One Way Or Another You Will Pay (17 page)

I stop reading. He named his daughter Sasha?

Is
he serious?

This
guy deserves to be in a mental institution.

I
look at the time; it’s 3:21 AM.

I
slap the diary closed, unable to read any longer.

It’s
just too damn close for comfort. As I read her heartfelt diary entries, I felt every bit of her despair, her helplessness, her confusion, her inability to grasp Tom’s unfounded and random rage.

Something
needs to be done.

Clutching
a cream-coloured folder, I maneuver my way through the mall, through the throng of Saturday bargain-hunters and window-shoppers, my eyes scanning the crowd for my target.

I
find her talking on her phone, just about to enter …
Target
. You know the

Get
More, Pay Less
store? That one.

Behind
me, Ritchie follows at a safe distance, keeping an eye on me. He’s good at what he does because when I surreptitiously glance behind, I don’t see him, but I know he’s there.

That’s
the thing about Ritchie; he’s reliable and solid. If I ever want to rob a bank, my first choice would be Bear.

But
let’s say he’s unable to help because of …him being too drunk; Ritchie would be my second choice.

Of
course, I would always try to enlist both of their help to get the most amount of money.

Back
to my target; Bear, being as enormous as he is, is far too conspicuous to be around, so we’ve unanimously relegated him to the car, which is parked not far from Ingrid’s black Camry, ready to tail her. We’re on a three-way phone conversation call, so if we need him, we just have to holler.

Of
course, he wasn’t happy about staying in the car, but ...

“You’re
our get-away driver, Undercover Cop,” I said choosing my words carefully. “No one can tail like you can, hon. I’m relying on you not to lose Ingrid.”

When
I put it that way, my Care Bear stared at me for a few moments then nodded.

Big
baby!

For
about five minutes, I follow Ingrid around, giving my courage wells time to fill up and God knows, I need pluck to confront my baby’s kidnapper. I don’t know how she’s going to react.

She’s
short, around 5’3”, probably a size fourteen and maybe an E-cup. Today, in her relaxed-fit navy-blue jeans, her beige cowl-neck top, her brown swing cardigan, and her brown, strappy Birkenstocks, she looks like an average woman looking for value-for-money items, not a correctional officer.

Not
like a kidnapper who is capable of cutting a toddlers arm with a fishing knife, for sure.

If
it wasn’t for her shiny, mahogany, stylish bob, I’d label her dowdy.

But
her hair is nice, I have to admit, even though you’d never catch me wearing a bob like that again.

She
pauses at a stack of folded towels, squints at the price tag, frowns, and moves away.

Slowly,
she meanders her way through the ladies lingerie, pauses at the ladies full-figured panties and minimizer bras, then moves toward the confectionary section, where she picks out a value-pack of Toblerone chocolates and a bottle of Cadbury’s mixed chocolate nuts.

When
she turns around, she smacks into me.

“Oh,
sorry,” she says. “So sorr…” Her smile vanishes when she looks into my face and she almost drops her phone. I see fear in her eyes, a deer-in-high-beams look.

When
she recovers her composure, she moves aside. As she does, I step in front of her.

No
time to pussy-foot around.

“I
want to thank you,” I say.

“Eh…”
She looks at me, a cocktail of fear, panic, and confusion in her big, brown, blood-shot eyes. Tired eyes probably from insufficient sleep. She has two toddlers; sleep would be a luxury to her.

“I’ll
call you back,” she says into her phone and hangs up.

“I
want to thank you for returning my baby,” I say as she stuffs the phone into the pocket of her cardigan.

“Eh,
um, eh…”

“The
last time my baby went missing, she was killed, and I really thought Savannah was going to experience the same fate so when she didn’t, I was so grateful,
am
so grateful to you.”

“I
…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, as she whirls away from me. As she does, her cell phone flys out of her pocket and lands on a heap of continental pillows.

She
didn’t see that!

Excited,
I look behind me for Ritchie. When I spot him, he looks pointedly at the phone.

Thrilled
to know that he will soon have her phone in his possession, I hurry to catch up with Ingrid.

“Tom’s
using you to get to me, not Warren,” I say to her back. “He’s obsessed with me and he wants me at all costs!”

Without
answering, she abandons her plastic shopping basket on the floor and rushes out of Target without her chocolates.

“Lady,”
she says over her shoulder, “leave me alone or I will call security.”

“Call
security,” I say. “Go ahead.”

She
stops, turns around, and looks at me with narrow eyes, then cranes her neck to look around, for security, I think. Her eyes land on a security guard in conversation with a shopper nearby.

Damn!
I’ll have some serious explaining to do if she makes good on her threat.

But
I’m ready for it.
I had the wrong person, sorry, Officer.
Bear says if you call the security guard ‘Officer,’ they will fall instantly in love with you.

To
my relief, she doesn’t call out to the guard. Instead, she turns around and with her chin tucked into her chest, hurries in the direction of her car.

“He
killed my child. Left her to die in a boiling hot car. All because I left him. I couldn’t take the beatings anymore. The abuse.”

