Exposed by Rage (12 page)

We drove to the Grayson Lake house which was closer to Fort Worth than Plano but still was only a couple of hours away.  House is a bit of an understatement.  It was a mini-mansion with five bedrooms, 5 baths and all the space anyone could want.  Even with the lake only a few feet away there was an Olympic size pool.  Oh, and did I mention there was also a three bedroom guest house   Just a small getaway for Trixie and her friends. 

I didn’t have a key to the manse but that had never stopped me from getting in, so if Eve didn’t answer the door bell, we’d just use the alternate entry point, the sliding door to Trixie’s downstairs escape, a fluffy office, reading room, with audition couch included.  The door had never locked correctly and I had no reason to believe anything had changed.

DeMarco banged on the door after ringing the bell several times.  No answer.  So I took a trip to the back, and slipped in, noting that there were files on Trixie’s desk that I wanted to take a look through after rescuing DeMarco from the porch.

Together we walked through the house, searching for evidence that Eve may have been there.  We didn’t stop to go through everything initially, saving that for a closer inspection after we had a chance to search the guest and boat houses. 

No specific signs that Eve had been there, but there were dishes in the sink, and towels on the floor of the bathroom.  Eve had never been one to clean up after herself, always leaving the dirty work to the maids.  There were also signs that Trixie had been in residence for at least some time.  Her makeup and jewelry were in her dressing room, as were some of her favorite outfits. 

There was nothing to indicate anyone had been in the guesthouse, but the boat was gone from the dock.  I took pictures with my phone, of a corner in the boathouse that had industrial grey walls and a chair with ropes on the floor. 

“This looks like the place the picture of your mother was taken,” DeMarco said.  “I’ll call the Sheriff’s office and get his crime scene techs to come out.” 

Michael was the cautious, by the books type of cop and had notified the Sheriff that we would be coming down to take a look around, so there was no need to explain everything when he placed the call.

“I’m going to go in the office and take a look at the files on the desk.  Not like Trixie to leave business information out like that so maybe someone was going through her desk.  Of course we had brought gloves and put them on as we had looked around so the technicians wouldn’t have to collect our fingerprints in every room.  They still might find mine, but I hadn’t been to the lake house in years and had forgotten about it until George mentioned it.

“I’ll keep an eye out for the sheriff’s people and I want to take a better look at the boathouse.  Did Trixie leave the boat keys out where Eve or someone else could have easily gotten them?”

“She had a key safe but she handed out the code to friends when they were at the house.” I showed him where the keys were kept and told him the code.  “There are probably dozens of people who could have accessed it.” 

“Your mother doesn’t make it easy to get a handle on who might have taken her.  I can’t help but think Eve was involved but she could just be another victim.”

“I thought of that, but I would expect there to be some evidence of a struggle here or in the boathouse if that were the case.  Taking on two women at the same time wouldn’t be easy.”

“But they could have thought the person who took them was a friend and there could be any number of ways they could have been taken down separately,” Michael ran his hand though his hair.  A frequent indicator that he was running through possible scenarios as he looked around.  “I’ll leave you to your inspections.  You can find me in the office if you need me.”

In the office I sat in Trixie’s chair and carefully examined the files.  Several of them were personal information files on Eve, George, and files on the VixSin management.  She had notes in each one, but they were in Trixie code.  She was worse than a kid with an instant message account, using abbreviations that often made no sense to anyone but her.

I jumped when a man’s voice interrupted my thoughts.  

“Jackson Peters, ma’am I’m looking for Detective DeMarco.  He said he’d meet us out front, but we waited and he hasn’t shown up yet.”

My heart plummeted into a black abyss.  No way Michael would just ignore the team’s arrival.  I ran out the patio door scanning the property for some sign that would tell me where he had gone.  The drums thundered in my mind when I saw the door to the boathouse was held open by a grey suit pant covered leg and black shoe.

Calling to Peters to get an ambulance, I ran, gun drawn, across the perfectly groomed yard, down the dock, and into the room. 

