Cold Target (46 page)

“What is there to say?” Holly asked cautiously.

“Maybe something about how you became inspired to create them.”

“I'm not a writer.”

“Why don't I write up something and let you look at it?”

“Okay,” Holly said without enthusiasm. “But I don't want anything about Harry or myself.”

“I'll be sure to concentrate on the creativity part,” Marty said. “Can you and Harry come to supper tomorrow? I'm having another little gathering to celebrate. About the size of the one we had, when you first came. Bring Doug.”

She hung up before Holly could reply.

Holly slowly replaced the phone in the cradle. She knew that Bisbee now considered the sheriff and her a couple. Several comments had been made at the store where she shopped and at the library.
Are you and Doug going to the concert in the park? Are you and Doug going to the opening of the new restaurant
?

She saw the love in his eyes. She felt it in the way he touched her. In his infinite patience. She wondered if her eyes reflected her growing feelings for him.

Perhaps it was time to tell him. But then what, as a lawman, would he have to do?

Would it be fair to him? She would never know until she told him. And they couldn't continue as they were. He wanted more. He needed more. He deserved more.

Perhaps tonight …

N
EW
O
RLEANS

Everything was unraveling. The damn reporter wouldn't give up. He had even turned up at campaign headquarters and barged into Randolph's private office. The last question had been like a dagger aimed directly at his heart. “Do you know a man named Carrick?”

Randolph wanted to say no. But that was one of the few things he couldn't hide. He knew Carrick had been in some photos with him. Damn the man for his incompetence.

Carrick had assured Randolph he could do the job without outside help. After all, Mrs. Ames could be no kind of threat. She hated guns. She hated violence. She was a timid mouse.

So what in the hell had happened in his house?

He certainly hadn't expected what he'd found. A dead man in his wife's bedroom. Both his wife and son gone.

He'd immediately called his father-in-law, who calmed him down and told him what to do. Carrick would have to disappear. As would Holly … once she was found. Immediately.

But Holly had proved more elusive than anyone had thought.

And now Carrick had been identified.

Randolph hoped he didn't look as rattled as he felt. DeWitt had just barged into his office with a breezy, “Thought you were in Baton Rouge, Senator.”

Since that was what Randolph had told the staff to tell the reporter, he felt cornered. “The meeting was over earlier than I thought.”

“And what meeting was that, Senator?”

The best defense is a good offense. That's one thing he'd learned well from his father-in-law. “I didn't know you had moved over to the political beat.”

“I haven't,” DeWitt said. “But you interest me, Senator.”

He couldn't help but be startled by the pronouncement. “Why?”

“Your wife, for instance. No one has seen her for a while.”

“I thought my office had explained,” Randolph said stiffly. “She's looking after a sick friend.”

“But why is she incommunicado? Rather strange, isn't it? I mean, she
is
the wife of a man who wants to be a congressman. I assume she knows there are obligations.”

“I'm the candidate, not my wife,” Randolph said. “Her private life is her own.”

“The voting public likes to know the family situation of its candidates. Now, if she's left you for some reason, I think they have the right to know that.”

“She hasn't left me.”

“Rumors say otherwise.”

Randolph recognized the trap. “It hasn't been a problem.” Of course he'd heard rumors and had been asked about Holly's absence by members of the press, who'd had the sense to back off when he and his father-in-law stared them down while delivering the story. But he knew that all too soon they would not be appeased and he would have to come up with Holly, her death, or a more convincing story about her absence. Visiting a sick friend. He'd not done too well coming up with that old saw.

“One phone call could clear this up,” DeWitt said.

Randolph pondered the problem. He'd always had good press. He'd always courted reporters, taking them to dinner, to lunch, dropping news tips in their ears. He couldn't afford for them to turn against him now, and DeWitt was an important news figure in the city.

He could, of course, call the editor and ask why DeWitt was now covering a simple congressional campaign, but that might raise someone's antenna. Better to get a woman to call and pretend to be his wife.

“I'll try to arrange a call,” he said.

“What about right now?”

“Her friend is dying. She is distraught. I'm not going to call and have her interrogated without some warning.” He leaned forward in his seat. “I'll tell you something off the record. Holly is shy and sensitive. She doesn't like the political life. I'm sorry to say she doesn't care for reporters and has always avoided them. The only way I could convince her to accept my candidacy was to promise she would not have to be a public figure herself, that she could continue to raise our young son with privacy. I don't intend to break that promise,” he finished righteously.

“When can I speak to her then?”

“I'll call you.”

DeWitt gave him a look that said he wasn't buying any of it. “If I don't hear from you by tomorrow, I'll start asking some questions in my Sunday column,” he said. “Now what about Carrick?”

“Can't say I know much about him. A friend asked me to hire him. He was my driver, nothing else. Then he disappeared.”

“When?”

“I really can't recall the exact day.”

“Perhaps your payroll records will.”

“I'll ask my treasurer to check.”

“Now?”

“He's not here now.”

The reporter stared at him. Randolph met his gaze directly. He was good at that. It was an acquired art.

“Now I have a radio interview scheduled,” he said, rising from his chair and holding out his hand.

DeWitt ignored it. “Did you know Carrick had a general discharge from the army?”

“No, can't say I did.” He wasn't about to admit he did indeed know. “As I said, a friend asked me to hire him, said he was down on his luck. He was a good driver.”

“Don't you do background checks on your staff?”

“He really wasn't on the staff. He was just there on an as-needed basis.”

“You really should be more careful, Senator. He was accused of rape. I'm surprised you would want someone like that around your wife.”

The damn reporter wouldn't quit.

“I'll take your advice,” he said. “And now I really must go”

“Can I take you anywhere? Since you don't have a driver?”

