Baby Girl Doe (Stephanie Chalice Thrillers Book 5) (15 page)

Max looked cranky when I took him from Ma.
A room was set up for childcare, and we had been given access to it. “I fed and changed him,” Ma said. She was bouncing him in her arms when I entered the room. “He’s a little touchy. I think he’s tired.”

“Are you tired? Is mama’s baby boy tired?” I swung him back and forth in my arms and smooched him all over his face. It made him smile, and that made me smile. “That’s more like
my
little boy.”

Max cooed. He may have gurgled. In any case, he made some manner of cute baby noise.

“Happy voices,” I began, cuing Ma to my MO. “Herb is here. The whole place is on high alert, and I’m going to sit down with Suffolk County brass in a few minutes. Herb and I think it’s best that you and Max go home.”

“No, Stephanie, I’ll stay here. I can take care of Max so that you can do what you have to. I promise—” She began to tear up. “I won’t be any trouble.”

“Come here.”

Ma approached with a quizzical expression on her face.

I gave her a tight squeeze around the neck with my free hand and kissed her on the cheek. “I love you, but you have to go home. Do it for me. I need to work around the clock, and I won’t feel as guilty about ignoring my son if I know that everyone is safe and that you and Ricky are watching over Max. I want you back on home turf where the police and FBI can act as watchdogs. Both Ambler and Shearson will give you round-the-clock support. And I think it’s better if Ricky doesn’t know what’s going on. Just tell him that you took Max so that Gus and I could have a second honeymoon. He’s naïve, but he’ll understand what that means.”

“But, Stephanie, please.”

“It’s better this way.” We were both in tears. “So much for happy voices, huh?”

Ma sighed a long and troubled sigh. “Okay, honey. I’ll do as you ask.”

“Thank you.” I gave her another tight squeeze. “Now take my son home. I have to go to work.”

Suffolk County Police Commissioner Joseph Bratton commanded attention when he entered a room.
He was tall with thick, gray hair and a cleft in his chin deep enough to measure up to Dudley Do-Right. We were set up at a conference table in the large situation room when he entered with Pulaski at his side. Ambler and I stood as he approached.

Bratton took my hand. “Detective Chalice, I don’t know what to say except that we’ll find your husband and boil the son of a bitch responsible for his disappearance. You have my word.”

I wasn’t myself and was sure that the way I felt was obvious to anyone looking at me. Nonetheless, the time for licking wounds was over. I had to be at my very best no matter how daunting the situation was. I think in some part I was responding to Bratton’s confidence. “So very happy to have you on my side, Sir.”

“We’re all on the same team, Detective. I take your husband’s kidnapping personally. I’ll treat his abduction as if someone had taken my own flesh and blood.” He turned to Ambler. “Special Agent Ambler.” He extended his hand. “You’re in charge of the FBI’s New York office, aren’t you?”

“Just the criminal division,” Ambler replied modestly.

Bratton grinned. “What else is there?”

Ambler laughed. “Quite a bit, I’m afraid. I only cover one piece of a very large pie.”

“I have to say I was surprised to learn that you were here,” Bratton said. “Any other intelligence agencies on their way? Should I expect the NSA and CIA? How about Homeland Security?”

“No. Just me,” Ambler chuckled. “This is personal. I’ve known Detective Chalice ever since she was a young girl. Her father worked NYPD homicide and was a dear friend of mine.”

“You got here awfully fast,” Bratton said.

“Chalice would have done the very same for me—I’ve no doubt of it. Shall we get busy?”

“Let’s.” Everyone sat when Bratton took his chair. Bratton faced me. “All right, Detective, why do you believe your husband has been abducted?”

I thought long and hard before answering. I’d tell Bratton everything I knew about Alana Moore, Sarah Fisher, and Bill Alden, but the only thing I could tell him about Gus’ abduction came from my gut. I wasn’t going to waste his time with stories about my sixth sense and so on and so forth. Bratton had acted quickly to deploy his resources, and there were already check points and roadblocks set up throughout Suffolk County. He didn’t need proof. He was only looking for direction. “Okay,” I began. “This is what I’ve got.”