DeMarco was down, his head bloody where he had been hit with a mallet that lay beside him.  I lost it.  No thought of crime scene preservation.  No thought to check for the person who had done this.  I fell to my knees beside Michael and could have collapsed with relief when I realized he was still breathing. 

Peters entered the room, followed by an officer who had accompanied the techs to the house. Seeing what had happened, the deputy called for backup and began a cautious search of the boathouse.  The deputy’s partner joined us, and helped me up, asking the questions that needed to be asked.  I admit it helped to have him going through the familiar routine, but I still couldn’t concentrate.  Michal wasn’t waking up. 

He still hadn’t come around when the ambulance arrived and they carted him to the nearest hospital.  By the time they disappeared down the road, the property was crawling with officers and Peters was directing his staff on documenting the crime scene, then begin on the house.  Whoever had attacked Michael was gone. Either they had slipped out through the door and taken off through the other properties, or taken a dive into the lake.

Before DeMarco was taken away I had retrieved the keys to his car and cell phone.  It rang--one of the men in the unit with an update on the photo that had been sent to the sheriff to show to the ranch manager.  I told him what was happening here, and where DeMarco had been taken, then listened as he confirmed the chick who visited the ranch was Eve.  There was nothing but circumstance that connected Eve to the murders or Trixie’s disappearance.  No gun was smoking fifty dollar cigars, but the way her name kept turning made it a high probability she was in deep shit.

As soon as I could I went directly to the hospital where Michael was already established in a cozy room, filled with cops.  Sheriff’s deputies, Texas Rangers. No matter where you go, if you are a cop there is always a support team to watch over you when you go down, even if it’s just curiosity or territorial marking.  He looked pale and still.  He hadn’t come back to the world of the living instead he was still in the dream world he had gone to, a bad sign in my opinion.  

A nurse appeared in the doorway.  “Let’s give this woman some time alone in here,” she said sternly, mistaking my relationship with DeMarco. 

But was it a mistake?  I was shaken, afraid, and pissed as a striking cobra.  When I found the one who had done this I was going to pump them full of my own special venom. 

I hovered over the bed, looking for any sign that DeMarco knew where he was, but he was limp as a discarded banana peel.  I was so focused on him, I didn’t notice when Braden walked in. 

“Any idea who did this?” he demanded, like I was the enemy—again.  “You seem to be in the wrong place too often.  Tell me what happened.”

I should have been amused when he suddenly looked frightened and took two steps back.  I could feel my rage boiling like lava, and was pretty sure I had my back-off-or-I’ll-kill-you face on. I am no longer the cute little girlie chick you can intimidate when the demon rage took over.  Someday I was going to have to have someone take a picture so I could keep it by my desk.

The fact that Braden was actually Michael’s partner squirmed its way slowly into my mind, and I felt some of the tension evaporate.  Branden was just as shaken as I was.   “No, I don’t know who did this,” I told him, feeling deflated.  “I was in the house looking through some paperwork, while he was outside waiting for the county forensic team.”

I brought Braden up to date and he filled me in on the trip to Kansas. Three more girls had been found with the charm, and there was nothing that indicated who had killed them, however one of the computer guys had found the site where the lotus films were available for sale to special clientele.  He was trying to track down the source, but was having a difficult time.  I always wonder how the scum of the world could be so stupid but make it so hard to find them.

“How did you get here so quick?  I just talked to your office, and you couldn’t have gotten here from Plano this soon.”

“I was already on my way.  The chief wanted me to catch up with you and help so when I got to the call from dispatch I came directly here,” he looked at DeMarco and worry poured from his eyes.  “You hear anything from the doctor yet?”

“I haven’t talked to anyone.  When I saw him like this, I couldn’t think of anything but being here for him.”

Braden sighed, lowering himself into a chair across the bed from me.  “He’s a good guy and it makes it worse when somethin’ happens.  He got shot a couple of years ago, thought I was gonna lose him like I did my first partner, but he’s a fighter.”

