Memory Lapse: A Slater Vance Novel (29 page)

“No worries. I’ve got a
portable DVD. Don’t worry, I’m cool. I’ll call when I get there.”

“I’m sorry you’ll be
stranded until I can get up there, but I can’t think of another way at the
moment.”

“Don’t stress it. I’m
good.”

◊◊◊

Tiger had been gone for
little more than an hour when Slater looked impatiently – for the hundredth
time it seemed – at his wristwatch. He ran a hand through his hair in
frustration. He’d thought he’d have heard from Bridge by now.

The buzzing of his office
intercom phone broke into his reverie.

Depressing the button he
said, “Yes, Bennie?”

“Mr. Vance…”

Mr. Vance
, Slater thought,
why is she being
so formal
?

“Mr. Vance, there are
some police officers here to see you.”

“Send them back,” he
replied, curious.

Within seconds two
uniformed officers entered his office.

“Mr. Vance?” the younger of
the men questioned, who according to his nametag was Officer Clump.

Standing, Slater came
from around his desk. “Yes?”

“
Slater
Vance?” the second officer, Officer Garcia, inquired.

“Yes, what’s this about?”
Slater asked.

“Mr. Vance, we’re here to
place you under arrest. Please place your hands behind your back.”

“Arrest for what
exactly?” Slater asked, astonished.

“Assault
and Battery; Breaking and Entering; and Kidnapping.”

“What?!”
Slater exclaimed sharply. He winced
when he was cuffed due to the pull on his cracked ribs.

“Please come with us.”

On the way out the door,
Slater said to Bennie curtly over his shoulder, “Bennie, call Tuck and Bridge
and tell them I’ve been arrested.”

Fortunately, Bennie
didn’t make any comments involving hookers or prostitutes.

Instead she said, “Okay,
boss,” sounding almost bored, as if
him
getting
arrested was a commonplace situation.

The ride to the police
station in the back of the police cruiser was torturous for Slater as having
his arms restrained behind him was murder on his ribs. On the inside, he wanted
to rant and rave at the two officers in the front seat, but knew they were just
a small cog in the system and not responsible for his arrest. As any good
soldier knows, they were just following orders. They took him to booking and
finally, thank God, un-cuffed him.

After being relieved of
all his property: cellphone; wallet; watch; change; sunglasses; and his SIG,
Slater was patted down and then placed in interrogation room 2B. The room was
small, grey,
windowless
and, unlike television, did
not possess a wall containing a two-way mirror. Slater could see the flashing
red light of the video camera in the corner. He sat in the room for nearly two
hours before he heard a key in the lock.

A harried man in a
bad-fitting brown suit entered the room. His hair was graying and his stomach
rotund. His striped tie had seen better days – probably in the seventies. It
was now yellowed and had numerous stains somewhat obscured by the hideous
pattern of circles and swirls. Sitting down across from Slater, the man
extended his hand for Slater to shake it.

“Mr. Vance, my name is
Detective Tracey and I have a few questions.”

Folding his hands
together and placing them on the table, Slater replied, “Okay.”

“Mr. Vance, can you tell
me where you were between the hours of two a.m. and four a.m.?”

Wondering where this
could possibly be going, Slater said, “Can you tell me what this is about?”

“Please answer my
question.”

“I was in my car,” Slater
answered evasively, not wanting to say where he’d taken Ellis.

Obviously switching
tactics, the detective asked, “Have you ever been to 3859 Tulane Drive?”

“Why are you asking me
questions you already know the answer to?”

“Have you ever been to
3859 Tulane Drive?” he asked again.

“Yes, last night,” Slater
answered.

“Can you tell me what you
were doing at the address?”

“A friend called and
asked if I would come and pick her up from that address,” he answered.

“Did you enter the
residence?”

“No.”

“You did not enter the
residence at 3859 Tulane Drive?
The estate belonging to
Arthuro
Trusworth
?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me how a
9mm handgun registered to you could come to be at the residence?”

“No, I cannot. If you’ll
check your records, you’ll see that my office in the Smith Towers was ransacked
and my gun stolen,” Slater said, bewildered but holding his expression bland.

“Do you happen to know
Ellis and Petra
Trusworth
?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know them?”

“Ellis
Trusworth
was involved in an auto accident and my brother
asked if I would try to find out who she was. She’d lost all personal memory in
the accident,” Slater answered.

“Would it surprise you to
know there are security cameras situated at the gates of the
Trusworth
estate?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me why
those cameras show you toting off Mrs.
Trusworth
and
her daughter, Petra?”

“Easy. As I stated, she
called me to come and get her.”

“Can you tell me where
Ms.
Trusworth
and her daughter are now?”

“No,” Slater answered.

“No?” the detective asked
incredulously.

“No,” Slater answered
more empathically.

“Did you attack
Sylus
Trusworth
?”

“No. I’ve never met the
esteemed Mr.
Trusworth
.”

““According to Mr.
Trusworth
, last night, a man broke into the
Trusworth
estate and attacked him then his wife and
daughter were kidnapped. Mr. Vance, we believe you are that man,” Detective
Tracey said steadily.

Folding his arms across
his chest, Slater clamped his lips together and refused to say another word.
Within hours, he was stripped-searched, and then placed in a holding cell.

