Final Approach (13 page)

Chapter Twenty-eight

Teresa pushed and pulled the vacuum down the hall, where it sucked up perfumed powder she’d sprinkled on the floor. Gesturing at my watch, I signaled I was giving up on my fake meeting with Kosh and waved goodbye.

Hidden in the carport’s shower stall, I waited next to His and Her flip-flops and beach towels until Teresa’s ride came at quarter to eight. When the car pulled away, I went back upstairs and let myself in through the open window, closing it behind me.

Trish’s money was supposed to be delivered to Jeannie’s hotel room in fifteen minutes. I wasn’t sure what to do. The money was the only leverage I had. If I gave it back, Trish and her cohorts would disappear. I’d never find out about Casey or how this mess was tied to me. But keeping the money didn’t guarantee an explanation either, just more trouble for Jeannie. I remembered Eric Lyons being found in the river and thought about how Craig Clement and I narrowly escaped death hours ago at the drop zone. Even if I turned over the cash, could I really believe they’d let Jeannie go?

I used my cell to dial the motel. I’d say I couldn’t get back to Houston in time for the trade, but I was coming as fast as I could.

No one answered in Jeannie’s room.

They’d probably left. My instructions were to return the money by eight and then go back at nine for Jeannie. Whoever had her probably didn’t want to be there when I showed up. I used Kurt’s phone to call the number Trish had phoned from earlier, but Trish didn’t answer either.

I went to Kosh’s office and powered up his desktop computer. Its files were password protected. I tried the laptop. It had no password protection, which was a surprise, but then something else shocked me more. The screen’s wallpaper image was a picture of Trish and Scud.

I stared at their charming, misleading smiles and facts fell into place. Edward Kosh was the skydiver I knew as Scud. The man I’d shot, now maybe dead, for all I knew, back where this mess had begun. The trendy clothes in the closet, expensive jewelry on the dresser…those had to belong to Trish. There was no other explanation.

I thought of David Meyer. Trish had been living with him for months. But why? She was using him, but I couldn’t imagine for what.

I decided to take the hard drives, but I needed a screwdriver. I went to the kitchen and pilfered through drawers until I found a can opener with an end piece flat and small enough to do the trick.

The desktop’s drive was in my backpack and I was unfastening the last screw on the laptop’s access door when I thought I heard a car in the drive downstairs. I peeked behind the drape as the trunk of a gold sedan disappeared into the carport below.

I raced to finish the drive removal, but my fingers would no longer work together. The last screw was difficult to maneuver, but it finally yielded. Car doors slammed under the house as I pulled the access panel away. When I tried to extract the drive, I discovered it was fastened to the inside of the case with four, tinier screws. There was no more time.

I put things back in the approximate place I’d found them and closed myself inside the office closet. It seemed my pounding heart would give me away.

Moments later, the front door opened and keys dropped onto the granite countertop. Voices in the living room were muffled, but there were at least two men. I made out “just twenty minutes” and “watch the street” as one voice got closer.

The door to the bathroom closed. Its overhead fan turned on. I cracked the closet door open so I could hear better.

“Want some eggs?” someone called from the kitchen.

The man in the bathroom shouted that eggs sounded good, and then the same question was asked to someone else.

I didn’t hear an answer.

The speaker said again, “Want some eggs, beautiful? Hungry?”

There was a pause, and then he continued, “Come on. Might as well eat something.”

His tone was taunting. Suggestive. The toilet flushed on the other side of the wall and the bathroom door squeaked open.

The guy in the hall said, “I got something better than eggs.”

An unequivocal reply came from the living room: “Fuck you, pencil dick.”

My breath caught. It was Jeannie.

Someone mumbled about hardheaded broads and acid tongues.

The phone on Kosh’s desk rang and someone answered on an extension in the front of the house. I heard, “Is it there?” but couldn’t make out the rest.

I looked at my watch. 8:00.

They were talking about the money. The men were hiding out with Jeannie while they waited to hear if I’d returned it. I heard them discuss what to do. One said he’d call me.

Shit. Where was my bag? Any minute my phone would ring, and I’d left the ringer on incase Richard called.

I spotted it on the floor beside the desk chair, only a few feet away. But the open office door was a problem.

All I heard were kitchen sounds associated with breakfast. Somebody could be dialing. I stole a glance into the living room, and when I didn’t see anyone, I crawled behind the desk and grabbed the backpack, opening the zipper right away. I fumbled for the phones, unsure in my panic which one they’d call. I found mine first and turned off the ringer. Kurt’s was buried and I ransacked the bag with two hands before finding it deep in a corner. I managed to find his Ringer Off option. My thumb was still on the key when the phone’s LCD screen changed. It was signaling the number of an incoming call.

“She’s not answering,” I heard from the kitchen. “Should I leave a message?”

