Remember Me (22 page)

Then he looked away, moving his hand from her breast to her belly, shoving aside her sweater and sweats until his hand was palm down on the soft surface of her skin.

“Hey, in there. Grow strong and healthy, little baby. When you're ready, we will be waiting for you.”

When he looked back at Frankie, there were tears in his eyes. And that was her undoing.

“I love you, Clay LeGrand.”

He grinned. “I know.”

She punched him lightly on the arm. “Here's where you're supposed to say, ‘I love you, too.”'

His grin widened. “But, sweetheart, that would be so predictable.”

A laugh bubbled up her throat. “And God knows we can't have that, can we?”

“My daddy always said that the first time a woman knows where you're going to be at any given time of the day, your goose is cooked.”

Frankie grinned, then ran her finger lightly down the side of his cheek. “So…my dear gander, prepare yourself to be roasted, because for the next eight or so months, I predict you will be forever underfoot.”

He chuckled and began pulling her sweater over her head.

“What's the deal with eight months? Try the rest of our lives,” he said.

She sighed as he took her in his arms. “The rest of our lives? That would be my pleasure.”

M
orning dawned cold and gray. The wind from last night had drifted the snow, obliterating most of the trail of footprints. Clay didn't have to see them to know that the danger to Frankie still existed. With every passing day, he sensed her fear increasing.

Frankie was awake, but, at his mother's suggestion, was slowly nibbling on some saltine crackers before getting out of bed. He could hear the faint crunch as she took little bites. Hiding his worries, he forced a grin as he turned.

“Sounds like there's a little mouse in my house.”

“I feel like one,” she said, frowning as she brushed at a crumb. “Shoot, I'm going to have cracker crumbs all over the sheets.”

“It could be worse,” he said.

She rolled her eyes, remembering her bout of nausea yesterday morning.

Clay chuckled. “Are you ready for some tea?”

She thought about it for a moment, and when nothing threatened to come up, she nodded. “I think so,” she said.

“Good! I'll have some with you.”

Frankie started to get up, but Clay stopped her.

“Don't push it, sweetheart. Just lie there. Let me wait on you for a change.”

She dropped back onto the pillows with a frustrated thud. “I hope this morning-sickness stuff doesn't last too long.”

“We'll make an appointment with your doctor. Maybe he can give you something that will help. Now, give me a couple of minutes. I'll be right back.”

She watched him leave, and closed her eyes, telling herself she was imagining the pain on his face. He'd told her he loved her. He'd sworn that he would love the baby no matter what. She had to believe he was telling her the truth or she would go mad. Then she sighed and turned over on her side, hugging his pillow against her.

The thump and bang of pots and pans was a comforting sound as she drifted in and out of sleep. The noise was her boundary of safety—her reassurance that she was not alone.

A short while later the phone began to ring. She rolled over to answer, but it stopped before she could pick up the receiver. A couple of minutes later Clay burst into the room with the portable phone in his hand.

“Frankie, pick up the phone. It's Addie Bell, from Kitteridge House. There's something you need to hear.”

Frankie's heart skipped a beat as she rolled over in bed and grabbed the receiver. “Addie?”

“Francesca! I hear congratulations are in order!”

Frankie looked at Clay. He was grinning sheepishly. She sighed. Maybe her worries were all for nothing. If he was already bragging about their news, he must be okay with the rest.

“Took us both a bit by surprise,” Frankie said.

“I'm sure,” Addie said. “However, back to the reason I called. It may not amount to a hill of beans, but I've been trying to remember anything and everything about that boy, Pharaoh Carn, and last night, while I was watching a movie on cable, something I saw jarred my memory.”

“What?” Frankie asked.

“Pharaoh has a tattoo. In fact, he snuck out after hours one night to get it done. He must have been around fifteen, maybe sixteen. I was furious, both at the fact that Pharaoh had snuck out and at the example the tattoo was setting for the other boys.”

Instinctively, Frankie reached for the back of her neck, rubbing at her own tattoo as she looked up at Clay. He nodded grimly as Addie continued.

