled his
eyes up at me. His face grew pale again. I took the phone and
handed it back to Spinelli.

“
I told you not to
negotiate with them, just to accept their terms and
conditions.”

“
This is a nightmare. I
don’t keep that kind of money in my safe.”

“
They know that. You’re
going to get it from the bank.”

“
But it’s Sunday. The
banks are closed.”

“
Sure. They know that,
too. That’s why the drop plans are forthcoming. They’re not going
to give us those details until the last minute.”

“
Which brings up a good
point,” said Carlos.

“
What’s that?”

“
The caller said the new
drop instructions are forthcoming.”

“
Yes?”

“
Karina Martinez doesn’t
talk like that, and neither does Raul Martinez for that
matter.”

“
Then who
does?”

“
Someone with a better
education.”

“
Amanda,” said
Brewbaker.

“
Sir?”

“
Detective, you can’t tell
me you don’t think my wife’s behavior is strange.”

“
I didn’t say that, Mr.
Brewbaker. The truth is I don’t think anything about your wife’s
behavior is consistent under the circumstances.”

“
Then you mustn’t rule her
out as a suspect in my daughter’s kidnapping.”

“
Who says I
am?”

“
I just thought that since
you––”

“
Mr. Brewbaker, I haven’t
ruled out anyone. And so you know, that includes you,
too.”

“
Me?” Brewbaker
straightened his stance, puffed his chest out and stiffened his
chin. “How could I be her kidnapper? I couldn’t very well make
those phone calls to myself, now could I?”

“
No, but you could have an
accomplice.”

“
An accomplice? Sir, I’ll
have you know I––”

“
Gentlemen, please.”
Carlos inserted himself between Brewbaker and me and nudged us
back. “Come on, Tony. We should take a ride.”

“
You’re right. Dominic, do
you mind staying here with Mr. Brewbaker?”

“
No, of course not, but
where are you going?”

I looked at Carlos. His arched brow told me
the choice was mine, though I knew he wanted to go back to see
Karina Martinez. “We have a few places we need to go to, but I
suppose we can make a slight detour to see Ms. Martinez first. If
that’s all right with you, Carlos?”

“
Sure, if you think we
need to.”

“
I think we
better.”

“
I’ll drive.”

On the
way back to Martinez’s place, Carlos asked me what that was all
about.

“
What was what all
about?”

“
Back there. You put
Lionel on the hot seat, told him he was a suspect in his own
daughter’s kidnapping.”

“
I didn’t say that
exactly.”

“
Sure you did. You accused
him of having an accomplice.”

“
I was speaking
hypothetically.”

“
Tony, I know Lionel. He
loves Kelly. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, not for the
world.”

“
I didn’t say he would
hurt her. I simply said I hadn’t ruled him out. He does have a
motive you know.”

“
Does he?
What?”

“
Custody.”

“
He has
custody.”

“
I’m talking permanent.
Remember he’s negotiating a buy out for his share of the Brewbaker
and Massy Department stores.”

“
So?”

“
So once he does that,
he’ll have millions of dollars and no reason to stay here worrying
if his wife will sue him for half his money and custody of
Kelly.”

“
You’re suggesting he’d
fake his own daughter’s kidnapping just so he can skip town with
her and the money?”

“
That’s exactly what I’m
suggesting.”

Carlos dismissed my theory with a shake of
his head. “Then you don’t know Lionel Brewbaker.”

“
And maybe you don’t know
Lionel Brewbaker.”

We let it go at that. The rest of the ride
out to Karina Martinez’s was quiet, save for the chatter over the
police radio that sounded like white noise to both of us. As we
pulled up to the house, I said to Carlos, “If we see Raul, I want
you to behave.”

He took that with offense. “Meaning?”

“
It means we don’t need
him filing a police brutality complaint against us. He already has
diamond impressions from a chain-link fence stamped into his cheek.
He doesn’t need more.”

Carlos thought that was funny. “If you ask me
it’s an improvement.”

“
Come on.”

Karina Martinez seemed uneasy about seeing us
at her door again. She opened it and invited us in, all the while
wringing her hands nervously.

“
Señores, is everything
all right? Did you find Kelly?”

“
No ma'am, we didn’t,”
said Carlos. “We came back to ask you some more questions. Is that
okay?”

“
Sí, you may
ask.”

“
Mr. Brewbaker tells me
that you have a key. Is that so?”

“
Aquí?”

“
No. A key. La
llave.”

“
Ah, la llave, sí, por la
casa.”

“
Yes. Do you have it here
now?”

“
Of course. Come. I will
get it for you.”

We followed Karina to her kitchen where she
opened the top drawer of a base cabinet and began rummaging through
it. “That is strange,” she said. “I always keep it in here.” She
opened a second drawer and began riffling through it.

“
When did you have it
last?” asked Carlos.

She closed the drawer and turned her gaze
down at the floor. “Friday,” she said after thinking for only a
moment. “I had it Friday.”

