Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 02 - A High Price to Pay (11 page)

Brian went to the front door and inspected the lock. He saw no marks that weren’t consistent with normal use. He crossed through the living room and checked the back door. Madeline didn’t have it in her to tell him the police and FBI had already beat him
to it.

“Okay…well, not to worry. We’ve got a couple new layers of protection that are very well concealed. So far, everything is operating perfectly.” Brian became silent, his gaze focused on an abstraction.

“You know, it might not be a bad idea to go with a much more advanced entry system. I’m thinking a keypad that will only operate when your fingertips are pressed on it. We could have a secondary control panel inside. That way if someone forced you into the house and you didn’t manually disarm the second keypad, a silent arm would sound. That would get the police over here immediately.” Madeline nodded as she kicked off her heels and began rubbing her
sore feet.

“Whatever you think is best, Brian. I trust your judgment. Just do it.” Madeline headed to the kitchen to get a glass
of water.

“I may have to drive to L.A. to get what I need,” Brian called out. The front door opened, causing him
to jump.

“Hey, Mike. Just ‘creep-proofing’ Madeline,”
he said.

“Good. Hopefully it’ll work this time.” Madeline watched from the kitchen doorway, too beat to play referee.

“I’m going to change my clothes. Then maybe you can help me put everything back where it belongs,” she said to Mike.

“Let me clear your room first,” he answered, his sweep in hand. Madeline threw out her arm as an invitation to be her guest. She watched Brian collect his things and put them back in
his case.

“I’ll get an early start tomorrow and hopefully get back here by noon. I’ll probably need a couple hours to get it all set up. And you’ll need to be here when I
program it.”

“Okay, as long as I can be out of here by three-thirty,” Madeline said as she walked him to the
front door.

“Got it. Hope you sleep well tonight. With the new deadbolts and the sensors, as long as you’re inside, you should
be safe.”

“Thanks, Brian. See
you tomorrow.”

Madeline closed the door and slid the bolt into the doorjamb. She couldn’t say she was thrilled with the aesthetics, but she did appreciate the peace of mind. She drew the drapes in the living room and checked the bolt on the backdoor. She unzipped her dress as she headed down the hallway to
her bedroom.

“Everything’s clear back here,” Mike said coming out of the bathroom as she
passed by.

“Good. Thanks. Do you feel like an early dinner? I’m craving
Thai food.”

“Your wish is my command,” Mike said, earning a weak laugh out of her.

He watched as her shadows played on the walls of her bedroom as she slipped out of her dress. She was the great love of his life, but they would never be a couple again. Those days were long gone, never to be repeated. But they were still occasional lovers, when it suited her. He would take whatever he could get, even if it meant being solely business partners. What he couldn’t take was a world
without her.

FOURTEEN

“Damn, this thing is heavy,” Mike complained as they struggled to put the sofa table back in the center of
the room.

“Tell me about it. That’s why I knew Carmen couldn’t have moved it, as you suggested.” They let go of the mesquite table and stood up. Madeline stretched her back and staggered over to the kitchen table to get her vodka tonic. She killed what was left of it and fixed herself another.

“Do you want any more of this pad Thai?” she asked as she picked up a glob of noodles with her fingers and dangled them into her mouth. This may have been the most uncouth moment of her life and she didn’t give a damn, which on the face of it seemed like a good thing to her. She had spent too many years trying to be Ms. Perfect and where had it gotten her? She flopped down next to Mike on the sofa and propped her feet on
the table.

“So, while you were at Cherie’s, I did a little research,” Mike said, reaching forward to grab a file folder off
the table.

“On what?” Madeline asked. She was so exhausted, she could barely keep her
eyes open.

“Not what, who,” Mike said. He pulled the sheaf of papers out of the manila folder and tossed it back on the table.

Madeline leaned her head over Mike’s shoulder to look at what he was talking about. It took about three seconds for the face and name to register in her overworked brain. She stiffened and reared back, wide awake now. Mike put his hand on her arm to
reassure her.

“Just when I had finally gotten that bastard out of my head,” Madeline said, getting to her feet, ready for a good fight. “Did you really have to spring that on
me now?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mike said, meeting her aggression with some of his own. Madeline turned away in a huff, incensed that the man she trusted the most would try to provoke her during the first moment’s peace she’d had all day.

“Look, as of tomorrow you’re going to be at Cherie’s for three solid days. This is the last time we can huddle and study our opponent. So, come sit back down and I’ll fill you in on what I’ve found out about Usherwood’s past.” Madeline glared at her partner for a moment before grasping the wisdom of what he
was saying.

“All right. This better not keep me awake all night,” she warned, sitting tentatively on the edge of
the sofa.

“Okay, first thing I did was check his military records. From that I was able to learn when and where he served, which then allowed me to check other members of his unit.” Madeline watched as Mike laid out photocopies of
military photos.