“Forget it. She’s playing tough.”

The LCD on Kurt’s phone changed to report one missed call.

“She’s smarter than the two of you together,” Jeannie said. “If I know Emily, this place is already surrounded by cops.”

I’d have been delighted with one. Where was Richard?

I peered around the corner of the desk. Jeannie was now on the pristine leather sofa in the living room. The sight of her almost moved me to tears. Her face was swollen.

She wore yesterday’s clothes, now wrinkled. Her coif was disheveled, her make-up gone, and soon there’d be a shiner. No wonder she was ornery.

I pushed the pack over my shoulder and crawled back to the closet. Jeannie spotted me. Her eyes widened. I backed into the closet and pulled the door mostly closed.

“Gotta pee.” Jeanne’s tone was matter-of-fact.

She was probably already crossing the living room, because the next thing I heard was, “Hey! Sit down!”

“Relax, mister. I promise not to flush myself out to sea.”

“Let her go,” the other said. “No windows in the bathroom.”

Soon, footsteps brushed on the carpet inside the office.

“Em?” she whispered.

“Here,” I whispered back, and pressed the closet door open a bit further.

She stared down at me, crouched on the floor under a series of hanging jackets, and I had the feeling she wasn’t really seeing me.

“What are you wearing?” she whispered. “You look like a damn sherbet.”

“Hey, what’s going on back here?” Someone was approaching the hall.

Jeannie pushed the closet door until it was open only a few inches. She stood in front of it with her back to me. I ducked into shadows.

“In here,” she said, annoyed. “Seriously. Relax. Swanky beach house. Wanted to look around, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” he said. “I think you wanted to look for a phone.”

I heard body weight drop into the desk chair as a huff of air escaped from its suspension. The bulldog was guarding his phone.

“I hope you’re wrong about your friend,” he said. “For your own sake.”

“How much money did she take?” Jeannie asked. “You mad a girl got your money?” I could hear the smile in her voice.

“You talk a lot, lady. And you’re not as funny as you think.”

Jeannie sighed. “Yeah, well, you talk a lot too. And you’re not as smart as you think.”

Chapter Twenty-nine

The office door closed emphatically. I guessed the message to Jeannie was Stay Out.

A TV droned in the front room and I heard snippets of the morning news mixed with the clatter of dishes and forks. A newscaster prattled about an injured FBI agent at Gulf Coast Skydiving. I pictured Jeannie’s kidnappers shoveling eggs as they watched the segment. We had to get out of there. I knew our odds would be better if I could get rid of one of the men first.

I pulled the closet door fully shut, and flipped open Kurt’s cell phone in the darkness. I pressed the little illuminated buttons and brought up the number for its last missed call. It was the call Jeannie’s kidnappers made moments earlier, and by my bad luck, they’d used the landline from this very house. Had a cell phone been used, I could have texted back. Instead, I’d have to actually speak to them and hope not to be discovered.

I pressed Talk, and Kosh’s desk phone rang. Even though I expected it, I still jumped at the noise. Someone answered on another extension.

I used as low a voice as I could. “Your money’s back in town, but it’s not at the motel. There’s no way I’ll go there alone.”

“Where is it?” I heard his voice through the walls and the phone at the same time.

I named an intersection I remembered from my earlier super center run. There was a gas station on the corner. “I hid it in the shrubbery behind the station’s dumpster. Now please let Jeannie go.”

“It better be there.”

“See for yourself.” I hung up.

Immediately a dialogue erupted in the living room. One man asked if they should take Jeannie. The other said not to be stupid. The TV switched off, keys jingled, and the front door thumped closed. It was 8:20.

The man who stayed to baby-sit told Jeannie it was his lucky day. I cracked the closet door open to hear better.

“Thanks to your friend, we got some alone time, beautiful. A chance for some fun.”

A car door thudded in the carport below us. An engine started.

“I bet the
only
time you have
that
kind of fun is when you’re alone,” Jeannie said.

I crawled out of the closet toward the window and parted the curtains slightly. The sedan reversed down the drive. I squinted at its front plate and flipped open Kurt’s phone.

“A drunk keeps circling the Shell station,” I told the 9-1-1 operator. She took my description of the car and its tag number. I figured the cops and Trish’s minion would pull up to the station around the same time. Even if my idea didn’t work, at least he was out of the house.

“Get off…Hey! Get the hell off me!” Jeannie yelled on the other side of the office door. She thudded into the wall. I scanned the office for something to use as a weapon and grabbed a brass paperweight shaped like a cube.

On the other side of the door, Jeannie’s protests grew muffled and more distant as he pushed her down the hall, toward the bedroom.

I opened the door. She was kicking and squirming on Kosh’s bed, pinned beneath a stocky man in a sweater and jeans. All I could see of her were flailing legs. I hurried toward them, ready to drive the paperweight into his skull.