It took every favor
Thompson Bridges had gained over the course of his career, as well as all the
goodwill Father Tucker Vance had accrued over the years, to get Slater out of
jail. It had taken hours to convince Detective Tracey of Slater’s innocence.

“Pretty-Boy, this is some
deep shit you got yourself involved in,” Bridge said gruffly.

“I know,” he responded
quietly.

Pushing off the outside
wall of the police station, Bridge said, “
Trusworth
ain’t
gonna
let this go.”

Staring up at the night
sky, Slater replied again, “I know.”

Tucker grabbed his arm.
“Slate, we need to go.”

“Let’s go.”

“You
gonna
be all right, Pretty-Boy?”

“It’s not me I’m worried
about. I can handle the likes of
Sylus
Trusworth
.”

◊◊◊

After assuring Tucker
it’d be okay for him to remain in Charleston and not go back to the lake house,
and before heading to the lake house himself, Slater decided to swing by his
office and get the red folder of information he had on the
Trusworths
from Wiseman Linear. While driving to the office, he called Tiger.

“Hey,
jailbird. ‘
Bout
time you got sprung, man. What’s the matter? You got no juice?” Tiger said in
jest.

“Well, things must be
okay if you have time to harass me,” Slater said with a grin.

“
Naw
,
dawg
.
Sweet like momma’s
‘
naner
puddin
’.
The
kid’s a talker, though. I could do without that. Glad I
ain’t
got
no
kids. Whew,” Tiger said.

“I’m on my way now. I
should be there in about two hours. Tiger, just be careful. These people are
dangerous.”

“So you keep
sayin
’. But, dude, this is boring. I hope someone shows up,
I could use the sport.”

“You’re killing me,
Tiger. Boring is good,” Slater groaned.

Slater arrived at Smith
Towers a little before nine o’clock. Due to the lateness of the hour, he had to
be buzzed into the building. He gave a two-finger wave to
Nicko
at the desk and headed upstairs. Stepping up to the glass doors of the Exposed,
Inc., Slater cringed. One of the doors had been shattered – again. Pulling out
his SIG, he stepped through the crumble of tempered glass, and was happy to see
that at least the place hadn’t been torn up again. He wondered what they were
looking for this time. There was nothing left. He peeked into the break room
and was perversely happy to see his five-hundred dollar machine still in place
and intact.

Stepping into his office,
he slipped his SIG back into its holster and looked around the office.
Everything, with exception of the door, looked untouched. Slowly, he turned in
a circle, looking around the office.
What
were they looking for?
he
questioned with
frustration.

Going to his floor safe,
which they’d obviously not found, he spun the combination, opened the door, and
withdrew the red folder. He was missing something, but what was it? He lowered
himself down into his office chair, propped his elbows on its arms, and put his
fingers to his lips in concentration. Once more, he glanced around the room.
Nothing seemed to be touched. With a small shake of his head, he reached for
the phone to dial
Nicko
to contact maintenance to
clean up the door. As had happened many times before, he knocked down the
picture of Anne and Sophie, which sat by the phone. Straightening the picture,
he glanced as always to the other picture on his desk of his parents and Tucker
taken at the lake house. His blood ran cold. He knew what they’d looked for and
found. Ellis! The picture taken in front of the lake house was gone. From the
picture, anybody with any deductive training would be able to locate her and
Petra.

Snatching the phone off
its cradle, he immediately dialed Tiger.

“
Yo
,
dude, quit
callin
’ me. You’re
harshin
’
my game,” Tiger complained.

“Tiger, listen to me. I
think they know where you are. Lock down the house. I’m on my way.”

Telling himself to
breathe, he ran out of the office and out of the building. He was halfway to
the lake house before he remembered he never called
Nicko
about the door.

Chapter 24

The drive to Arcadia
Lakes was the longest two hours of Slater Vance’s life. He called Tiger every
fifteen minutes, and he answered every time and things seemed quiet. According
to the LED clock on the dashboard of his rental car, it was getting close to
midnight. Maybe he’d overreacted and they hadn’t figured out where they were.
But he knew as well as he knew his own name that the location and the date were
written on the back of the photo. It wouldn’t take them long to conduct an
Internet search in the Arcadia Lakes area for a house registered in the name of
Vance. Slater pressed the accelerator more firmly.

Slater was about twenty
minutes away from the lake house when he called Tiger one last time. This time,
Tiger didn’t
answer,
when it went to voicemail he left
a message.

“Tiger, when you get this
message, call me.”

Slater waited one minute
then called again, still no answer.

Scrolling through his
phone, he found the number for the spare phone he’d sent to Ellis. Clicking on
it, he listened to it ring and ring.
Shit,
shit, shit!
He felt the car lurch when he took the turnoff to the house,
basically on two wheels. Slater cut the lights when he got close to the house.
He parked the car a mile from the lane, popped the cover encasing the car’s
interior light, and withdrew the bulb to prevent lighting the car’s interior,
before easing himself out of the car.

He removed his SIG from
its holster and slipped into the woods. The woods were dank and dark and the
smell of raw vegetation floated up as his shoes crushed the carpet of leaves.
It was obvious it had rained recently as everything was still wet and rain
dripped occasionally from the trees branches up above when the wind blew.
Drawing on all his previous training, he crouched low and moved amazingly
silent through the fallen leaves. He outstretched his non-gun toting hand in
front of him to prevent branches from slapping him in the face. Through the
darkness, Slater could see the light streaming from the windows of the house.