Angels in Disguise (8 page)

She nodded and let out a sigh. “I so hoped they'd find something we could fix today."

"Yeah, me too. Do you feel like getting a bite to eat?"

"No,” she said, hugging herself. “I just want to go home."

That night, Hawkman stayed up and watched the late news so Jennifer would have time to relax and fall asleep before he hit the bed. When he finally went into their room, he stood for several minutes gazing at her, his heart heavy at the thought of what she'd gone through yesterday, only to come home today with no answers. And the doctor hadn't given them much of an explanation about the problem either. He hoped the other tests she had to undergo wouldn't be as hard on her system.

He undressed, placed his eye-patch on the bedside table, then slipped between the sheets. His arms ached to pull her close, but not wanting to disturb her, turned away. Suddenly, his ears perked when she let out a loud sigh. He sat straight up and stared at his wife. She rolled over, and tugged at the covers until she had them wrapped around her shoulders. He wondered if she'd experienced a chill. Since she'd had nothing to eat but liquids the day before and only a bowl of chicken noodle soup tonight, it sounded reasonable. Maybe he should get the afghan off the couch. He observed her for several more minutes until her breathing became deep and regular. Satisfied she appeared warm enough, he eased down onto the pillow and closed his eyes.

Arising early the next morning, Hawkman put on the coffee pot, then sauntered into the living room where he stared out over the lake, trying to decide if he should go into the office. He knew Jennifer wouldn't want him hovering over her all day, but that's what he wanted to do. The Carlotta case could wait. In fact, he debated whether he should return Paul's check and tell him to find another investigator. His mind kept jumping back and forth from Jennifer's problem to the missing woman.

He drifted back into the kitchen and took his mug off the top of the refrigerator and poured a cup of the hot brew. As he turned around, his heart squeezed. Jennifer stood at the edge of the counter smiling.

"Good morning, sweetheart,” she said. “That coffee smells delicious and I'm starved."

He grinned. “Sounds like good news. I'll get you a cup.” He tied a baker's apron around his waist. “And what would madam like to order this morning?"

"Oh, what a treat,” she said, slipping onto one of the kitchen stools. “I'll have bacon, eggs and toast."

He placed the big skillet on the burner. “Coming right up."

After breakfast, Jennifer sat at the kitchen bar and watched Hawkman clean up the mess. “Honey, I want you to stop worrying about me."

He leaned across the counter and cupped her chin in his hand. “That's asking a lot."

She entwined her fingers around his. “I'm going to be fine. The doctors will find the problem and correct it."

"I don't like all the mystery. Your primary doctor doesn't seem to have a clue about what's going on."

"He's only an M.D., not a specialist. At least he's not sitting on it and is referring me to someone who might be able to diagnose my problem."

"Yeah, you're right. But you've always been healthy."

"I still am. So a little problem has occurred. I don't want you hanging around here moping. Get on with your case and we'll take one step at a time."

"When you read my mind, you scare me."

She grinned. “Why?"

"Because, I'd about decided to give Paul back his check and tell him to hire another investigator."

Jennifer shook her head vehemently. “No way. You'd drive me crazy hanging around here. I don't want us changing our life style because of some minor health problem. You keep working on the case and I'll keep writing my books."

He reached over and touched her cheek. “It's a deal."

After he hung around observing Jennifer for an hour, he felt it would be safe to leave her. He placed the sketches in a binder and took off for Medford. Stopping by the police station, he showed Detective Williams the drawings.

After Williams studied the portraits, he folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. “This one looks familiar.” He pointed at the one of Derrick. “But right off the top of my head, I don't recognize these two. You certainly might find them in the mug book. They definitely don't have the appeal of upstanding citizens."

"My impression exactly."

"Let me know."

"Will do."