“By searching each record of everyone in Usherwood’s immediate company, I was able to find links that overlapped in the years after his discharge from the service. We already know about Rick Yeoman, Terry Linbald and Lance Rombach. One down, two behind bars. That leaves Usherwood and these four men—Stewart Mitchell, who you remember from SBPD,” he said, pausing a beat to check Madeline’s reaction. He wasn’t surprised by the look of revulsion on her face. Mike cleared his throat and continued “…Frank Salazar, George Graff, and Justin Oaks. These were the men who were in Usherwood’s squad, who later followed him into the ‘military for hire’ business. That seems to really appeal to guys who can’t get enough sanctioned killing. I guess another euphemism would be soldiers
of fortune.”

“Mercenaries,” Madeline preferred to
call them.

“Yep. But after that period ended, the group split up. Mitchell worked his way up to detective with the Santa Barbara police force in short order, which came in very handy for Usherwood. It was his tip-off that led to your abduction,” Mike said, though the recap wasn’t necessary. Madeline would never forget that chain
of events.

“So, what did the others get up to?”

“Salazar became an advocate for veterans’ rights. He spearheaded one of the most successful fundraising machines for veterans’ health issues. The nonprofit, Healing Our Veterans, has raised over ten million dollars for prostheses alone. As a former fundraiser yourself, I’m sure you can appreciate that.” Madeline raised her eyebrows in tribute to such a
noble cause.

“Chances are he wouldn’t be Usherwood’s go-to guy when an execution is called for,”
she surmised.

“I think we can put him at the bottom of the pile,” Mike said.

“So that brings us
to Graff.”

“Right. After three years of providing ‘protection’ in Iraq, Mr. Graff returned to his native Wisconsin, where he took over management of the family farm. With the money he made working for Usherwood, he was able to modernize it and turn it into a growing concern—excuse the pun. Patriot Farms employs hundreds of locals and gives back to the community through food
donation programs.”

Mike took another glance at Madeline.

“It’s comforting to know not everyone who worked under Lionel Usherwood became permanently warped,” she said. “Okay, what
about Oaks?”

“I ran into a dead end on Oaks. He seems to have vanished off
the planet.”

“Did he leave Iraq when the others did?”

Mike nodded. “Yeah. I was able to trace him to Florida. He had family there when he got back. There doesn’t seem to be anyone left now. His father died while he was in the army, his mother died three years ago—both due to health-related issues. His sister was killed in a car crash eighteen months ago. After that, his trail
just stops.”

Madeline took a look at the four photos. She put the ones of Salazar and Graff aside and concentrated on Oaks and Mitchell. Looking at Mitchell’s face made chills run down her arms. She knew all too well what he was capable of. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine him having a hand in her stalking. After all, he had lost his job and his pension when his role in her kidnapping came
to light.

“Mitchell has his own security firm now,” Madeline said, looking to Mike
for confirmation.

“Yep. It’s located in
San Jose.”

“So, he’s in a perfect position to keep tabs on everyone associated with the fall of his pal Usherwood,” Madeline said, leaning back, wrapping her arms around her knees. “To me, he’s the most logical player. The question that remains is how is he involved? Would he kill Yeoman and play head trips on me, or would he put one of his own goons on it? Or would he just be the conduit through which
information flowed…?”

“You mean notifying Usherwood that Yeoman cut a deal and was being released in Santa Maria?”

Madeline nodded as he spoke. “All he did last time was make a phone call, and look at the consequences he had to face. Would he really risk his livelihood a second time to do Usherwood’s dirty work?”

“Good point,” Mike said. “But he’s his own boss now, and it may be impossible to link him to any involvement, if he is involved. On the other hand, wouldn’t any debt to Usherwood have already been paid?”

After regarding each other for a moment, Mike said what they were both thinking. “Mitchell earned his freedom the first go-round. Anything beyond an untraceable phone call is
probably unlikely.”

“So, Mitchell may be the intel source, but probably not the muscle,” Madeline concluded. “That leaves us with two candidates to choose from—that we’re aware of.” She got up and began to wander around her living room as she considered other possibilities.

“Was Oaks employed prior
to vanishing?”

“Off and on. It looks like he’d take on almost any kind of work, but he wouldn’t stay with it long,”
Mike said.

“Substance abuse?”

“He had several visits to the VA hospital for drug and alcohol related issues. Two were overdoses.” Madeline sat down on the
mesquite table.

“Sounds like a pretty sad return to reality,” she said. “The next question is whether he turned to his former leader for help after falling into the abyss.” They mulled over this scenario for
a moment.

“Yeah, that’s a good question,” Mike said. “It’s really hard to know the odds on that because we don’t know where Usherwood’s been the last three years. It seems a little implausible that he’d stay in the country all that time and just happen to be around Oaks when he
went missing.”

