Deadly Treatment (29 page)

T
he sun had been up for quite a while when Malone finally got home; he had dropped the very distraught Erin off first, and now he was exhausted. She had continued to talk the whole trip. ‘What are the cops going to do now? Who killed Harrison? Are they going to stake out the hotel tonight? How are they going to find Scott and Vince now? What’s going to happen to Joshua?’ The questions went on and on. With all the emotion, unanswered questions, and lack of available options, Malone chose to keep the phone a secret for the time being. He was sure that, in desperation, she would either tell Rodriquez about it, or worse, continually pester him about it; so for everyone’s sake, he didn’t tell her.

Taylor was already up and in the kitchen, so he started to tell her about what had happened; she got to hear the entire truth.

‘He was murdered?’ She asked in disbelief. ‘Who by?’

‘That’s what I need to find out. I need Daniel to see if he can find out who this number belongs to. I’m pretty sure it’s the guys who have Joshua. Hopefully, he can get some other things off this too,’ Malone said going through Harrison’s phone log and moving towards Daniel’s room.

‘Well, it’ll have to wait ‘til later; you’ve just missed him; he went off in a cab this morning.’

‘This early? Where’s he gone?’

‘He said he was going to go to the beach to get some fresh air and think things through — and after last night, I don’t blame him. His mind is obviously all over the place now; the, poor guy looked startled when he came out of his room and saw me up early.’

‘The beach?’ Malone interrupted.

‘Yes, the beach. You know the sandy stuff next to the ocean. Now, do you want some breakfast?’

Obviously Malone was having some trust issues because none of this sounded right. Daniel hated mornings and never went to the beach. So, ignoring Taylor’s question, he went down the corridor and into Daniel’s room and almost fell flat on his face as he tripped on the sports bag lying just inside the door. He unzipped it, and inside were some changes of clothes and a wash bag.

Where’s he planning to go
? Malone wondered, and then he added the beach and the cab to his question and came up with —
More to the point, where has he gone
?

Malone looked around the room and his eyes came to rest on the pad beside the phone. He picked it up and tried to read the engraved message, but couldn’t make it out. So, with a trick learned from many a crime novel or spy comic, Malone picked up a pencil and rubbed the lead all over the blank paper revealing Shannon’s flight details and itinerary. Malone quickly grabbed the phone and dialed.

Daniel jumped out of the cab at LA Airport’s Arrivals Terminal. His stomach was so full of butterflies that he felt sick. He’d been flustered ever since he came out of his room to find Taylor standing there. He’d dropped the bag and come up with some bullshit story about going to the beach. He should have been a man and told her what was happening. Instead, he chose to lie, leave the bag where it was, and buy new stuff when he got to San Francisco. His stomach churned over again.

As the cab pulled away, he took a deep breath and steadied himself; it was decision time. He knew Malone was adamant that Shannon had killed his wife, and he had a letter from Sister Elizabeth, Shannon’s own mother, saying she was a bad person. But he was still certain that it hadn’t been her. Sure, she’d been dealt some bad hands over the years, but she was a good person; there was no way she could be capable of murder — could she? One thing was certain; he’d talk to her before getting on the plane. He’d come straight out and ask her if she’d murdered Malone’s wife.

His mind was filled to overflowing with thoughts and questions. His life had been going great. Malone and Taylor had been so good to him he’d started to feel he was part of a real family — that was until the letter arrived. Was he actually going to leave town with his mother? What would Malone and Taylor think? What if they didn’t get on? Was she really the murderer of Malone’s wife? Surely not. She couldn’t be — but Malone was so sure…

It suddenly dawned on him that whatever happened, he would have to leave Malone and Taylor. If his mother was innocent, he’d want to move closer to her and really have a chance to get to know her. He’d stay friends with Malone and Taylor, but family was family.

But, on the other hand, if she was the murderer — or even if she’d played a part in the murder of Malone’s wife — there was no way he could go on living under the same roof with him. Then and there Daniel made a decision, both Malone and Taylor would be better off without him being around; it was time to move on!

Daniel made his way into the terminal headed for the United Arrivals information counter; the flight was on time, so with thirty minutes to kill, Daniel went to the café to grab a coffee. With the paper read and the latte drunk he made his way to the arrival gate and joined the dozen or so people who, like him, were waiting for the flight to arrive from Vegas. He checked his watch —ten o’clock precisely.

The nose of the Boeing pulled up to the gate and the gangway went out to meet it. In his head, Daniel practiced what he was going to say.