“It was one of those Egyptian-looking things. Sort of a cross, but it's not. It had a funny loop at the top. And it was in color…yellow, I think.” She paused. “I know it's not much, but considering what you've been through, I didn't want to hold back anything I'd remembered.”

Frankie's heart was racing as she scooted to the edge of the bed. “Oh, Addie, you will never know how much this means to us. Look, I hate to rush you, but we have to call the detectives working on the case. Do you mind if we give them your number again, in case they want to corroborate what we tell them?”

“Of course not. I'll be glad to do anything to help.”

“Okay,” Frankie said. “And thanks again for calling.”

“Keep in touch,” Addie said. “I'll be wanting to know if it's a girl or a boy.”

“Yes, we'll do that,” Frankie said.

The line went dead in her ear. She looked at Clay again, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Clay…this is what Detective Dawson was talking about, isn't it? Could this be the physical evidence he keeps saying he needs?”

Clay shrugged. “I don't know, but we'll soon find out. How do you feel?”

She looked down at herself, frowning at the cracker crumbs that fell from her nightshirt onto the floor.

“Like I've been eating crackers in bed.”

Clay grinned. “I have the tea made. If you'll give me a minute or two, I'll bring it in.”

“At the rate I'm going, I'd have that in my lap, as well. I think I'd rather have it in the kitchen.”

He frowned. “If you're sure?”

She waved him away. “I'm going to get dressed. You make the call. I want Dawson to get on this as soon as possible.”

Clay headed for his office to call Avery Dawson while Frankie began picking out clothes. Their lives were settling while Pharaoh Carn's was coming undone. He could feel it.

 

Avery Dawson weaved his way through the city traffic while Ramsey was trying to finish a sandwich.

“Dammit, Avery, slow down,” Ramsey muttered as he steadied his coffee with one hand while trying to eat with the other.

Dawson eyed his partner's food with a wary eye.

“You might be wishing you'd saved that for later,” he muttered. “You know what a weak stomach you have, and the captain said that the John Doe's throat had been cut.”

Ramsey shrugged. “I've seen worse,” he said, stuffing the last bite of a meatball sub into his mouth.

“Don't say I didn't warn you,” Dawson said.

“Consider me warned,” Ramsey retorted, and washed down the bite with the last of his coffee.

A few minutes later, Dawson pulled up at the bus station. A cold, blustery wind whipped under their long coats as they got out of the car. They made a dash for the building, only to have their steps impeded by the gathering crowd.

“Police. Coming through,” Ramsey said. The crowd parted to let them pass.

A few moments later, they were inside the men's rest room.

“Who found the body?” Dawson asked as a uniformed patrolman approached.

The patrolman pointed toward a pair of teenage boys sitting on a bench just outside the door. The defiance that had given them the courage to sport purple hair and silver nose rings was blatantly missing now. Their faces were pale, their eyes wide with shock. Dawson exhaled softly. Hell of a thing for a couple of kids to find. He started toward them.

“Boys, I'm Detective Dawson. This is my partner, Detective Ramsey. We want to ask you a couple of questions.”

The boys nodded in unison.

“You two were the first to find the body?”

They nodded again.

“Did you see anyone…besides the victim, I mean?”

“No, sir,” one of them said. “When we went in, the room was empty.” Then his voice cracked. “Except for the dead guy.”

“Did you touch anything—either of you?” Dawson asked.

“No, no, we didn't touch nothin', we swear. We just ran outside and told some guy to call the cops.”

Dawson paused. There was no use proceeding with this line of questioning right now. Other than the fact that they'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time, he doubted if they knew anything that would help.

“Ramsey, get their names and addresses. Follow me inside when you're done.”

Ramsey nodded and set to his task as Dawson went back into the bathroom.

Fred True, the medical examiner, was just finishing his examination as Dawson entered. But when Dawson looked at the body, he blanked on all the questions he'd been planning to ask.

“Holy shit,” he muttered.