Randolph knew he was being baited. He wanted to hit the damned reporter, or watch him being hit. He wanted to wipe away the smug, knowing smile. “No need. One of my staff will take me. I'll get back to you tomorrow about my wife.”

He ushered DeWitt out the door. He knew that the reporter wasn't satisfied, that he would be back on the phone in the morning. Sanders DeWitt was renowned for his persistence.

He sat back in the chair. There was no radio show. Just as there was no wife.

He had to find a substitute. Fast.

He called Judge Matthews. He would know what to do. He always did.

Gage received a call from DeWitt.

“No more games,” the reporter said. “I want to know what the hell is going on.”

“What happened?”

“I'll tell you when I see you.”

It was obvious DeWitt was not going to say anything more.

“Meet me in two hours at Calley's near Gibson,” Gage said.

“Right,” DeWitt said.

Gage hung up and looked at his two companions. “Want to meet with him?”

“I think the more he knows, the more he can help,” Meredith said. “I no longer have anyone to protect.” She looked at Dom. “But you do.”

“They made their move,” Dom said. “The only way I can fight back now is to bring the whole thing out into daylight and fight the code violations in court.”

They all had decided that the sudden discovery of code violations was probably the result of Dom's appearance at Marguerite Rawson's funeral. A warning, perhaps. Or perhaps it had been intended to distract him.

Or destroy him.

In the past two hours, Dom had called in markers. His attorney was one of the city's top litigators and he was trying to find out more about the inspectors who tried to close down the shelter. He'd already gotten a ten-day suspension on the order to close.

The heavy-handed tactic could work to their advantage. They could use it to distract the senator and give him more than one position to defend. If he were tied to closing a shelter for kids, it could backlash in a big way.

DeWitt walked into Calley's at the appointed time, his gaze moving around the table with extreme interest if not surprise. He sat down. “What an intriguing group of bedfellows,” he observed.

Gage wasn't interested in chatting. He had the most unpleasant feeling that something very bad might happen soon. “How was your conversation with the senator?”

“Uninformative except to discover he's an A-class liar. He promised his shy, reporter-averse wife that he would not inflict people like me on her. He said he would try to arrange a phone call tomorrow.”

“It won't be her,” Gage said.

“I need some questions to ask her so I'll know whether it's her.” Then he sat back and searched every face. “Who wants to tell me what this is all about?”

Gage looked at Meredith. “It started with Meredith. You know that she was attacked in a parking garage and nearly killed.”

Then each told their part of the story as DeWitt recorded it. When they had finished, he sat back and stared at them.

“You think Ames is behind this.”

“And possibly Judge Matthews.”

DeWitt raised an eyebrow.

“It's all about something that happened thirty-three years ago,” Gage said. “Ames would have been about five years old.”

“But why would Matthews want to keep an adoption secret to the extent of having people killed?”

“I don't know,” Gage said. “We've considered every possibility we can think of. Maybe pride. Maybe something to do with an inheritance. Nothing else makes sense.”

DeWitt's eyes were bright with interest. In fact, they fairly gleamed with the primitive instinct of the hunter. “If it's an inheritance matter, there should be a will somewhere. I'll research it. Wills should be in probate court.”

“For the moment, I'm worried about Holly Ames,” Meredith said. “What if …”

She couldn't finish the sentence.

“If she were dead, they would have found some better explanation by now,” DeWitt said. “An accident of some kind. The longer she's missing, the more difficult the explanation.”

Gage nodded. “I would just like to know if she disappeared of her own free will or was taken … somewhere.” He didn't add the “alive or dead” that was implied nonetheless. Meredith didn't need to hear her fears repeated. He'd seen how her face had paled when she'd tried to say it. “If she left on her own, you can bet Ames is looking for her, too.”

“What do you know about her?” DeWitt said.

“Damned little. Some stuff in campaign literature. A few mentions of her in news stories. Nothing more than her attending Tulane University and being a stay-at-home mom.”

DeWitt looked lost in thought, then abruptly shook his head. “Often when a politician begins to run for office, he seeks publicity in a small community paper. Features showing him to be an ordinary Joe. I'll check the neighborhood papers in his senatorial district. Perhaps there was a feature.”

“How long will it take?”

“Five minutes,” he said. He grinned at their surprise. “I make a point of being friends with the local rags. It's surprising what they know.”

He retrieved his cell phone from his belt, flipped it open and started dialing. On the second call, he found a writer who had interviewed Mrs. Ames.

Gage could hear only one side of the conversation—the clipped questions, then effusive thanks.

DeWitt looked pleased with himself when he finished.

“Carol Ellis, an associate editor, did a feature two years go. She really liked Mrs. Ames. Said she was very retiring but had a sweet smile and tried her best to answer questions.”

“Any clues as to where she might go?”

“No, but she said Holly Ames had an odd hobby. She was a metal sculptor. She even showed Carol some kind of garden critter—a dancing pig. She kept insisting it was just a ‘silly' hobby, but Carol sensed it meant a lot to her when Carol praised one of her pieces.” He paused—for effect, Gage knew. All reporters had a flare for the dramatic. It went with the job.

“And …” Gage prompted.

“Carol suggested a gift shop might be interested in selling them. Mrs. Ames didn't seem interested but she took the shop's card.”

“What of Ames?”

“He wasn't there.”

“Did you get the name of the gift shop?”

“Yep. Mary's Crafts and Gifts. On Magazine Street.”

“Let's go,” Meredith said. “Perhaps they might know something about Holly.”

DeWitt shook his head. “I'm going to probate court, see if I can't find the wills of Judge Matthews's father and mother. It's a long shot, but I'm with you. I can't figure out anything other than money that would cause Matthews to risk everything. Then I plan to go through all our files on him and the good senator. Maybe I can pick up some oddity.”