Call Me! (14 page)

I read her a couple more, then we hang up.

Ten minutes later, I locate
SeanInPain
.

As expected,
Sean’s
post about his younger sister rallied the demons. He’s showing forty-six responses! I’m pleased to read that two young ladies are appalled he wants to drug his sister. Unfortunately, forty-four readers are not only encouraging him to do so, they’re actually giving him advice. Disturbing advice, including how to acquire date rape drugs, and what he should do to his sister while she’s unconscious.
Sean
is grateful. He promises to go through with it as soon as he can score some GHB, which I know to be one of three so-called date rape drugs. Legal with a prescription, GHB is used to treat narcolepsy. In its liquid form, GHB is odorless, colorless, and mixes in alcohol, which intensifies the effect dramatically.
Sean
is taking pre-payments for pictures of her, and I wonder who would trust him to deliver. He says he’ll send the four most graphic shots of his fifteen-year-old naked sister for only twenty-five bucks and promises they’ll be better than her shower pix.

Shower pix?

The little bastard has taken shower pictures?

I click on the link. And there it is:

Three shower pix of little sister, age 15, highest quality, only $10.00!

I try to remain detached, but the sisterhood gene kicks in and I want to kill him. Since that’s not an option, I want to at least warn the poor girl. I nearly sign up, thinking I might obtain a website or mail drop address I can trace back to
Sean
. But then I come to my senses and realize I can’t purchase nude photos of underage children! I could go to jail!

I scroll through my cell phone contact list till I come to Patrick Aub. Pat’s a policeman. In a moment of weakness (his, not mine) I talked him into giving me what he had on the guy who abducted Jaqui Moreland. It wasn’t much, since he wasn’t directly involved with the case, but he did know two things: the perp’s handle was
ManChild
, and the phrase about the cherrystones had posted on an underage chat site.

Pat answers the phone with, “Dani! Wow, I can’t believe you called. Please tell me you found our guy!”

“Not yet.”

“But you’re still working on it?”

“I’ll never stop.”

“You’re a saint.”

“And you’re a bullshit artist. And a flirt.”

Pat laughs. “Guilty as charged.”

Jaqui’s mom contacted me two days after the abduction, against the wishes of the local police and FBI. I worked sixty straight hours with no cooperation from law enforcement. The last eight of those hours were logged after the cops found Jaqui’s corpse.

I heard about it the same time you did. On TV.

I can understand Jaqui’s mom being too upset to call me. But the cops? That was just ugly. Now there’s a public rumor the cold case experts are getting involved. I’m thrilled, but I’m not holding my breath on that. If they help, fantastic. If not, I’ll keep plugging away. I don’t care who gets credit for catching
ManChild
, long as he’s put away for good.

Pat says, “Did the Morelands ever pay you for your time?”

“I never asked.”

“But they didn’t offer?”

“No.”

He sighs. “Civilians, right?” He’s silent a moment, then says, “Please tell me you and your husband have split!”

“It’s not your day, Pat.”

“Damn!”

“There’s a guy on an underage website, calls himself
SeanInPain
. He could be eighteen, more or less.”

“What about him?”

I tell him the story.

Pat says, “You were smart not to order the pictures.”

“Can you do something with this?”

“Maybe. It’s not my division, but I’ll pass the information to Cheryl Goodman. She might be able to authorize purchase of the shower pix and backtrack the transaction.”

“Can you put me in the loop?”

“Yeah, I can do that. But if Cheryl finds out…”

“Let’s don’t tell her.”

“Okay.”

After ending the call I start a new computer search for
hard and firm as the erection in my pants.

While the computer loads the references, I stand to stretch my legs. The focal point of my tiny office is the large, single window, and you can’t walk more than six steps from any spot without reaching it. I’m standing there now, looking out onto a view of downtown Cincinnati. I’d love to have an office in one of the buildings a block away that overlooks the park square. It’s a small park, half a city block, but so much life happens in parks. Kids play, moms meet, lovers hold hands, sit together, kiss, and even propose marriage. The people-watching from my window is limited to sixty feet of street, a coffee shop, a Chinese restaurant, and a discount department store. Instead of seeing people at leisure, like the park view affords, I see people in motion. They’re heading east or west, or entering or leaving one of the stores across the street. What stands out for me is anyone who’s
not
in motion.

Like the guy directly across the street in front of the coffee shop.