Hawkman found a vacant computer room where he could study the mug book without being interrupted. He had the pictures of the two men pretty much in his mind, but placed the sketches on the table so he could compare the shots. He booted up the computer and clicked on the mug book icon. Meticulously studying each picture, it didn't take long before he spotted the photo of the so-called Jack Smith. His real name appeared to be Alfonso Gomez. He quickly went to the data file and discovered the man had been arrested a year ago on a felony drug charge, but then released for lack of evidence. He'd also been hauled in for involvement in a bar brawl, but again the charges were dismissed. After printing out the file, Hawkman continued his search for Derrick.

Several minutes later, he found a clean shaven man resembling the sketch. Hawkman played with the computer until he had a mustache and small beard placed on the face. The photo fit. The man's name was Derrick Altbusser. No wonder Tiffany didn't catch the German last name. He pulled up the data on this man and found similar charges, also dismissed.

Both men had associated with drugs. No biggies, but they were connected with the drug world and obviously knew dealers to supply their habits. Could it be Carlotta decided to get a few kicks and experiment? This might put a whole new approach on investigating her disappearance.

He rubbed a hand across his face and fingered his own mustache. The thought of dropping such a bomb on Paul would probably put him into shock, but he'd have to find out if he ever suspected Carlotta of doing drugs. It might explain her uncaring attitude toward her daughter's school activities, along with her unusual behavior toward Tiffany's friends and their parents. He'd talk to Paul first, then approach Delia.

He gathered up the printed materials, put them into the folder and strolled back to Detective Williams’ office.

"You busy?"

"I'm always busy. But have a seat and tell me what you found."

Hawkman placed the printouts of the two men in front of the detective. “The data file had fairly recent addresses, so they may still live in the same places. Anyway, this is where I'll start my search."

Williams tapped his pen on the desk top as he looked over the information. “Appears our little lady may have gotten involved with the wrong crowd."

"Yes, and it bothers me. I have a feeling she's very naive. Could have easily been swept along with the crowd and who knows where she's ended up. Maybe in a shallow grave."

The detective turned a sharp eye toward Hawkman. “You don't usually go for the negative."

Hawkman swept up the files and stowed them back into his folder. Pushing back his cowboy hat, he sighed. “Yeah, I know. But my gut tells me there's something terribly wrong here. And it's bugging the hell out of me because I can't put my finger on it."

"You will. The case is young."

"The lady's been missing over a week. Not a good sign."

Williams fiddled with some papers on his desk. “You've got a point. But things will come together."

Picking up the binder, Hawkman stood. “Won't keep you any longer. I'll let you know if anything breaks."

The detective gave a salute. “Same here. Good luck."

Hawkman left the station and climbed into his 4X4, leaving the door open while he called Jennifer. “Hi, hon, any news?"

"Yes, both appointments are set up. However, the CAT scan is the day after the appointment with the kidney doctor. But I spoke with my primary physician and he said it won't make any difference. The kidney doctor plans on doing a cystoscopy."

"A what?"

Jennifer laughed. “You definitely don't understand medical terms."

"No. I've never dealt with many doctors except for my eye and few injuries. But I've never heard of all these test they're doing on you. So what's this one about?"

"I'll explain it more in detail when you get home. It's no big deal."

"Give me some sort of a hint."

She chuckled. “It involves inserting a narrow telescope and inspecting my bladder."

"Good Lord, I hope they'll put you under."

"No. It's not painful. In fact, I've researched it on the internet. I'll be able to watch a monitor and see what I look like inside."

"You actually want to see it?"

"Sure, it'll be interesting."

"When is this test?"

"Thursday and the CAT scan will be on Friday. You know what that is, don't you?"

"Yes, they put a dye in your arm, then run the big machine over your body and take layered pictures."

"Very good. So I probably won't get the results until Monday."

"So we're playing the waiting game again. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. At least we know there isn't a kidney stone waiting to make it's appearance."

"I guess that's good news."

"Did you find those guys in the mug book?"

"Yes. I'm leaving the police station now and going to their last known addresses."

"Good luck. I'll talk to you later."

