The Cathar Secret: A Lang Reilly Thriller (18 page)

     "But, she did it herself, overpowered that guy."

     Morse did not seem remotely surprised. "An' he lucky she didn' kill him. 'Most ever time befo' I see Miz Fuchs an' Mr. Reilly, somebody be already dead."

     "Then, you two
do
know each other?"

     The detective gave a smile, a bearing of teeth without humor. "Oh, yeah, me an' Miz Fuchs an' Mr. Reilly, we go back a'ways."

     "The detective has most helpful always been," Gurt said. "Sometimes Lang had problems where he lived before."

     Again the snorting laugh. "Like, meybbe, folks takin' a walk off the twenty-fourth floor, blowin' up cars, runnin' stolen cars inta airplanes, torchin' a condominium, stuff like that. Mr. Reilly, he need his own personal cops." He shook his head slowly. "I figger'd I transfer outta Buckhead, Mr. Reilly an' I be done. Now he done moved right into my zone." He looked at Gurt. "Only ways I gonna say g'bye to Miz Fuchs an' Mr. Reilly be to retire an' I got another eight years."

     Wynn-Three's sobs had become mere sniffles, and Paige was wondering what sort of neighbors she had: a woman who seemed more than proficient in martial arts, jumping from the twenty-fourth floor? Blowing up automobiles? A man well-known to a homicide detective? It didn't sound like the relationship was professional only, that Morse had been involved in one or more of Lang Reilly's criminal cases. Her curiosity was fueled by the fact Manfred had joined them, abandoning or tiring of his game. He did not seem to be disturbed that his mother had faced a knife-wielding thug nor surprised she had defeated him.

     Morse produced a small spiral notepad. "Now, I don' 'spose ennybody done got the tag nummer on that van, meybbe the make and model?"

     Paige and Gurt looked at each other before the latter said, "I was busy."

     Paige was acutely aware she only had her son's welfare rather than potential evidence on her mind.

     "Ennybody get a look at the driver, the fella drove off?"

     This time Paige spoke up. "He never got out."

     "Mommy, I want to go home."

     The homicide detective squatted down to bring his face even with Wynn-Three's. "You gotta be a big boy, wait till I finish askin' questions, okay?"

     For reasons Paige didn't understand, the request mollified the child. Maybe she should ask the detective how he had done it.

     Standing, Morse became all business again. After taking down her name, address, and phone number, he asked, "Miz Charles, you got enny idea why these perps wanna kidnap yo' son?"

     "For money, ransom, I'd guess."

     Morse looked around the park, nodding at the expensive houses surrounding it. "There be more'n a dozen kids playin' here, all 'em 'prolly aff-flu-ent. Why
this
kid?"

     Paige thought a moment. "Did you see the Sunday paper?"

     The detective shook his head. "Ain't had a lotta use for the Atlanta paper since my wife's parakeet died. Why?"

     "There was an article on Wynn-Three, my son here. Included a picture. Somebody thought he was a celebrity, I guess."

     Morse looked at Wynn-Three skeptically. "He sing or what?"

     Gurt noted Paige's discomfort. "Someone, a fruity cake, thought he was someone else perhaps."

     "Someone else? Who?" Morse asked. "A fruitcake? That don' reduce the suspect pool down a lot, too many of 'em runnin' 'round."

     "Officer?"

     All three adults turned to see a chubby, red-faced woman Paige recognized from previous visits to the park. Candy, Sandy, something like that.

     The woman brandished what looked like a sales receipt. "I got the tag number of that van."

     The homicide detective grinned widely, displaying a couple of gold crowns. "Well, thank you, ma'am." He reached for the paper. "'Scuse me a minute."

     The women watched him walk over to the police cruiser and confer
briefly with the driver. When he returned, he was still holding his notebook.

     He spoke to the woman who had delivered the information. "Your name an' address, please."

     She glanced nervously around the small group. "Look, I don't want to get involved, I . . ."

     Morse shook his head sadly. "Don' nobody want to 'get in-volved.' Folks complain 'bout crime but don' wanna do nothin' 'bout it. House get busted into, owner had rather jus' make an insurance claim an' forget about it rather'n heppin' us catch the burglar 'fore he does it again. We have a shootin', nobody sees nothin'. We catch the other perp here, one drivin' the van, we may need to be able to show somebody done got the tag nummer. Who knows who he'll try an snatch nex' time."