As the name indicates, the Long Island land mass stretches northeastward one hundred eighteen miles from New York Harbor into the Atlantic Ocean.
It’s twenty-three miles across at its widest point, but splits into narrow forks at the East End. Montauk, where we were vacationing and where Gus went missing, is the easternmost town on the southern fork. Traveling west along the southern fork from Montauk to New York City there are areas where the region is very narrow. It was in these locations that checkpoints had been set up, at Napeague Harbor Road, again at Hampton Bays, and at Sag Harbor to block access to the northern fork. That being said, Suffolk County has hundreds of miles of coastline with access to the Atlantic Ocean and the Long Island Sound. The southern shore of Connecticut runs parallel to Long Island and is only a hop, skip, and a jump away, by ferry. Suffolk County PD was covering all of this, and NYPD was covering the western end of the island where bridges and tunnels provide access to Queens, Manhattan, Staten Island, Brooklyn, and the Bronx.

Ambler stood next to me after the briefing session with Bratton, studying a large, detailed map of Long Island. So far there were no witnesses to Gus’ abduction, and I knew Gus would be extremely difficult to locate if we didn’t formulate an efficient and expeditious plan for his recovery.

We all doubted there would be a ransom demand. The direction we were taking for now was that Gus had been taken because I had somehow poked a hornet’s nest with all the prying I had done. I must’ve gotten close to something . . . but what? Close to whom? It was no longer a matter of one individual—me—looking into a handful of local cases. There were now dozens of investigators working on the case files of Alana Moore, Sarah Fisher, and Bill Alden. Was there a common thread? We had to find it if it existed.

“I can’t believe what I’ve done,” I lamented. “How could I have—”

“How could you what?” Ambler snapped. “Getting down on yourself isn’t going to help us find Gus. You need to be one-hundred-percent. Personally I have a hard time connecting Gus’ abduction with any of the cases you’ve been looking into. We have to consider the possibility that what happened to Gus had nothing to do with your poking around at all.”

“You think it was random? You think that someone saw a six-foot-two, two-hundred-twenty-pound man and decided that he was a ripe target for abduction? No, sir, I can’t believe that’s what’s happened. There’s something I’m not seeing.”

“Let’s talk about the cabin fire again. That’s the freshest incident, and you have some evidence to support a homicide theory. You booked this cabin, and you came out here just in time to see it go up in flames. How did you come across it in the first place?”

“We found a listing by a local vacation home rental company online and booked it. The price seemed good. It looked quaint, and we thought it would be a good spot for us to spend time with Max.”

“And why did you suspect that there was foul play after the fire department investigator assured you that the cause of the fire was accidental?”

“Because they found arsenic in Bill Alden’s body tissues.”

“But the ME told you that arsenic is a byproduct of burning fabric. He didn’t see anything suspicious, did he?”

“No.”

“But you insisted on digging deeper.”

“And I was right, Herb. As I mentioned in the briefing room, someone laced Alden’s cigarettes with cyanide.”

“The police are searching for Kaley Struthers, but she seems to be off the grid. She was the one who grocery shopped for Alden, correct?”

“Yes. Gus and I both met her. She seemed like a sweet young girl. We were told that she was very involved with the local church and does lots of volunteer work in the community.” I rubbed my eyes. “She offered to babysit Max.”

“So, at the moment, she’s our only person of interest?”

“Yes.” We had already agreed to push the story of Gus’ abduction to all the tri-state news stations. Gus’ photo was already on the Internet and would be on TV before the evening news broke. NYPD was offering a substantial reward for any information leading to his recovery.

“I’d like to release her photo and ID to the media and explain that she’s a person of interest in the abduction. The faster we can put our finger on her, the better,” Ambler said. “Let’s turn up the heat. Anyone else you can think of that might have wanted to mess with Gus?”

“If you asked me that question a couple of days ago, I would’ve said yes, but now . . . This guy who was doing work on our rental house seemed unstable to me and both Gus and I had words with him. He was showing up at the house unannounced and scaring the hell out of us. Very unaccommodating—he never came down off his ladder to talk with us, wouldn’t give us the time of day. He’d sneak away when he was done with his work—a real annoying SOB.”

“So why isn’t he worth questioning?”

“He’s believed to have died in a car fire just the other day. The body is in the morgue right now.”

Ambler seemed disturbed by the news. “Another goddamn fire? What the hell is going on around here? Has the ME made a positive identification yet?”

“That’s a work in progress. They’re trying to make a positive ID with forensic odontology, but the ME hasn’t been able to locate the victim’s dental records yet.”

Ambler took out his pen and pad. “Name?”

“Ray Claymore.”