He stands out.

Not only is he motionless, he’s looking straight at me. Sees me looking back, and pulls a cell phone from his pocket to make a call. At that very moment my cell phone buzzes on my desk. I let it buzz, content to watch the guy below me, watching me. He points to the phone at his ear.

I walk to the desk, pick up my phone, walk back to the window, and press the button to answer the call.

He says, “We need to talk.”

“I don’t think so, Roy.”

Below me, on the street, he takes the phone away from his ear and stares at it like it’s insulting him. Then he puts it back to his ear and says, “I’m coming up.”

I click the phone off, cross the room, lock the door.

Then I get my gun.

“I KNOW YOU’RE in there. Open up or I’ll make a scene!” Roy says, trying to keep his voice under control.

“If you make a scene someone will call the police.”

“I can talk to you here, or I can come to your home. Which works best for you?”

“Um…here.”

I unlock the door and take a few steps back, positioning my gun so it’s aimed chest high. Roy opens the door, sees the gun, gasps, and immediately turns sideways and covers up. When he realizes I haven’t shot him, he lowers his hands, straightens his stance, and says, “Are you
nuts
?
Jeez
!”

“I don’t like you.”

“Relax, will you?”

“I don’t like you.”

“So you said. Put the gun down, okay? We both know you’re not going to shoot me.”

“What do you want?”

“Would you put the freaking gun away? You’re making me nervous.”

I’m making
me
nervous, too. I’ve never shot anyone before, and don’t want to start now. But I’m highly agitated, and my shoulders are shaking. Soon it’ll be my hands.

“Sit on the couch,” I say, “but keep your hands where I can see them.”

He does, and I close the door while keeping the gun pointed at him.

“Dani,” he says.

“What?”

“The gun?”

“The gun stays where it is. You threatened to
rape
me.”

“We weren’t serious about that.”

“Says you.”

He sighs.

“Can you at least take your finger off the trigger?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

I place my finger outside the trigger guard and sit behind my desk, facing him. I keep the gun pointed at his chest, but rest the base of the grip on the desk to steady it. Now if he comes at me, it’ll be impossible to miss him.

He knows it, I know it.

“Where’s your wife?”

He shakes his head. “Carter’s not my wife.”

“Your girlfriend?”

“Not any more.”

“What did you want to talk about, Roy?”

“How did you erase the photos? They aren’t even on the memory stick.”

“Memory stick?”

“SIM card. Whatever.”

“I’m afraid that’s a trade secret. Was there anything else?”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead.”

‘I came here to warn you,” he says

“You warned me last night.”

“Huh?”

“‘This isn’t over,’ you said. ‘Not by a long shot.’”

“That wasn’t me. That was the bourbon.”

“Uh huh. But now you’ve got a different warning for me?”

“That’s right. I’m going to make you famous. Would you like that?”

“You want to be my publicist?”

He smiles. “Let’s talk about you and Benny.”

“What about us?”

“Ever wonder how your paths crossed?”

“What do you know about our paths?”

“I never put it together till now.”

I frown. “Roy, look at me. According to Ben you’re some sort of business mogul. Is that true? Are you in fact a successful businessman?”

“Of course! I’m worth millions.”

“Then will you do me the honor of talking in complete sentences? You sound like that old cop show on TV, where everyone talks in staccato.”

“Which one?”

“What difference does it make? Just tell me, all at once, what you came here to say.”

“
Dragnet
.”

“What?”

“The TV show you’re talking about.
Dragnet
. ‘Just the facts, ma’am.’ I’m right, right?”

“I don’t know. I’m twenty-four years old. I saw it on some show where comedians were making fun of old TV shows.”

“
Dragnet
was a classic. They had these two detectives—”

“Roy!”

“Huh?”

“Enough about the TV show.”

He shrugs his shoulders and says, “You’re the one brought it up.”

I speak to him slowly, as if talking to a small child. “Roy. For the love of God. Will you please tell me what you came here to say?”

“I think you might be the little girl they pulled out of that crazy guy’s basement a few years back.”

I wasn’t expecting
that
bombshell, and he can tell I wasn’t. I have to regroup, and fast. I force myself to look puzzled instead of shocked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mindy Renee Whittaker.”

“Wait. You think
I’m
her?”

“That’s right.”

I shake my head and laugh, but it doesn’t sound convincing, even to me. So I add, “That’s ridiculous!”