I admit it was just a little creepy, sitting here like this with Braden.  I wanted to keep thinking he was an asshole, but he was making it difficult.  The doctor stepped into the room introducing himself, and saved me from having to say anything nice to Braden. 

“Detective DeMarco’s skull was fractured by the blow to his head but we haven’t detected any bleeding in his brain although it has surely been bruised and we are keeping a close eye on him for signs of pressure building.”

“Why hasn’t he waken up?”  Braden asked.

“He did briefly and was able to tell us his name, and react well to other tests, but we felt it was best to place him in an artificial coma and continue to monitor him for at least twenty-four hours.”

All I really heard was the part about him waking up.  I knew he wasn’t out of danger, but my shattered heart was restored and I could breathe again.

My cellphone rang, and as much as I wanted to ignore it, I took it out and saw the words private number written across the screen.  Perfect timing.  I was on my way to pick up DeMarco from the hospital.  I’d had to arm wrestle Braden for the privilege, but I don’t lose when I really want something.  I swung the car into the hospital parking lot, pulling over to answer the phone.

“Mommy dearest isn’t a very happy house guest,” the electronically altered voice told me.  “We want to help her get home.  You’ll receive a text with instructions for where to drop the money tonight.  When we have it we’ll let you know where to pick her up.”

The phone call disconnected. I didn’t have time to object, or ask questions.  Even if the tap produced a cell tower location, the call hadn’t been long enough to provide any more information.  I knew the text would be coming from a burner phone that the bastards would dump the minute they sent it.  

I called the bank and told them to have the money ready for me to pick up at noon, and pulled into the portico then went to get my detective.  I’d get Michael and ultimately deliver him into the custody of the nurse I hired to keep an eye on him, run to get the deposit on our way home—the small down payment on the ransom demand, from the bank.  Dylan, my friend from the MP’s had a nifty little tracking device he had been testing, that could be placed to any surface and would be almost invisible to the naked eye.  We intended to try it on one of the hundred dollar bills, so even if they changed the bag the tracker would still be able to lead us to the scum. 

Of course I was going to also include a sweet note begging them to forgive me for the shorted ransom.  It would include a diplomatic reality check that ten million was a very large package for covert delivery. Apparently our villains didn’t watch a lot of television or movies that would have given them the idea of using an off-shore banking account, thank goodness.  It would have been much more difficult to quickly track.

Demarco was pacing the room, anxious to leave the hallowed white halls of the hospital and just a bit peeved he had to go out in a wheelchair, but he looked better than he had yesterday, and actually had some color back in his cheeks.  When he was settled into the car, I gave him a quick update on the investigation. 

“I’ll do the drop,” he said after reading the text message. 

I gave him my sweetest, most charming smile, “No.  I will explain your role in this.   You’re staying at the house with Dylan and monitoring the tracking device.  You are not going to any active scene for at least another 24 hours.”

DeMarco sputtered and growled but finally settled back, crossed his arms over his chest and rode silently to the house.  I think it was the look on my face that told him he couldn’t win the fight.  I really do need someone to document the don’t-argue-with-me expressions that work so well.

I had stopped at the bank, on the way to the manse, and turned it over to Dylan when he met us at the door and moved off to get it prepped.   Michael gave an insulting groan, when I introduced him to the nurse I had hired.

“Mr. DeMarco,” she said standing taller with her shoulders back, “I am not a Nazi stalker but I will do my job when needed. You can make the job easy or hard but it will get done.”

I love finding help who are confident and able to keep others in their place when it came to their areas of specialty.  I wondered if she would be amenable to letting me hire her permanently for a business I was considering.  We would need someone who knew how to care of those who might think they didn’t need care for themselves.  The nurse excused herself and I led Michael to the dining turned situation room to join our team for strategy and preparation to take down of the kidnappers.

“Ash told me about the tracker you’re testing.  What kind of range does it have?  I could tell he was impressed by the row of monitors and other equipment Dylan’s team had installed.  “Can I see it?”