Hello Mother. How was your trip? I’m sorry, but I have to ask, did you kill Barbara Malone?

The door opened and the passengers disembarked the plane; lines of people: men, women, and children, different sizes, different shapes, and different races, filed out of the tunnel — Daniel recognized none of them.

His eyes scoured the crowd,
maybe I’ve missed her,
he thought as he looked behind him to see the backs of happily reunited people walk away arm in arm. Finally, the crew and the pilot came out; the door closed; the plane was empty.

Daniel stood there confused. Pretty soon his mind was awash with concerns. Maybe she was stuck in traffic and missed the plane.
Oh shit she would have called Malone’s house to tell him if she did,
he thought. Maybe she had an accident and is in the hospital. Again his stomach turned over.
Maybe I’ve got the time wrong,
he thought. He fished the sheet from the notepad out of his pocket and checked the details again.

With the date, time, and place details confirmed to be correct, Daniel decided to go down to the United information desk; maybe they would be able to help. Plus, he would stop by the payphone on the way and try her home.

The airport’s intercom interrupted his thoughts.

‘Daniel Carter — please pick up the red courtesy phone. Daniel Carter — red courtesy phone — thank you.’

He swung around and looked up searching for the sign to direct him to the phone. The best he could find was Information.

The girl smiled as she handed the phone over to him. He held the receiver to his ear and said ‘hello.’

‘Daniel, it’s Shannon. I can’t believe you sold me out!’

‘Mom, is that you? What are you talking about?’

‘The cops, Daniel. I can’t believe you called the cops on me!’

‘I didn’t. I...’

‘Don’t deny it; there are only two people that knew of our arrangement, and that’s you and me.’

‘What cops?’ Daniel pleaded.

‘Take a look around, the place is swarming with undercover cops.’

Daniel looked around.

‘It doesn’t matter anyway. You were right to call them. Daniel, listen to me, I know why you asked where I was six years ago.’

‘No, don’t do this. Don’t tell me now, not over the phone. Where are you? Let’s meet.’

‘Oh no you don’t; you’re not gonna get me that way.’

‘What do you mean? No, I just want to see you,’ Daniel pleaded.

‘Daniel, listen, I need to tell you everything, right here, right now.’

Daniel remained silent.

‘It was a long time ago, and I was another person. Some would say I was many people; it would just depend on what drug I was talking at the time. I moved back to LA and I got involved with some of the worst low life’s I’d ever met. They used me and I used them. I had a reputation for scamming people, lying, and cheating — and above all, I needed to get high. We did so many bad things, most of them I can’t remember’ some of them I can’t forget. We rolled people to get cash; some didn’t know we’d robbed them; some got hurt on the way, and some we hurt more than others.’

She paused.

‘Don’t say it,’ Daniel said with tears rolling down his face. ‘Please don’t say it.’

‘We were crazy on some new mixture of drugs, it made you mad; it made you evil, and it made you angry, angry at people, angry at life. Your friend Malone and his wife came on TV and they were going on about losing their daughter and it made us angry. They looked all posh and rich, and all they’d done is lose a kid. Hell, we’d all lost something in our lives, but they still looked like they had everything. We hit on the idea to scam them out of their money, give them something to really cry about. So I called her and got her to come and meet me. I told her I knew where her daughter was and to bring some cash and not to call the cops. Anyway, the plan was for the three of us, two guys and me, to push her around a little and grab the money, simple. But before we met her we got on the pipe, we got high, and we got crazy. She wouldn’t believe our story, and she wouldn’t give us the cash, so we took it from her. She screamed and yelled which made us turn wild. I don’t know who hit her first, but the next thing we know she’s dead. So we left her behind a dumpster and ran.’

She paused again as Daniel was openly crying.

‘What are you crying for? You already knew that I was the one that killed her, that’s why you called the cops. You’re there to point me out to them, not come away with me.’

‘What cops? I am here to come away with you. Why don’t you believe me?’ At that moment, for some inexplicable reason, having his mother — a lying, cheating, drug using, murderer believe him was vitally important.

‘Because, Daniel, if you were going to come with me; you would have brought a bag.’ Then she hung up.

Having caught an earlier flight to LA, Shannon had watched Daniel arrive and get out of the cab without any luggage. She also watched several unmarked cop cars pull up and follow him into the terminal. Having seen enough, she grabbed a rental car and prepaid mobile and disappeared into LA.

Not knowing that Shannon was calling him some miles away from the airport, Daniel swung around and scanned the crowd in search of her — only to be greeted by the familiar faces of Malone, Taylor, and Detective Logan.