     Properly chastised, the volunteer gave the information and returned to the group of women watching from a distance. "People be plain scar't o' goin' to court, bein' a witness. Reckon they just don' want the hassle, don't wanna deal with lawyers, the likes of Mr. Reilly."

     Instead of taking offense, Gurt smiled. "He is good in the court."

     Even though she got the feeling this was not the first time Morse had exchanged jibes with Gurt, Paige felt she had to take up for her son's benefactor, or at least her husband. "I'm married to a lawyer, too."

     Morse was sliding his notebook back into a pocket. "'Fraid thass your pro'lem. I 'spect somebody down to the station gonna want to get a statement. They'll be callin'."

     He walked toward his car. Gurt and Paige watched the detective stop and bend down to speak to the uniform driving the cruiser. He stood and looked in their direction before taking a couple of steps back toward them. "Ain' no surprise. Van was stolen coupla hours ago."

     "That mean you won't find the other guy?" Paige wanted to know.

     "Means we'll have to work harder. He stole it to snatch your boy there; he'll dump it. We lucky, he'll leave a fingerprint, sumpin' that'll ID him. You got enny questions, think of sumpin' helpful, call the nummer on that card."

     At that moment Marcie appeared. She saw the detective and approached the group and introduced herself. Paige maintained a stony silence.

     "I just got a call from my editor," Marcie explained. "Exactly what happened? I understand there was an attempted abduction."

     Wynn-Three brightened. "Marwie!"

     Paige restrained her son, scowling at the reporter.

     Morse shook his head and mumbled something about the accessibility of police band radios. "A white male allegedly attempted to force a child into an allegedly stolen vehicle. Ms. Fuchs here managed to prevent it. You can git th' details from my report when I file it."

     "That'll be two or three days," Marcie protested. "We need the story while it's still news."

     Morse grinned, someone used to dealing with the press. "I done tolt you what we know. Further 'vestigation be in the report."

     Frustrated, Marcie turned to Paige. "Someone tried to take Wynn-Three? Who?"

     "My guess? Someone who read that article you wrote."

     It was clear Paige was going to be less than helpful. Marcie turned to Gurt. "You're the one prevented a kidnapping?"

     Gurt was accustomed to questions from the media and knew that answers were frequently misquoted to produce drama rather than news. "It will be in the detective's report."

     In desperation, Marcie walked over to the group where Candy/Sandy was standing. "You saw what happened?"

     The woman nodded hesitantly.

     Taking a final glance at Paige and Gurt, Marcie produced a tape recorder and led the woman out of earshot.

     "Bitch!" Paige muttered.

     Morse grinned. "She no different 'n the rest of 'em. I learned the hard way, you talk to them folk, you doin' nothin' but makin' trouble for yo'sef. Perp's lawyer use whatever they say you said t' give you a hard time at trial." He watched the arrival of a van with a TV station's logo on it, one Paige recognized from the front yard just days before. "Here come the rest of 'em. Me or sumbody be in touch."

     Paige, Gurt, Manfred, and Wynn-Three stood in a small cluster as both police cars drove away.

     Paige couldn't think of anything meaningful to say except, "Gurt, how can I thank you? You risked your life for my son."

     A flicker of a smile played across Gurt's face. "Not as much risk as you think."

     "Oh?"

     "You keep knife close to your body." She indicated. "Not hold it out where your wrist can get broken." She glanced at her watch. "Come, Manfred. Time to go home."

     As Paige watched Gurt walk away, she thought of a lot of other questions, none of which she would have ever expected she would want to ask another woman, let alone her next-door neighbor.

480 Lafayette Drive

That Evening

P
AIGE WAS SURPRISED WHEN WYNTON WALKED
in the door before seven. "You're on trial and you're home early?"

     "Daddy home early," Wynn-Three echoed.

     The first words he had spoken since leaving the park.

     Wynton lifted his son above his head without the usual squeals of joy. "What's the matter, you not glad to see your old man?"

