Pursuit (30 page)

“Any news about your daughter, miss?” Venus was in the middle of breakfast, a bowl of half-eaten cereal on the kitchen table.

Julie shook her head. “Think back, see what comes to
mind about this Caldwell person. Anything unusual that pops up since we spoke last?”

“Nope. As I said, he wouldn't say much but always had a scam going. One of those main-chance dudes. Like I said, I never suspected him of any funny stuff with my girl, in terms of taking her. He had his sad tale of woe. ‘Dad left us, Mom had to hustle.' He wanted to come back, Mom let him, Dad beat the shit out of the kids, Mom kicked him out again. ‘Poor me, I never had a break.' ”

Todd stepped in. “Did he ever say where he came from? Missouri, Illinois, Iowa, Arkansas, Okla—?”

“Just the western part of the state, like I said.”

“Where specifically, Venus? It's important, please.”

She wedged her spoon into the vile-looking cereal. “He spoke a couple times about the lakes and Clinton or Warsaw. Lived with a family; said they had a big spread.”

“Not
his
family but
a
family. Is that right?”

“I'm pretty sure he said
a
family.” Venus clinked her spoon against the sugar bowl. “He and some kids, maybe brothers and sisters, all together on this big ranch.”

Todd spoke. “You said ‘spread' at first.”

“Did I? Yep, he did say ‘spread'—good catch, Officer. He used that word like he'd been told it were the big deal. The promised land.”

“Recall him ever mentioning the names of any other siblings?”

Venus smiled. “Nah, he wouldn't talk much about his years as a youngster.”

“Take a minute, Miss Riley. Let your mind go blank. See if something else comes to you, okay?”

Closing her eyes, she relaxed her hands on the painted metal tabletop. She tapped her head gently with the palm
of her right hand. “He used the word ‘tuck' a couple times, almost always in a deroga . . . ahh . . . roga—what the devil, you know when you don't like something and call it a name, it means a bad word, and you meant it?”

“Derogatory,” Todd stated.

Julie didn't think Todd liked Venus much. Trying to prod the woman's memory, she interjected, “He spoke of this guy or gal in a—”

“Yeah, like that. He spoke the word ‘tuck,' because it rhymed with the F-word. He was being vulgar, and I told him so. The couple times he spoke of this guy, he always spit, like the bad taste would never leave his mouth. But he never said who it were. Just Tuck the mother ‘F.' ”

“When we were here before, you mentioned a number of things about this Bink. A ‘midget looking for a circus.' ‘A loser.' Anything else?”

Venus chewed her lip. “Nah, I don't think so. What? Did I say something else?”

Julie hesitated, knowing that suggestions to witnesses and suspects could lead to false statements and innuendo. “Think about it.”

“I know I gave you grief about my having company on the way. Sorry about that. And what else? Did I mention he said once he was a ward of the state?” She laughed. “Fancy name for an orphan, don't you think?”

Thanking her for the help, Julie again reminded Venus, “Call if anything comes to mind; anything at all.”

In the car on the way back to headquarters, Julie's cell rang.

“Hey, Gina, what's up?”

“There's a whole hell of a lot of Caldwells in this state. Nothing that pops out, and, of course, no Bink. I've got a
list of people broken down by city or area. I'll leave it on your desk, okay?”

It didn't sound very different from the info that Julie had accessed. She knew she had work to do.

Thanking Todd for his offer of lunch, she smiled at his feigned hand-on-heart disappointment. She made her way through headquarters to her desk in the basement. As promised, Gina left a stack of papers for her. The girl had separated the various Caldwells by cities, towns, and counties.

The eastern part of the state seemed to have a predominance of Caldwells. The towns Warsaw and Clinton were close to Lake of the Ozarks, a vacation spot hardly suitable for what Venus said Bink mentioned as a “spread.” She called the Warsaw Chamber of Commerce and got a recording that the office was currently undergoing a renovation and would reopen at a future date. The future date in this case probably meant adios—not unexpected in the present-day economy and for a town of only twenty-two hundred folks.

Clinton, however, was more than anxious to help, the warm-voiced resident spieler full of facts, figures, and historical data.

“The town square is full of shops, ma'am—over a hundred—and you must see our courthouse dating back to—”

“Yes, okay. I mainly wanted information on one of your first families, the Caldwells.”

“Ah, what did you need specifically, miss?”

“Well, you know what, forget it. Sorry to have bothered you.” She hung up, feeling like a fool. Some things relating to Cheryl's disappearance needed to be kept private.

She called Captain Walker and explained her reasoning.
He arranged for her to speak with the sheriff of Henry County.

She dialed him, and he answered on the first ring. After the preliminaries, he got right to it. “I can't rightly say if the Caldwell I know would be able to he'p you, but I'll put you in touch, okay?”

Thanking the lawman, she stopped to think before dialing the number she'd been given. Maybe she should go in person. It was always more beneficial when she presented herself to people face-to-face, watching their tics and shifting eyes.

She called Todd. “What would you think of a little two-and-a-half-hour trip west to the Lake of the Ozarks area? Assuming I can get permission from SS Capitan Herr Walker?”

“Long as you don't use my name in conjunction with his charming nickname.”

“As always, you will remain my silent partner. It's late—but can we get under way, Big Man? I'll get Captain Walker up to speed on the Henry County sheriff and meet you in the lot.”