“I already put one in the money packs, but I have another one here,” Dylan opened his hand and pointed to a small dark dot in his palm.  This is a long way from getting the Army’s approval but I know it will work for this.    There isn’t a range issue that we’ve seen.  It’s a two part system.  There is a drone that stays in contact with the tracker and sends back information to the field units and this monitoring center.  We keep the drone low and about a mile out so it doesn’t attract the person we are following’s attention.”

“How does the drone keep from losing the target?

“The tracker acts as a guidance system.  You turn left, it turns left.  Right it turns right.

“How—“

“Sorry detective, that’s about all I can tell you about this and I hope you realize this is to be kept between us.  I checked out your clearance when you served, and you aren’t classified for additional details.”

DeMarco nodded his understanding and walked over to one of the monitors.  What he was seeing was the information received from the drone that was already airborne and circling the house.

We went over the plans in detail, then Dylan handed me a sat-phone that I would use to talk to the base team.  It was on a secure network and couldn’t be hacked by our targets unless they were standing in the room.  Not even possible as these were Dylan’s guys and had been handpicked to be part of his special service team. He would relay any information the follow cars needed as well as direct their placement as the information came in from the drone.  We would have a very tight net around the money, which we wouldn’t close until we could confirm they were with Trixie.

* * * *

The drop was to be made at Oak Point Park and Nature Preserve.  I guess they thought it would be hard to find them on the 800 acres of land, but like ninety percent of the ransom drops that had ever been chosen, I was to put the money in a trash barrel. 

I could never understand why the bad guys thought putting money in the trash was such a cool thing to have people do.   It gave the concept of dirty money a whole new level of meaning.  I’m sure they didn’t see it as some big psychological kick in the pants for the person delivering the cash.    They just weren’t that smart. 

I arrived at the designated time and dropped the satchel holding the million dollars into the sherbet green with rust highlights barrel.  The drone was circling out of sight overhead, and I got back in the car and drove out of the preserve.  Of course because we weren’t in the wilderness, but in Plano, Texas I was able to pull into a busy parking lot just a short distance away and was ready to track our felons.  I didn’t have to wait long.  Five minutes after I parked the tracker began to move coming my way. 

I didn’t try to identify the car or the driver as they flew past the parking lot entry in a pack of other cars and trucks, knowing that as we followed the make and model of the vehicle would become evident. It wasn’t a long drive, just into the center of town, up Avenue P and back to the east on 18
th
Street into an older subdivision with pint size houses.  When I was a kid it was an okay neighborhood that was now descending into dangerous after dark.  No one lingered in the front yards, no children ran and played and the once loved little houses were decaying from lack of care.

A small dull grey car pulled into the driveway of the house half a block down from me.  The tracker indicated the money had stopped moving.  I pulled to the curb behind a pickup truck and watched as someone got out of the car.  I had hoped to be able to tell who our perp was, but other than noting a figure, in sweat pants and a hoodie, clothes to warm for this time of year, it was impossible to tell who was wearing them.

As expected, the private number label appeared on the cell phone screen as it rang.  I put the sat phone on vibrate, to make sure it didn’t ring during the conversation, and answered.  “I see you got my message.”

“You stupid bitch,” the voice screamed.  “You want me to kill your slut of a mother?  You think this if some kind of joke?”

“Not at all, but do you really think I could have carried 10 million around in a suitcase?”  The damn satchel weighed over twenty pounds and was the size of a carry-on suitcase. Did these idiots think I could dump over 200 pounds on cash into a trash barrel?  “I gave you a deposit and will work on getting you the rest, but I want to talk to Trixie, make sure she’s alright.”

I could hear a muffled, staticy argument going on, like someone had placed their hand over the receiver, but after a few minutes, the electronic masking device was turned off and Trixie was on the line.  “Ash?  It that really you?  You need to do what they tell you, Ash.”

“I’ll get you out of there soon.  Are you hurt?” 

“I’m okay,” she said before the phone was snatched from her as the hostage taker screeched an order to hand over the phone.  I was sure I recognized the voice.