     "You won't believe what happened this afternoon. I meant to call you."

     Wynton headed for the kitchen, his voice trailing behind him. "Good thing you didn't. I'm afraid my personal life is interfering with work too much as it is."

     Paige started to say something and stopped at the sound of the refrigerator door opening. Interfering too much in whose life? She had been the one to deal with Dr. Weiner, hear that her son had been abused. It had been her, not Wynton, who been there when Wynn-Three had come back from that hypnotist in a near-vegetative state. She had witnessed the attempted kidnapping.

     Their lives had entered the Twilight Zone and Wynton was complaining of
interference
with
his
personal life?

     If there had been an ashtray available she would have thrown it at him as he returned from the kitchen, ice cubes tinkling in a glass.

     "
Your
personal life?" she almost screamed.

     With the insensitivity only a man could demonstrate, he went to the bar, poured himself a generous helping of scotch, and sat in his favorite chair. "My personal life, yeah. See, we had this juror . . ." He looked at her quizzically. "Is there something wrong?"

     She could feel those fingernails digging into the flesh of her palms again. "Wrong? Not really," she said as nonchalantly as possible. "Just that somebody tried to kidnap Wynn-Three today. Of course, I knew you were on trial and couldn't be bothered."

     The glass made an abrupt stop just short of his mouth. "Kidnapped? Today? You sure you're not overreacting?"

     She would not lose her temper. She would not upset Wynn-Three by yelling. She would tell him what had happened. She would do so calmly and completely.

     And if he was still worried about whatever effect his personal life might be having on his job, she just might kill him.

     Right here. Right now.

     Calmly and completely.

     "Kidnapped, for fuckingchristsake! Do you understand the word 'kidnapped'?"

     Okay, so it was a decibel or so above what she had in mind.

     "Bad man hurt my arm," Wynn-Three chimed in.

     Paige had her husband's attention now.

     Wynton was totally bewildered. "Kidnapped? Who? I mean, is Wynn-Three all right?"

     This time Paige was more successful in maintaining a conversational tone. "All right? Sure. Only terrified out of his wits in addition to the other problems he has. Arm bruised badly enough I had to put an ice pack on it, but okay? You bet. Hope your trial went well today."

     "Instead of seeing how sarcastic you can be, why don't you tell me what happened?"

     She took a breath and nodded in silent acknowledgment that he was right. She then described what happened in the park.

     When she had finished, her eyes glistened from reliving the panic she had experienced.

     Wynton got out of his chair to put his arms around her and she began to sob gently. "I hate to be such a baby, but that bastard almost had Wynn-Three
in that van. I was too far away to help. If it hadn't been for Gurt . . ."

     "You've every right to be upset," he soothed, running a hand up and down her back. "Anyone in their right mind would be." He pushed back holding her at arms' length. "Did the police detective . . ."

     "Morse. I have his card here somewhere," she sniffled.

     "Morse. Did he have any idea who these people, the guy who got caught and the driver, might be?"

     She shook her head as she used a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "No, but I intend to keep in touch till he does. For all we know, they might try again."

     "From what you just told me, I doubt the one our neighbor handled is going to be trying anything soon." He glanced around the room. "Speaking of our neighbor . . ." He went to a cabinet and produced a bottle of champagne. "I think we owe them a visit, at least a courtesy call to thank Gurt for what she did."

     Paige was headed back toward their bedroom. "Good idea. Let me freshen up a bit. Maybe you should give them a call."

     Wynton looked out of a window. "The lights are on. We'll only stay a second or so."

     "Go?" Wynn-Three asked. "We go?"

     Minutes later, Wynton, Paige, and Wynn-Three were walking up to the front door.

     "Looks like they have company," Paige observed, pointing to a battered Toyota at the curb. "We really should call first."

     Wynton took the lead. "We can just hand them the champers. Come on."

     Lang opened the door before the sound of the doorbell's ring had faded. He wore a white-starched shirt stuffed into jeans. Wynton guessed he had just gotten in from work. Somewhere deeper in the house, a dog barked.

     Wynton extended the bottle. "Don't want to interrupt, but I was afraid you might think we were ungrateful for what Gurt did this afternoon."