An hour onto the road, Todd asked her the plan.

“I know it may not be protocol, but it's important you understand this. I want to see if these Caldwell folks can give me some straight answers.”

“How do you know you've got the right folks? You told me Gina said there were a ton of these jokers.”

“I don't know. It might just be a hunch.”

Todd made an odd popping sound with his mouth, keeping time with a musical sales pitch on the radio. “Hunch? Remember what SS Capitan Walker said about that.”

“No, what? Refresh my tired memory, señor.”

“Señor?
Sí, un error grande como una casa
. Or, a mistake bigger than a fucking house.”

She thought about it. “Yeah, maybe, but it's my mistake, my inspired guess, and, as it turns out, my house.”

They were quiet the rest of the way to Clinton.

When they rolled into town on West Franklin, Julie called the number given to her from the Henry County sheriff for the person who seemed to be patriarch of the Caldwell clan.

“Good afternoon, sir. Sergeant Worth, Missouri State Patrol. I was given your number by Sheriff Jonas of Henry County. I just happened to be in town. Could I have a few minutes of your time to talk a bit about your— I hesitate to use the word ‘clan;' maybe ‘relatives' would be less intrusive. This
is
Walter Caldwell I'm speaking to, correct?”

“Yes, correct. Ma'am, is someone in trouble?”

“No, sorry if I gave that impression. Just that we are doing an investigation of an abduction, and the name Caldwell came up—more than likely unrelated, but we're just checking. Could we meet?”

The gentleman gave Julie his business address, and they settled on a time. Julie and Todd first had lunch at Golden Valley, a quaint eatery near the outdoor pavilion, and then walked to the Caldwell Firm, a modest real estate office.

After Julie took a seat, the elderly gentleman behind the oak desk rested his elbows on the oversized blotter. “You were saying?”

Not wanting to be the one under focus, Julie moved out of a bright stream of sunlight coming through the second-story window. “We're investigating an abduction and what is being called a homicide. I now can't give you
more facts because of the ongoing nature of this case. The name Caldwell has come up. Does the name Bink Caldwell mean anything to you, sir?”

“No, there isn't anyone by that name in the Caldwell group, at least that I'm aware of.”

“What about another name for something with a
B
? Billy, Brit, Bo, Benny, anything?”

Caldwell cleared his throat. “A number of years ago, there was a Benjamin. I never knew him; a distant cousin. His name came up once in reference to a lawsuit. Turned out to be a paternity affair. By the way, should I have my attorney here for this?”

Julie watched Mr. Caldwell, who seemed unperturbed and without guile. “It's up to you. There is no accusation at this time. We are simply asking questions.”

He smiled back at Julie. “Let me call my wife, see if she remembers this Benjamin character.” He excused himself and left the room.

Todd crossed his legs. “What do you think, Sarge?”

Julie felt disappointed. She checked over her shoulder for the elder Caldwell. “He seems honest, unafraid. I couldn't pick up anything; how about you?”

“Unfortunately, it's a
morte finito
.”

“Is that supposed to be Spanish for ‘dead end'?”

“I skipped school a lot. Par-
done
.” Todd laughed.

They found themselves on the street with another phone number, directions to a house in the suburbs, and an invitation from a certain Benjamin Caldwell. Todd and Julie pushed on, being met on a comfortable porch with a padded swing for two and a couple rattan chairs.

“Greetings. I spoke to Walter Caldwell; said you wanted to have a word with me about an investigation? I didn't get all of that.”

Julie sat in one of the rickety chairs; Todd carefully followed suit.

“I didn't mean to frighten you. It's an important case we're working on. A possible kidnapping and what we are presently calling a murder, at this point it is simply an inquiry. We're looking into the whereabouts of someone named Bink, more than likely a derivation of a name beginning with a
B. Therefore
we are here speaking to”—she gestured toward the old fellow pedaling back and forth on the porch swing—“Benjamin Caldwell, senior?” She arched her eyebrows and smiled a “Please speak” kind of smile.

“Well, yes, you might say I'm a senior both in age and as the father of a long-lost, I guess you could say, junior Benjamin.”

“Would you mind explaining that?”

“Not at all. A former . . . wife of mine became pregnant with child, the result being a little Benjie.”

Todd stopped writing in his notebook.

“Where does this former Mrs. Caldwell now reside?”

“I believe with a group of hellions and heathens.” The old man adjusted his shirtfront. “Sinners and nonbelievers more than likely at the corner of Hellsgate and eternity.” He leaned back and smiled. “She died, rest her filthy, rotten soul, soon after giving birth.”

Julie waited for the man's newly discovered glee to subside. “What happened to little Benjie?”

“Don't have a clue. Given up to the state, I suppose. Don't know, wasn't interested.” He ran his hand up and down on the rusted chain holding the swing. “It's been nigh onto forty years, like a dream. Ha-ha. More like a nightmare—”

“Thank you, we've—” Julie got up to go.

“—one that keeps coming back.”

“—got all we need.”

“Never saw the little bastard. Cost me a sweet penny, I'll tell you.”

“Let's go, Todd.”

“Not even sure it were mine. Might've been about anyone's,” he ranted as Todd and Julie got in their car. And just before they drove off: “We were never married, so he really was a little bastard.”