Hawkman hung up and shut the vehicle door. He took the data file from the binder and checked the addresses. Alfonso Gomez's dwelling sounded familiar. He also recognized the hotel address given as Derrick's residence. He'd hit there first, since it was closer. He removed his shoulder holster and gun from under the seat and slipped it on. After shrugging back into his jacket, he glanced at the sheet and checked the room number, then placed the papers on the passenger seat. He turned on the ignition and drove into the street.

When he arrived at the hotel, he pulled into their lot but hated to park among all the junker cars. At least the sun hadn't gone down and it would probably be safe. He set the alarm and locked up.

Straightening his jacket and adjusting his hat down above his brows, he made his way to the entry. The old place had been somewhat transformed. A new coat of paint enhanced the outside and plants graced the flower boxes going up the steps. He figured it had either changed hands or a couple of women had moved in. When he tugged open the heavy front door, it didn't squeak and his boots sunk into new carpeting at the entry. With all this up grading, Derrick might not have been able to afford the rent and moved out. He'd better check the registry at the desk first.

A small sign tacked on the wall had ‘office’ with an arrow pointing to his right. He moved into the room and approached the tall bar like structure located at the far end. A poster stating the services available rested on the counter top and a young woman sat on a bar stool behind it reading a romance novel. Hawkman stood for a moment waiting for her to look up, but she seemed so engrossed, he finally cleared his throat. She almost jumped off the chair and her hand went to her heart.

"Oh, you scared me half to death."

Hawkman snickered. “That must be a pretty good book."

She blushed. “Yeah, it is. Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for a Derrick Altbusser. This is the last address I have of my old buddy, but wanted to make sure he still lived here before I ran up and down the hall banging on doors."

"Sure doesn't sound familiar,” she said, looking thoughtful. “But let me check.” She thumbed through a ledger on the desk. “No, we don't have anyone here by that name."

"Do you by any chance have a record about a year ago. Maybe you could see if he left a forwarding address?"

"Sure, hold on a minute.” She left the room and returned with another large black bound book and plopped it on the counter. Flipping through the pages, she ran her finger down a line of names. “Here he is. He moved out about eight months ago. The only forwarding address he left is a Post Office Box number. You want it?"

"It might help. Maybe I can track him down."

"One, five, four, six."

He jotted the digits on a slip of paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Thanks, appreciate your help."

Hawkman left the hotel and drove toward the other address, when he rounded the corner, he remembered Tulip Withers lived in this same complex.

Hawkman had Alfonso's apartment number, but decided to stop and check with management to see if he still lived in the complex. He parked and a thought flashed through his mind. He quickly jotted on the note pad he kept in the vehicle; call Phillips and Cramer law specialist in Grants Pass and find out if they were back in their building this week.

He left his vehicle and strolled into the small dingy room, but found no one manning the desk. A small bell sat on the top of a stack of papers, so he hit it a couple of times. Shortly, a man about five foot four, his shirt straining at the buttons over a fat beer belly, came slowly out of the back through a curtained doorway. A cheap cigar hung from his lips and the odor permeated the area.

"Yeah, can I help ya?"

Hawkman flashed his badge. “I'm looking for Alfonso Gomez, wanted to check and see if he still lives here."

"Got his room number?"

"Two forty-four."

When the man opened a large black ledger, a big ash fell off his cigar onto the pages. He brushed it aside and adjusted his reading glasses. Running his finger down the margin, he glanced up. “Yep. He still lives in the same place."

"Do you have his employment record?"

The fellow let out a wheeze and rested the cigar in a filthy ashtray. “I'll have to check his folder. Is this guy in some kind of trouble?"

"Not sure."

"I'm usually not required to give out personal information. But I don't want no problems at my place. Hold on a second."

He turned to a tall filing cabinet and pulled open a drawer. After a few moments, he took out a small folder and thumbed through the sheets. “The last employment I have listed is six months old."