She
stops walking, whirls around, and glares at me. “No, he did not! You’re a liar!”

Progress!
We’re interacting.

“He
used to beat me and beat my son,” I continue, ignoring her outburst. “Terrorize us. One day, I called the cops and while they were there, I packed and left him.”

“You
are lying,” she snarls. “You stole all his money. You…”

“He
wants you to look like me.”

Her
eyes scan over me, my waist-length, brown hair with caramel streaks, cream singlet, black, flared jeans, black Diana Ferrari ankle boots, cream and black Guess bag.

A
sneer distorts her face as. “We don’t look like each …”

With
a nod, I quickly pull out the photographs in the folder I’m carrying. The ones of me taken years ago when I was married to Tom.

“Look,”
I say as I thrust them at her. “He used to have me wear my hair like this. Insisted on it. Got really mad if I wanted a change.”

Her
eyebrows snake up.

“Now
he’s got you doing the same thing.” I speak fast, not giving her a chance to interrupt as I need for her to hear what I have to say. “He’s trying to make you look like me but it’s me he wants. Do you know why he gave Savannah back?”

She
doesn’t answer, but her head cocks, in a
why
? manner.

“Because
I agreed to see him every second Friday. Not Warren, just me. He has no desire to see Warren.”

Her
brows knit and she finally accepts the photos from me.

“We
have phone sex when I’m there but he wants to fuck me. He’s desperate to do it. ”

Okay,
so I’m exaggerating a little, but I am
desperate
to stir her up.

Her
eyes move between the photos and mine and as they do, her hand reaches to touch her hair.

With
a frown, she studies the photo in her hand.

“Every
second Friday…isn’t that your day off? Doesn’t want you to know I’m visiting him?”

Slowly,
she raises her eyes, shining with intrigue and curiosity, to look at me.

“He
says he can arrange for us to have sex if I say yes.” I give an exaggerated shrug. “That’s how badly he wants to fuck me. Can he?” I peer at her. “Is he connected in prison? Maybe knows some high-ranking wardens?”

The
information I gained when reading the diary entries comes in handy here. Although, it would be too much to expect an answer; I’ll be happy just evoking emotions right now. Mainly, jealousy.

“Ones
who will turn a blind eye so he can get some conjugal fun? Huh?”

The
way her eyes dart all over my face, tells me I am pushing the right buttons.

“I
said I would, because …well, I don’t think he can get such privileges. Prison won’t allow that. I know that for a fact.”

“He
said he wants to fuck you?”

Gotcha!

I nod.

“He
said that?
I want to fuck you
; those were his words?” Even though her voice leans toward sneering, I hear the thread of anger in it.

“Those
were his words. Yes.”

“I
don’t believe you!”

“Well,
it’s true. He asked me to wear red, to place my cardigan over my thighs so I can touch myself as we have phone sex.”

Oh,
boy, am I in trouble with Bear for saying that! As for Ritchie …

She
blinks rapidly as she stares at me, her mouth slightly open. As if she’s having a silent conversation with herself, she shakes her head several times. “I…I…you’re lying!”

“You
saw the photographs of me, Ingrid. He fashioned me into the kind of woman he wanted. Told me what to wear,
how
to wear it, who to see,
how
to speak, he controlled me all the time. Now, he’s doing it to you.”

Suddenly,
her shoulders slump, and before my eyes, she ages. Her forehead cracks, her cheeks hollow, and her bag rolls off her rounded shoulder into her limp hand.

I
recognize disappointment, it was something I lived with a lot after Sasha died.

“Can
I come to your house and chat with you? Fifteen minutes. That’s all. Please!”

She
doesn’t answer, just looks at the ground, chin to chest.

“Woman
to woman, no cops. I have no desire to see you arrested for what you have done. I just want you to know everything, then make an informed decision.”

Silence.

I’m not lying. I no longer want her arrested for the kidnapping of little Savannah.

I
just want her out of the picture, away from Tom, thereby cutting off his support system.

Before
I read the diaries, yeah, for sure, I wanted to have her arrested and thrown in jail for what she did to me and my family. I planned to do a sort of citizen’s arrest if need be of my daughter’s kidnapper and my family’s stalker. Let her rot in prison.

But
now, I see her as a victim, and besides, getting her out of the picture and trimming Tom’s long arm, I actually want to rescue her and her kids from Tom.

But
I have no qualms about blackmailing her into shrugging off Tom. All I have are diary entries that show an affair between her and a prisoner. Obtained illegally anyway, which means they may not even be allowed into evidence, should she be charged with a crime.

As
for kidnapping Savannah, I have no proof she did it. But I
know
she did it.

“You
can be with him but at least you will know stuff. I have more to tell you. Sooo much more.”

Her
eyes fly up to my face and that look of curiosity is back.

“Please?”

For a moment, I am almost sure she’s going to nod.

But
she doesn’t. Vigorously, she shakes her head from side-to side, gives a sharp, dismissive wave, and strides off.

This
time, I let her.