He closed his pad. “Look, Stephanie, I’m going to oversee the background checks on everyone even remotely connected to the abduction.” He put his hand on my arm. “God forgive me for saying this, but you look like hell. You need some rest and a solid meal. I’m going to book accommodations nearby for my team and myself. I’d like you to stay with us. I know you’ll be safe enough with police protection at your summer rental, but I’d rather have you close by. Agreed?”

I nodded. I was still feeling hollow inside and needed direction from my old friend. “I’ll grab a sandwich and close my eyes for twenty minutes. That’s the most I can promise.”

He accepted quickly. “I’ll take it. I know how urgent this is, but I don’t want you falling on your face. An hour will give me just enough time to set the wheels in motion.” He grabbed my other arm and looked me in the eye. “We’ve got this, Stephanie. We’ll bring Gus home. Can you hold it together?”

“I have to.”

“Atta girl. Now go wolf down a nice pastrami sandwich. It’ll make you feel like a new woman.”

Search for Gus Lido: Day 2

It was six a.m., and I was already at police headquarters searching through files.
Something linked these crimes—I just couldn’t see it. I found it hard to concentrate and be objective with Gus’ life on the line.
My Gus.
The thought that he might be suffering crippled me—it was as if the two of us were emotionally connected. I always wanted justice. I always empathized with the victims and their families, but my family . . . I had to fight a war with my emotions every second of the day just to keep my head in the game. Gus was now gone almost eighteen hours, and I knew that with each passing minute, our chances of recovering him safe and healthy grew smaller. A full statewide manhunt was now in effect. The PBA and the Detective’s Endowment Association had each kicked in additional rewards for information leading to Gus’ safe recovery.

Ambler was bleary-eyed and holding a giant-size cup of coffee as he walked through the door. I glanced at my watch; it was quarter of seven. “You look like death warmed over, Herb.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but you look worse.” He placed his coffee cup on the conference table and pulled out the chair next to me. He took a bottle of aspirin out of his pocket, shook two into his hand, and then offered it to me. Aspirin is like the silver bullet of the pharmaceutical world. It’s good for headache, pain, and fever; it thins blood, helps to prevent heart attacks, and possibly even lowers the risk for certain types of cancer. About the only thing it can’t do is bring someone back from the dead. I shook a couple into the palm of my hand and swallowed them with a mouthful of coffee.

“Headache?” Ambler asked.

I nodded. I felt physically and mentally miserable, and the headache was just one item on the list. “Have we received background on Alden yet?”

“It’s coming off the printer right now.”

Thank God.
I closed my eyes and blew a sigh of relief. “It’s about goddamn time.”

As if by cue, the door opened. The office admin walked in with two sets of Alden’s files and placed them on the table in front of us. I read her eyes. Her smile said,
You poor thing. I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.

“Thank you,” I said. I wasn’t used to appearing pathetic.
You’d better get over it, girl. Put your pain on the back shelf.

Ambler and I dug into the file. Aside from the sound of turning pages, the room was completely silent for a full fifteen minutes. We both scribbled notes as we dug through Alden’s records. The files weren’t all that thick. Alden grew up in a town called Centereach, which wasn’t too far from us. He had no criminal record and graduated from the State University at Farmingdale with a degree in engineering. He was married with no children and was employed by the same local engineering company most of his adult life.

It wasn’t until I got to the very last page that I saw something interesting. For the last five years of his working history, he was employed in a civilian capacity for the United States Air Force. That alone was no great shakes, because the military often employs civilian engineers, but as I got to the bottom of the page . . .

Ambler must’ve been a few seconds ahead of me and was already reacting to what I had just read.

I pointed to the bottom of the last page.

He confirmed with a nod, reached for the telephone, and quickly punched in a number. I could tell that he was talking to one of his subordinates by the authoritative manner in which he spoke. “I’ll wait,” he said and covered the receiver.

I was staring at the stamp at the bottom of Alden’s military transcript, where it had been officially stamped, SEALED.

Ambler jumped back on the phone and seemed to be listening attentively. I saw his face grow red. His lips were pressed together, and I could tell he was seething with anger. “Well,
wake
a fucking judge,” he demanded. “It’s after seven. Call one of those robe-clad assholes and tell him that I need a court order. Now!” He slammed down the receiver without waiting for a reply and shook his head woefully. “I wonder which sorry son of a bitch I’m about to piss off this time.”