T
he ground floor motel room was cheap but adequate; two queen beds, a camper bed, and a TV on a sideboard filled the room. There was also the added bonus that due to its location in the Valley and the questionable motives and background of its usual guests, it didn’t ask questions.

Scott was first to rise due to the Darth Vader-style deep breathing/snoring of Vince. He shuffled past the curled up slumbering Joshua on his way to the bathroom and emptied his bladder. Once finished, he ran the faucet, washed his hands, and dampened down his hair.

He returned to the main room and sat on his bed giving Vince a shove as he passed.

‘Wake up,’ he said

Vince mumbled and rolled back over so Scott shoved him again.

‘What happened last night has been playing over and over in my head… Are you listening?’ Again he prodded Vince.

‘Alright! I’m awake and listening,’ Vince snapped and sat up.

‘Good morning to you too. Like I said, I’ve been going over last night in my head, and not much of it makes sense. Someone ratted on us; I think we both agree it was Harrison, but we’ve got no idea why. Why wouldn’t he stick to the back-up plan if the cops were involved? Which leads to another puzzle: who is the guy who killed Harrison, and why? It can’t just be for a flash drive full of vacation snaps. At first, I thought it was some kind of joke, but the drive by the house cleared that up, I haven’t seen so many cops attend a murder in my life — again, why? And then there was that little blue Ford that we’ve seen before at the Costello place — I guess that belongs to the Malone guy on the phone; how the hell is he involved? Best I can come up with is he’s a PI.’

Vince wiped the sleep from his eyes as he tried to take in the jumbled story as Scott continued: ‘So, if I’ve got it straight, we’ve got the cops and a PI after us for arson and abduction; plus, maybe they’ll think we’ve got something to do with killing Harrison. Added to that, we’ve got a murderer, thief, and if Joshua is right, body snatcher after us for a bunch of vacation snaps on a flash drive. All in all, we’re pretty much fucked!’

A smile came over Vince’s face.

‘You have a way of stating the obvious my friend, but you’re right though, we’re fucked. Any suggestions?’

‘All I could come up with is — go home, grab some gear and cash, and get the fuck out of Dodge.’

‘Not exactly the most elaborate of plans, but I’m with you all the way.’

Vince agreed.

‘We should probably drop Joshua off somewhere too, no point in him being involved in this,’ Scott offered.

‘No,’ Vince said emphatically. ‘The kid stays with us for now; he could be of some use; after all, if his mother can afford a PI, she can sure pay us something for his safe return.’

‘Great, you’ve just upped us from accidental abductors and added kidnappers on our list of offences,’ Scott said.

‘Abductors or kidnappers, who gives a shit? We might as well cash in on it.’

The sun was already starting to blaze in the sky, and the trip from the Valley to their house in Huntington was surprisingly pleasant. They dropped by McD’s on the way for a drive-thru breakfast, and were given a free
LA Times
weekend paper.

‘Maybe our luck is changing,’ Vince joked.But as they drove into their street, it became all too clear that their luck had gone from bad to worse.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ Vince yelled.

Their once modest but comfortable home was now nothing but a blackened shell. Both Vince and Scott were devastated.

‘Keep going,’ Scott managed to say as they drove slowly forward.

For so many years they’d burned down factories, offices, derelict buildings, and homes — all without a second thought about the owners. But now, as they looked at their home, they thought about what they’d lost — they were gutted. It wasn’t the house itself; sure, there was a sense of loss there, but it was more the possessions that had been inside. Again, not the TV or the fridge, but the personal stuff — the photos, the letters, even the stuffed giraffe — all the items that had a story or a memory attached.

‘The cash!’ they both said in unison.

Inside a jumbo box of Wheaties, they’d kept a large sum of rainy day cash; today it was pouring, but looking at the state of the house, there would be no shelter coming from that cereal box..

‘Where to now, Einstein?’ Vince asked.

‘I don’t fucking know,’ Scott said rubbing his temples. ‘Let’s just go back to the motel so I can think.’

They arrived back at the motel in double-quick time. Scott got out of the car and spoke with the motel owner telling him that they’d take the room for another few days. In an attempt to preserve any cash they had, he paid by credit card. The motel owner gave Scott the key to the same room they’d stayed in the night before, and with a sly grin apologized that there hadn’t been time to clean it yet.

The three of them trudged back into the small, unkempt room and sat on their respective beds. Joshua started to flick through the newspaper looking for the funnies while Vince and Scott spoke.

‘Son of a bitch,’ Vince started.

‘I couldn’t agree more. Who the fuck is this guy?’ Scott asked.