The sat-phone vibrated and a message appeared on the screen, confirming the phone being used was in the house I was watching.  The follow team would be out of their cars and on the way to take out our kidnappers and bring my mother home.   I guess it was going to have to be my home since hers was basically a heap of ash.

I disconnected, got out of the car, and followed six black clad officers into the house. 

The shouts of the entry team followed the abrupt explosion as the metal door was forced open, crashing into the wall, hanging from only the bottom hinge. 

“Clear.”

“Clear.“

“Clear.”

The mantra of the officers rang out as they moved past the living room, into the kitchen, where the team split, half going toward the bedrooms and the rest into the den.  This dance of clearing a residence was a familiar one, and the men who were leading the team didn’t flinch or over react as they found the residents.  The kidnappers and Trixie were in a converted garage just off the kitchen, standing in the middle of the room like rabbits turned to stone. 

Trixie didn’t look too bad.  She was definitely not the woman who was always impeccably dressed, coifed and painted to perfection.  Her hair was matted and oily, dark rings circled her eyes and her nail polish was cracked and peeling, but I didn’t see any visible signs she had been beaten. I couldn’t say the same for the woman standing next to her.  Not surprised I recognized Eve, but her reaction to our presence was anything but expected.  She began to tremble and cry, collapsing to her knees in front of us. 

Eve was battered and bruised almost beyond recognition.  Both eyes blackened.  Her lips split and swollen.  She looked like she had lost twenty pounds in just the last week.  She was babbling in an incomprehensible string of words.

“Shut up bitch,” the third resident screamed.

I couldn’t hold back the malicious smile that crossed my face as George looked at me, gulped, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his in scrawny chicken neck. I admit I was sorry that there hadn’t been an opportunity to gun him down or at least break an arm or a leg.

I took Trixie’s arm and led her into the living room, settling her on the couch with the team’s female officer standing guard.  Eve and George had been separated, with Eve sitting at a small kitchen table and George remaining in the den.  I confronted Eve, knowing I couldn’t do justice to interviewing Trixie and was to tempted to annihilate George.

I studied the woman sitting across from me with one of the officers standing between her and the entry to the den.  George had been moved out of site.  The other officers were in the back, going through the rooms looking for weapons or anything that might link this couple to more than the kidnapping.

“Why did you let George do this to you?”

“You got it wrong.  He didn’t hurt me,” Eve mumbled, eyes down, unable to look me in the eyes.  “He couldn’t.”

“So are you saying Trixie did this?  She packs a lot more power than I though. I’ll have to congratulate her.”

“NO.”

“Okay so tell me.  Who did this to you Eve?  You look like your been through a meat grinder and that’s just the part I can see.”

“I can’t.  I can’t.”  She was becoming agitated, pushing back from the table, turning away from me.  She didn’t try to get away, just made it clear she didn’t want to answer any of my questions.

I could hear voices in the hallway and looked up to find DeMarco strolling into the room like he owned it.  I bit my lip, holding back a sting of curses.  What part of you are not to go to a crime scene didn’t he understand?

“Hello, Ashley.  Looks like you’re having some trouble.”  He pulled out the chair beside Eve and sat down.  “Why don’t you take a break and I’ll have a talk with our girl?”

You don’t argue in front of a suspect unless it is part of a plan to make them more willing to talk to one partner over the other.  In this case it would be too apparent that the argument was real.  I pushed away from the table, stood and walked outside to cool off where Dylan had lingered.  Before I could give him a dressing down, he just shrugged and grinned at me.

I ignored him, concentrating on the ambulance that had just arrived, and the small crowd of nosey neighbors.  No one looked like they were willing to challenge our presence and I guessed they didn’t feel a lot of loyalty to the current tenants.  The EMT’s grabbed their gear and walked into the house.  I could hear to excitement in Trixie’s voice as one of them apparently tried to check her out.  The tone of her voice was not a pleasant one.

DeMarco appeared a moment later.  “I don’t think we’re going to get much out of Eve tonight.  The techs are going to take her to the emergency room and get her checked out.  I’ll have a guard put on her and we’ll try again tomorrow.”