“
Do you suppose Raul might
have it?”

She looked up at Carlos curiously. “My
son?”

“
Yes. Do you think he has
it?”

We watched her eyes run a bead to cellar
door. “I do not know why he would, but I can ask him.”

“
Wait,” I said, touching
her forearm to stop her. “We’ll ask, if you don’t mind.”

She offered no opposition. Carlos and I
walked to the cellar door, opened it and started down the steps. I
took the lead, waiting until I was sure that Carlos was blocking
Karina’s view of me before drawing my weapon.

“
Raul Martinez,” I said.
“This is Detectives Marcella and Rodriquez. We’re coming
down.”

The light on the staircase was out when we
first opened the door, but several others were on downstairs. I
could also see the flickering strobe of a TV screen bouncing off
the walls, the sound apparently turned off though.

“
Did you hear me?” I said.
“We’re coming down.”

I looked over my shoulder at Carlos. He took
a cue from that and un-holstered his weapon as well. When we
reached the bottom of the stairs, we spread out. I took the left
flank. Carlos took the right. We found a disgusting mess of
supposed living quarters; dirty clothes strewn all over, empty
pizza boxes, chicken buckets, beer bottles and smut magazines.

The bed was a fold-out sofa type. A window
curtain served as a bed sheet, a wadded up duffle bag as a pillow.
We holstered our weapons after realizing Raul was not there, but
curiosity kept us from leaving. I picked up a fly swatter and used
it as a stick for poking, probing and flipping over repugnant items
of interest. I’d have thought that nothing else there could repulse
me more until I peeled back the blanket on the bed.

“
Dear God,” I said. “You
gotta be kidding me.”

Carlos turned and looked back over his
shoulder. “What is it? Tony?”

I pointed with the fly swatter. “Girls’
underwear. Must be a couple dozen pairs.” I scooped one of the
daintier pairs up with the swatter and held it up. “Check it out.
It’s got Winnie the Pooh on the butt. Looks like they’d fit a
four-year-old.”

“
Jesus!” said
Carlos.

“
I know,
right?”

“
No, I mean, Jesus. Look
at this.”

I dropped the panties on the bed and walked
over to where Carlos was standing. He pointed at a laptop computer
screen. The image on it nearly floored me. He hit the arrow down
key repeatedly, toggling one disgusting kiddy porn picture after
the other.

“
These are in a folder
marked, Lickable,” he said. I felt my stomach lurch. “There are
over two hundred files in it. And that’s just the L folder. There’s
a folder for every letter in the alphabet.”

I shook my head. “Dominic isn’t going to like
this.”

“
Who will?”

“
Give him a call. Have him
send Olson out here to pick this up––and the underwear too. Then
have him secure an arrest warrant for Raul Martinez.”

“
What about
Karina?”

“
I don’t want to arrest
her.”

“
No, I mean how do we
break this to her?”

I put my hand on his shoulder, looked him
square in the eye and said, “Gently, Carlos. Break it to her
gently.”

Detective Olson arrived with a couple of
uniforms about ten minutes later. We showed them what we found and
then headed out to our next stop.

Lionel Brewbaker provided us with an address
for his wife Amanda, calling it a nice little place up on
Edgewater. I suppose compared to his house it was a nice little
place. To the rest of us working stiffs, it was a six bedroom,
seven bath, five-car garage get-a-way for the rich and famous.

We pulled onto the pebble-lined circular
driveway and stopped in front of the main entrance. I almost
expected a valet to come out and chauffeur the car off to some
underground parking facility. I even found myself reaching into my
pocket for a couple of ones to tip the man before Carlos caught me
and asked what I was doing.

“
Nothing,” I said,
thinking fast on my feet. “Just seeing if I have enough for
lunch.”

“
Lunch? It’s eleven
o’clock.”

I gave my watch a gratuitous glance. “So it
is.”

He slapped me on the back, angled me toward
the door and nudged me forward. “Man, there may be hope for you
yet. Marcella. I was thinking seafood. What about you?”

The house reminded me a little of Valerie
Spencer’s place, a woman we investigated in a murder case some
years ago. It wasn’t as over-the-top, but it did reek of excessive
indulgence with its marbled breezeway, bookend fountains and open
courtyard. It even had a pair of gilded cherub statues flanking a
double-door entry that was eight-feet wide and ten-feet high. I
turned to Carlos and bumped him on the arm.

“
Remind you of
anything?”

“
Spencer?”

“
Yeah.”

“
You don’t have a witch’s
ladder, do you?”

“
Why, you think we’ll need
one?”

He shook his head. “Damn, I hope not.”

We stopped at the door and prepared to knock
when it opened suddenly. A young man in blue jeans, tie-die shirt
and flip-flops, came bopping out with his head down; his fingers
snapping to the music in his earphones. He literary walked right
into us, bumped off Carlos’ chest and bounced back into the house.
He looked up, more surprised than frightened, but that quickly
changed when I showed him my badge and ID.