True looked up. “Friend of yours?”

“We just ran a make on him.”

“So did someone else,” True said, then ripped off his surgical gloves and tossed them in a bag.

“How long before you're through here?” Dawson asked.

“I'm done,” True said, turning to his assistant. “Bag him and tag him, Sonny. Dawson here just made our job a little easier. He's got an ID.”

Dawson looked down at the body one last time. “Law. His name is Simon Law.”

Ramsey walked up in time to hear what Dawson said. “You're kidding me,” he muttered, looking over Dawson's shoulder to the man below.

Dawson turned. “Nope. Our missing renter—slash—thief seems to have a hard time making friends.” He clapped Ramsey on the shoulder. “Let's go. I'm curious to see what comes up on his files.”

A short while later, they were back at their desks.

“Anything come down from records yet?” Ramsey asked.

Dawson was still sifting through the papers on his desk.

“Nothing I can see…Oh, wait! Here it is.”

He shed his topcoat and flopped down in his chair as Ramsey got up.

“You going after coffee?” Dawson asked.

Ramsey nodded.

Dawson handed him the mug from his desk. “Bring me a cup, too, will you?”

“Will you have a Danish with that?” Ramsey quipped.

Dawson didn't bother to look up. “Just shut up and do as you're told,” he muttered.

Ramsey grinned as he walked away. He was all the way across the room when he heard Dawson curse.

“What?”

Dawson held up the paper.

“Law. His last arrest was for running numbers in L.A.”

“So how much time did he do?” Ramsey asked as he set the coffee down on Dawson's desk.

“None,” Dawson said.

Ramsey frowned. “Why not?”

“Frederick Mancusco was his lawyer, that's why.”

Ramsey shrugged. “I don't get it.”

“Mancusco is a mob lawyer. Allejandro's lawyer, to be exact. Pharaoh Carn works for Allejandro, and Simon Law had just taken up temporary residence across the street from the LeGrand home, and, according to Francesca, Pharaoh Carn is the man who snatched her and—”

“Okay, okay. I get the drift,” Ramsey said. “So what are we going to do with this information?”

Before Dawson could answer, his phone rang. He answered absently, his mind still on the report in his hand. “This is Dawson.”

“Detective, it's me, Clay. I have some information for you.”

Dawson dropped the report, wrote Clay's name on a piece of paper and shoved it toward Ramsey.

Ramsey nodded, then picked up the report Dawson had been reading.

“What's up?” Dawson asked.

“We just got a call from Addie Bell. Remember her, the administrator at the orphanage where Frankie grew up?”

“Yes, I do. Nice woman,” Dawson said. “Seemed real upset about what had happened to your wife.”

“Yes, well, she just called with another little tidbit of information that Frankie and I thought was real interesting.”

Dawson leaned forward. He could tell by the tone of Clay LeGrand's voice that he was excited about something. “I'm listening,” he said.

“Addie Bell said that one of the times Pharaoh Carn got in trouble when he was still at the home was for slipping out one night and getting a tattoo.”

Dawson's pulse leaped. Even before Clay finished, he knew what he was going to say.

“I don't suppose she remembers what it looked like?” Dawson asked.

“Yes, actually, she did. Said it looked like a cross, except for the loop on top. She also said she thought it was in color. Maybe yellow.”

Dawson started to grin. “Just like the one on the back of your wife's neck.”

“Now do you have enough to go after Carn?”

Dawson's grin widened. “Oh yeah. I'd say that if that tattoo still exists anywhere on Carn's body, his vanity will be his undoing.”

Clay sighed. “Thank God. Now maybe we will be able to put this thing behind us.”

Dawson's grin faded. “Don't get too excited. We've got to find him first. Pharaoh Carn has resources beyond your everyday, run-of-the-mill thug.”

“I don't care what he has,” Clay growled. “As long as it's not my wife.”

 

It took two more days for the wheels of justice to begin to turn, but when they did, they went downhill fast.

Duke Needham burst into Pharaoh's office on the run.