When I got to the doorway, Jeannie spotted me, but her attacker’s face was buried in her neck. His hand was already inside her blouse. He pulled it free and reached between her legs. I showed Jeannie the paperweight in my hand. She pointed toward the dresser. The pervert had set down his gun.

I tossed the paperweight toward Jeannie’s open hand and grabbed the gun.

“Get the hell off her.”

The man whirled, and Jeannie hammered him in the face with the brass weight.

He yelled and reached for his forehead. Blood streaked down the back of his hand. Jeannie shoved out from under him. She drove the weight into his crotch and he doubled over.

“You goddamn son of a—” she blasted him in the side of the head, “—
bitch
!”

She hurried toward me, pulling at her blouse until it covered her again. I kept the gun pointed at the bloody figure writhing on the bed and told Jeannie to go in the office and bring my bag.

“Get your own bag,” she said, taking the gun from me. I was afraid to let it go, but I did. It wasn’t the time to argue.

“You wanted to get naked so bad? Get naked now!” She pointed the gun at her attacker. “Do it.”

I went back to the office closet.

“Start with your pants,” Jeannie ordered behind me.

I grabbed the bag with Trish’s money and took the laptop off the desk.

When I got back, the man was halfway out of his jeans.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s go.”

“Next, the tightie whities, and make it fast, you little bastard.”

I tugged her arm, but it was as if I weren’t there.

“Come on. You couldn’t wait to take them off a minute ago.”

“Let’s go,” I said again.

She bristled. I wondered if she’d shoot him down naked, right there. His nose, mouth, and cheek were wet with blood and Kosh’s expensive silk charmeuse bedding was stained now too. He pulled down his underwear like she said, exposing himself.

Jeannie laughed. “How can he show that thing around?” she asked me. “Take off your ugly sweater and get off the bed.”

I whispered. “What are you doing?”

She ignored me.

Completely naked, he slid off the bed and looked at us. His torso and thighs were white, untouched by sun. Blood from his face dripped onto what little chest hair he had. He was still wearing socks.

Jeannie said it was time to go.

We backed out of the hallway and she kept the gun pointed at the naked, bloody guy as he emerged and shuffled to the living room.

“Go out on the porch,” Jeannie said, “way over there, on the left.” She indicated the corner of the porch furthest away from the front door.

“Lady, I’m naked.”

“Asshole, I know.”

She fluttered her hand toward the door as if hurrying a slow-poke child, and he went outside onto the porch like she said.

Jeannie followed him out, stopping to turn the lock on the front door as she passed it. I went out behind her, carrying the bag and computer, and hustled down the front steps as fast as I could. The front door closed, and I heard Jeannie’s quick steps behind me.

“Hurry!” she ordered. “He might be crazy enough to chase us.”

***

Jeannie drove while I searched the laptop. There weren’t many folders and it wasn’t running any software beyond the standard load. I nosed around in the e-mail application but only found spam. Contents of the Deleted Items and Sent Items folders had been purged. The last websites visited were news sites. I found a link to a web mail application, but got no further than its password screen. The laptop was clean.

“There’s one,” Jeannie said, flicking on the turn signal. I’d told her to find a place with wireless Internet access. She exited the highway and drove toward an upscale bistro situated near a bustling strip mall.

Inside, smells of croissants, quiche, and gourmet coffee were intoxicating. It had been eighteen hours since I’d eaten. Jeannie ordered for us while I found a private table and connected to the Internet.

I opened a search engine and typed Data Retrieval Houston. Several hits had promise. Nine years experience recovering data from damaged hard drives. Express data recovery nationwide. Recover losses due to hardware or software failure. And—my favorite—Recover losses due to human error. Scud’s hard drive was next to me, in my pack, and I was determined to find what he was hiding. I scribbled an address and closed the laptop as Jeannie returned with a To Go sack.

My cell phone rang. It was Richard finally calling back.

I flipped open my phone. “
Where
have you been?” Immediately, a series of beeps told me my phone’s battery was dying.

“The police have been here forever, asking about the car,” he said. “I couldn’t call.”

Suddenly I remembered. I’d left Richard’s car at the airport—now a crime-scene.

“I’m sorry,” I said, although somehow the car seemed slightly irrelevant, compared to the rest.

Jeannie pulled out a chair and sat down. She watched me like she expected me to relay everything he said, right then. Instead I mouthed “battery” and pointed to the failing phone.

“It’s fine,” he said. “At least Tim was safe with cops around the house.”

His first thought was for his family’s safety. Why hadn’t that occurred to me years ago, when I was accusing him of crimes and trying to get him fired?

“I’m sorry,” I said again. I meant I was sorry for everything else. For making snap judgments, hurling accusations, and being mean. I wondered if I would ever find the right words.

