Murder with a Twist (24 page)

“O
h, no,” I said to the news about Juanita. “Where did she go?”

Duncan shrugged. “I'm not sure. Her husband is still here. We found him at the house, but he told us that Juanita took their daughter and split after they had a big fight at the country club last night, right after we left. She didn't come home, and she didn't show up for work this morning, either, or call in. So I can only assume she's in the wind. Alberto says he has no idea where she might have gone and, oddly enough, when I asked him if Juanita had any family she might have gone to stay with, he said her family were all back in Mexico.”

“Did you believe him?” I asked.

“I did. He seemed genuinely shaken up by it all. I talked with him at length and I don't think he knows what Juanita has been up to. But he did confirm, once I promised I wouldn't turn him over to the IRS, that he not only takes care of the country club pool, he has a number of private accounts he does pool care for, all of them for cash under the table. And included in those accounts are the Monroes. He said Juanita often helps him out with these private cash jobs and that she was the one who typically did the Monroe pool.”

“Hence the chlorine smell,” I said, feeling redeemed. “What did Tad turn up?”

“Several things. First, he gave me bank account information for the Monroes and I had a look at their recent transactions. It seems that Douglas is the only name on the accounts—keeping with Meg's desire to fly under the radar, I imagine—but she is an authorized signer for his checks. And even more interesting was the discovery that she got herself a new Social Security number for the bank's records to go along with her new date of birth and name. I traced that Social Security number and discovered that it really does belong to a woman named Meg Monroe who is the same age our Meg is claiming to be. But that Meg Monroe lives in San Francisco. Coincidentally, she was born here in Milwaukee at the same hospital where Juanita works. That leads me to assume that Meg got the number from Juanita and the two of them are in cahoots together.”

“Cahoots?” Cora said, smiling flirtatiously. “How cute.”

Duncan frowned at her and then continued with his story. “Anyway, we found two ten-thousand-dollar checks written to the same charity within the past two weeks from one of Douglas Monroe's accounts, and Meg was the one who wrote them.”

“So?” I said.

“The charity they were made out to only exists on paper. It's called CALM, supposedly an acronym for Cleanup All of Lake Michigan. And after tracking down the ownership of the organization, all I came up with was a dummy corporation called M&M Enterprises.”

“M&M? As in Meg Monroe?” Cora said.

“That's my guess,” Duncan said. “I don't know if Meg's husband has a clue about what she's doing. But I'm betting that money went to Juanita Alvarez. We had a look at the Alvarezes' bank accounts, too, and there aren't any unusual deposits, so I'm guessing Juanita kept the money as cash. And that means we're likely to have trouble finding her.”

“You think Meg Monroe hired Juanita to kidnap her grandson?” I said to Duncan.

“I do.”

“Do you think she wanted Juanita to kill Belinda, or was that solely Juanita's doing?”

“I don't know,” Duncan said. “But clearly Juanita knows how to create a false identity, and I'm betting that Meg either knew what Juanita was doing and was helping her with the illegals she was bringing over, or Meg found out what Juanita was doing and asked her to do the same thing for her and Davey.”

“Which means she probably has a new identity established for both herself and Davey,” Cora said.

“Yes, and that's good news and bad news for us, too,” Duncan said. “It certainly bodes well for the boy's safety and future, but it also means it will be painfully easy for them to disappear. Given Meg's resources, I'm sure she has everything planned down to the last detail.”

“Then why hasn't she disappeared already?” I asked. “I mean, if she used the money she took from her husband for this fake charity to pay Juanita to kidnap Davey, then why is she still hanging around? He's been missing for several days and I would imagine she had everything ready to go the instant she got her hands on the boy. Why would she wait?”

“That's an excellent question,” Duncan said. “And I think I know the answer because of what Tad found. While going over Douglas Monroe's retirement portfolio this morning, he noticed that one of the funds was missing a substantial chunk of money—fifty grand to be exact. And Douglas doesn't know anything about it.”

“Oh, that sneaky bitch, Juanita,” Cora said. “She's holding the kid for ransom, to get more money out of Monroe.”

“That's my guess,” Duncan agreed.

“If that's the case, isn't it likely that Juanita is still somewhere in the area?” I asked. “If she still has Davey, he must be somewhere close by.”

“Maybe,” Duncan said doubtfully. “If Juanita was really smart, she'd be as far from here as possible and get some locals to do her dirty work. But I'm thinking she wants to get her hands on that money personally, with no go-betweens to mess things up. Even if she has distanced herself, I'm betting Davey is somewhere close by.”

“I think those look-alike Facebook friends, who I'm betting are Juanita's sisters, would be a good place to start,” Cora said. “I looked them up and they both live in the area.” She handed him a piece of paper with the addresses written on it.

Duncan took the info and gave Cora a quick kiss on the cheek. “You rock, m'lady.”

For the first time since I've known her, Cora blushed.

Duncan turned to me next but I didn't get a kiss, just an invitation. “Mack, will you come with me? If I need to question these women, I wouldn't mind having you there to help me interpret their responses.”