‘I have no idea and we have no way of contacting him either.’

Scott thought about the last call to Harrison’s phone that resulted in them speaking to the P.I., Malone.

‘So all we can do is sit and wait until he calls us then I guess,’ Vince added.

‘There must be a way to find out who this guy is…’

‘That’s the bald guy,’ Joshua called out as he pointed to a picture in the newspaper.

‘What?’ Vince asked looking at him with distaste.

‘The man I spoke to in the office; it’s him here in the paper,’ he repeated.

Scott moved over to take a look at the picture Joshua was pointing at.

‘You’re saying that this is the dead guy in the office?’ he asked as he picked up the paper and started to read the article.

‘I’m sure it’s him.’

‘What does it say?’ Vince asked mildly interested.

‘Cancer Claims Cain,’ Scott announced reading the headline of the story aloud.

‘The funeral of American Medical Association executive Anthony Cain took place in Rosehill Cemetery, in Chicago earlier this week. Cain, pegged to be the new director of medical research, was a strong advocate for fast tracking new drugs and therapies — particularly in the cancer and chronic disease area.

He died peacefully in his hospital bed.

It was a small column story in the National section with a photo of a younger and pre-cancerous Anthony Cain below.

‘Peacefully in his hospital bed, my ass,’ Scott said scathingly.

‘Let me see that,’ Vince said leaning forward to get the paper.

‘Thought you said he was bald?’ Vince sneered.

‘It’s a pre-illness picture you idiot,’ Scott said as he snatched it back and stared at the picture.

‘I think you’re right Joshua; I think that’s the guy in the vacation snaps on the flash drive.’

Scott sank down on the bed and rubbed his temples again.

‘Either this is all some kind of huge misunderstanding or there must be something in those pictures that is of great value.’ ‘Someone sure thinks its valuable enough to kill Harrison and burn down our place; that’s for certain.’ Vince butted in. ‘And I don’t care whether it’s a mistake or for real, the bastard is going pay us and pay us big to get it back. Hand it over to me kid; it’s time we went to see what all the fuss is about.’

The three of them got into the car and went in search of an Internet café.

Elwood’s phone beeped and he flipped it open to check the message. It gave the address of a motel in the Valley where Scott had just used his credit card. He threw on his jacket and grabbed the keys to his SUV.

It didn’t take them long to find an Internet café, and once inside, the three of them crowded around the small screen.

‘That’s the bald man,’ Joshua said tapping the screen.

Sure enough, Anthony Cain’s face filled one side of the screen and a bird’s eye view of a city completed the photo.

‘Where is that?’ Vince asked.

‘Don’t know, could be anywhere. But since the article said he was from Chicago, I’d say that he’s up at the top of the Sears Building,’ Scott guessed.

The next picture was of Anthony standing near the entrance to the fun park on Navy Pier

In total, there were nine pictures, all with Anthony Cain standing or sitting next to touristy monuments or structures. Vince and Scott studied each photo as closely as they could, but there was nothing that seemed to be really out of the ordinary. Even though Scott had flicked through the pictures before, he was hoping he’d missed a shot of someone caught doing something untoward, but there was no murder or rape scene — or for that matter, anyone even littering.

Only one picture had anyone other than Anthony in it. It was a picture of him standing near the end of a pier; he was smiling at the camera, and two other men, both dressed in business suits, stood talking to the left of the shot. One man was African American, the other white, but they just looked to be a couple of friends talking.

‘That has to be it,’ Vince finally declared.

‘But what about it? It’s not like they’re doing anything illegal,’ Scott looked bewildered.

‘There’s nothing about it; all I know is that it’s none of the others! Maybe these two guys shouldn’t be seen together? They could be gangsters, politicians, America’s most-wanted; fuck, they could be lovers for all I care. Whoever they are, they’re gonna get us our house back — and something for our inconvenience. Switch on the phone and see if he’s called,’ Vince blustered.

Scott waited until they were out of the café before switching on the phone. After the usual start up tune, it beeped twice indicating it had two messages, both voicemail. Hitting speed dial one, the phone went through to the message service.

A monotone female system generated voice informed Scott he had two messages.

‘Hi my name is Michael Malone, I think I’m talking to Vince and Scott, and I think you are the men who have taken Joshua Costello. I want to tell you that all I care about is getting him back safely — no police and no tricks. His mother doesn’t have much money, but she’ll pay as much as she can. Please, for his and his mother’s sake give him back. Call me on Erikson’s cell and leave a message as to how we can arrange this.’