“After the police left, I got in touch with a contact at CPS and learned what I could about Trish’s boyfriend, David Meyer.”

I pulled out a chair and sat across from Jeannie, who’d begun to rummage in the backpack. She discreetly peeled a few hundred-dollar bills out of a block and stood to leave.

Richard continued. “An auditor noticed that Meyer closed a lot of field cases by saying that, despite a diligent search, he couldn’t find the families. These were all white families, in a county with large Hispanic and black communities. It raised the question—was he favoring some ethnic groups over others? Meyer categorically denied it. The agency followed up by reviewing his time sheets, case notes, and files.”

“What’d they find?” I took the lid off my coffee and watched Jeannie head for the door. She left with no explanation.

“A dedicated and thorough investigator. In fact, he logs quite a bit of overtime.”

“Was there anything to validate the racism concerns?”

“No. So, they looked at his computer next. It wasn’t his files that got their attention, though, it was his log-on history.”

“Excuse me?”

“Apparently, Meyer had logged into the system at times they knew he was in the field, away from a computer. There were several times he was logged in twice, from two IP addresses.”

I tried to understand. “He obviously couldn’t be in two places at the same time. Someone else must use his password. But why would he share that? It could only get him in trouble.”

“I asked myself the same thing. Then it came to me. Maybe he unknowingly gave it to his new
live-in girlfriend
.”

He let me digest that for a moment.

“I also found out investigators get case assignments on their computers, flagged in order of priority. Priority Ones are urgent, so they’re addressed immediately. Investigators have a few days to address Priority Twos. The missing babies he couldn’t find? All Priority Twos…the ones that could wait a few days.”

“Sorry to be so thick, but—”

“If Trish knew David’s caseload, and wanted to snatch a kid, she could do it
days
before Meyer ever even tried to look for the kid. Later, Meyer could look high and low for weeks and never get warm.”

“But surely parents would report their missing baby.”

He hesitated. “What if she takes out the parents? Anyone who looked into it would have to assume the parents were trying to avoid a CPS interview. It’s a nearly perfect crime.”

I opened my mouth. The words on my tongue were “it’s impossible to believe,” but they disintegrated as soon as the thought formed. Eliminating parents, stealing babies. I thought of Eric and Casey Lyons. It wasn’t hard to believe at all.

Jeannie hadn’t returned by the time the call ended, so I ate without her. Eventually she returned with a yellow plastic sack from which she produced a pre-paid cell phone.

“For you,” she said. “Otherwise, when your battery dies we’ll be screwed.”

I shrugged. “There’s always Kurt’s phone.”

She looked at me like I was an idiot. “They could cancel service anytime.”

“So I have to carry three phones?”

She pushed it across the table with a stack of twenties and fifties. “There’s a bank in the next parking lot so I got more small bills too. You never know.”

That much was true. I unzipped the backpack and dropped the new phone and extra bills inside.

***

“Why do I have to do it?” Jeannie asked, as we walked into the offices of the disk recovery people.

On the drive north to Houston, she’d helped herself to my cheap cosmetics and a pair of sunglasses scavenged from Inez’s glove box. The glasses disguised her swollen eye well enough for her to appear stylish, maybe even rested. It was another eerily masterful transformation.

“You should do it,” I whispered, walking with her toward the counter, “because you’re older than me. They’ll believe it if you say it.”

“I’m not that much—”

“Shh. Here he comes.”

A lanky associate in Dockers and a polo shirt stepped up to the counter in front of us. A plastic nametag said BRAD. He didn’t look old enough to shave.

“How can I help you this morning?”

Jeannie stepped up to the counter and grimaced. “This is embarrassing.”

The technician gave her a dopey grin. “We pass no judgments here at ResusciData.” He chuckled.

She produced the hard drive I’d given her.

“I caught my teenager visiting an…inappropriate chat room. When I grounded him from the computer, the little shit password protected our machine. Now I can’t use it either. Can you fix it?”

The tech suppressed a smirk. I wondered if he’d done something similar in his formative computer geek years.

“Does the password box come up when you boot the machine or when you try to get into a particular application?”

“When she boots the machine,” I answered.

Brad swiveled his head toward me and seemed to notice me for the first time.

“Let’s have a look.” He took the drive from Jeannie, dropped it into an electrostatic discharge bag, and carried it to a workbench.

“The protection you described is probably in the system’s BIOS.”

Jeannie looked at me. I couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark glasses, but the creases in her forehead and the skeptical twist of her mouth said it all: “Huh?”

“If I install your drive as a secondary drive in another work station,” he continued, “we should be able to get to your data that way.”

He took a seat on a stool and we watched him use a ribbon cable to connect the drive to an open CPU and turn on the computer.