“When you say ‘missing’…”

“After his sister’s death, the neighbors never saw him again. He just walked away from the house that would’ve gone to him as the only surviving next of kin.”

“When was that, exactly?” Madeline asked. Mike looked at the printout.

“October of 2011.”

Madeline started pacing again. “You got all this information today, between shepherding me to and from work?” she
asked suspiciously.

“I hired a P.I. in Florida,” Mike confessed. “I was able to get pretty far just with the military records alone, but once Oaks fell off the radar, I figured I needed to bring a local in
on it.”

Madeline smiled. “Good call, P.I. Delaney,” she said.

Mike tried to hide his pleasure. “You’re not the only crackerjack at M. D. Private Investigators.”

“I know that. So, the question remains—did Usherwood hire out for Yeoman’s murder? I would venture that whoever whacked him, did the spook number here,” Madeline said, looking around her home with renewed trepidation.

After pondering this conundrum for a while, they looked at each other and shrugged.

“That is the big question, for sure,”
Mike said.

“With all you’ve uncovered so far, what’s your gut-level feeling?”

Mike’s gaze strayed to the ceiling as he pondered the question. “I guess I’d go back to what you said last night—about being able to ‘smell’ him. If you had an olfactory memory hit you when you entered the house, that’s where I’d put my money.”

“Then that’s our operating assumption, unless we learn differently,” Madeline said. Though it was hardly a comforting thought, she was proud of their ability to put personal opinions aside in order to sift through the data for clues. She patted Mike on the knee as she stepped in front of him to retrieve her handbag.

“Going somewhere?”
Mike asked.

“I need to sync my phone to my computer so I can print the photo I took of Teresa and Vivian.” Madeline stopped in her tracks. “I totally forgot to ask if you got her address,” she said, her mouth hanging slack in embarrassment. Mike suddenly didn’t appear
so cocky.

“Don’t tell me you
lost her…”

“She just vanished.” Madeline’s handbag landed with a thud on the floor as her arms were called in to
wild gesticulating.

“What do you mean, vanished? She was right there on San Andres Street. I saw her with my own eyes.”

Mike held his tongue and let Madeline rant; the pressure she felt from everything had to be vented somehow. It certainly wasn’t the first time in their long acquaintance that she’d unleashed on him, though it was one of a handful of fits when he didn’t lash back. It had taken eight years of sobriety to earn him is Dalai Lama-like calm in the face of an irate woman. That Mike wouldn’t fire back took most of the steam out of Madeline’s fury.

“There’s a whole lot of ‘vanishing’ going on, if you ask me,” she huffed, picking up her bag and heading to the office alcove off
the kitchen.

“In the hierarchy of things, I’d say your imminent danger outranks other concerns,” Mike ventured once he figured his partner had enough time to simmer down.

He listened to the sounds of electronics coming to life, biding his time until Madeline was willing to speak to him again. After a couple of minutes, he recognized the sounds of the printer spitting out a full-color image.

“There,” Madeline said as she came back into the living room and handed Mike the photo, “that’s your visual aid to show people when you start knocking on doors tomorrow.”

An incensed bark escaped Mike as his equanimity began to crumble. “Now wait a second,” he said, rising off the sofa, photo dangling limply in his hand, “this case is your baby,” he said, trying to foist the picture back into Madeline’
s hands.

“It’s our case. We’re partners, remember? And as I recall your only case to date has been solved. And since I’m going to be virtually bound to the Alexander estate for the next three days, you get to do the canvassing. Besides, it was you who lost her,” Madeline said, arms folded, a satisfied smile threatening to spoil her intractable stance. This last comment caused Mike’s jaw to clench. “Okay, then—I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said breezily, walking behind the sofa toward the front door.

“You’re throwing me out?” Mike asked incredulously. “I thought I was going to stay here tonight.” Madeline stopped and regarded him in disbelief. “I don’t mean…I just meant, you know, to stay here for security reasons…or emotional support…I don’t know,” he finished lamely.

“You know, Mike, I’m really not in the mood tonight,” Madeline said bluntly. As the two stared each other down, the absurdity of all that had transpired in the last thirty-six hours hit home. Like two people trying to win a staring competition, twitches and snickers began to break out. Within seconds they were laughing so hard they had to hold onto the sofa
for support.

“Does this mean I can stay the night?” Mike asked through the last gasps of laughter. Madeline tried to regain her upper hand, but it was too late and she was just too wrung out.

“You sleep out here,” she said as she went to double check the alarm and
the locks.

“Oh, come on—I need a decent night’s sleep too,” Mike lobbied. Madeline glanced at her watch and calculated how many hours of horizontal time
she had.

“You lay one hand on me and you’re out,” she said, leaving Mike to turn off the lights.

Mike did as he was told and threaded toward the glow coming from Madeline’s bedroom. He didn’t need sex; he just needed to guard his best friend in
the world.