Once again I had mixed feelings on the matter, but my desire to see little Davey brought home outweighed any reservations I had. And I sensed that we were closer now than ever before. So I said, “Sure, I'd be happy to.”

Cora promised to keep us posted if she found anything else and, after checking in with my staff to let them know what I was doing, Duncan and I headed out. When we were settled in his car, he started the engine to warm both it and us up, and then stared at the two addresses. “One of these addresses is in the same neighborhood that Juanita lives in. The other is across town near Brewer's Hill. I'm not sure which one to go to first.”

“Go to the one closest to Juanita's house first,” I said. “She knows that area better and I think she'd be more comfortable there.”

“Fair enough. That's as good a logic as anything I can come up with.”

We arrived at the first location, which was about six blocks from Juanita's house, a short while later. The home resembled Juanita's in that it was a bungalow dating back to the early half of the twentieth century with a tidy, well-manicured lawn. The curtains were all drawn, which I took to be both an encouraging sign and an ominous one.

Duncan parked in the street a few houses down, and called in his location with his cell phone. Then he turned off the engine and pocketed the keys. I started to open my door but he grabbed my arm to stop me. “Hold on a second,” he said. “Let me think this through.”

I sat patiently as Duncan stared out the windshield at the house. The windows began to fog up as the cold seeped into the car. Cold always tastes tart when I feel it, like a sour orange or lemon, which I've always thought was odd given that both the fruits and their respective colors tend to be associated with warmth.

“Tell you what. If you don't mind waiting here, I'm going to go up and knock on the door. I can't tell if anyone is home or not, but if they are and they let me in, I'll motion for you to join me once I've determined it's safe.”

I nodded my agreement, resigned to sitting in the chilly air a little longer. I watched, hugging myself for warmth, as Duncan got out of the car and approached the house. He opened a small, knee-high gate in the white picket fence surrounding the front yard and climbed the steps to the front porch. My breath was making tiny clouds in the air as I exhaled, and I held it as Duncan knocked on the door. No one answered.

By the time I was forced to let my breath out, Duncan had walked over and tried to peer in through a front window. When he stepped off the front porch and headed around to the back of the house, my body relaxed, making me aware of just how tensed up I had been. He disappeared from my view and I took advantage of the moment to look around at the other houses.

My cell phone rang then and when I answered, I heard Kevin Baldwin on the line.

“Hey, Mack, I just wanted to let you know that I went through that trash from the Alvarez home like you asked.”

“Did you find anything?”

“There were food items that would typically be for kids.”

“That's not much help. The Alvarezes have a young daughter.”

“Ah, that would explain the empty package for a doll. There was some junk mail addressed to Alberto Alvarez, and the usual items you'd find in any other house trash. The only thing I found that might be of help was a used box of hair dye in a black color. What color hair does the missus have?”

“She's dark haired, but not jet black. Was it a true black?”

“It was.”

“Kevin, you rock! The next time you come into the bar, your meal is on me.”

“Thanks, Mack. Let me know if there is anything else I can do for you or Duncan.”

“I will.” I disconnected the call and slipped the phone back into my coat pocket. Then I went back to staring out the windshield.

The minutes ticked by with no sign of Duncan's return, and the windows were now so fogged up I could barely see out of them. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I got out of the car and began walking toward the house.

From the sidewalk, my view of the side and backyards was limited until I had almost reached the far corner of the neighboring lot. That's when I finally saw Duncan.

He was lying on the ground alongside the house, blood seeping into the snow around him.

I
ran up to Duncan as fast as I could and knelt down beside him. There was an ugly gash on the side of his head that was still bleeding. Judging from the amount of blood on the snow around him, it must have bled fiercely initially, but the cold had slowed it down to a constant ooze. At least, I hoped it was because of the cold, and not because Duncan had no blood pressure.

He was breathing, but his eyes were closed and he wasn't moving. Panicked, I tried to roll him over, but he was too heavy and the snow kept bunching up behind him, thwarting my efforts. So I reached into my coat pocket for my cell phone, took it out, and dialed 9-1-1. That's when I heard the slam of a door.

I froze and looked in the direction of the noise, which had come from the back of the house, just around the corner. I couldn't see the back door from where I was, but I heard a female voice say, “Come on now, you two. We're going on an adventure.”

Three figures emerged in the backyard. Two of them were tiny figures wearing snow pants and winter coats. Between them, holding their hands and directing them toward the rear portion of the yard and the house beyond, was Juanita.

I heard a faint, distant ringing followed by a voice coming from my phone and I slid it back into my coat pocket. Then I yelled, “Juanita Alvarez!”

Juanita froze in her tracks, her back to me, still facing the way she'd been headed. The two smaller figures turned to look at me, and I saw that one of them was Juanita's daughter, Sofia. The other was a little boy, smaller than the girl, with black eyebrows and jet black hair sticking out from beneath a woolen hat. He was carrying a dingy blue blanket, its tattered edges dragging in the snow. He was the right size for Davey Cooper, but his hair was the wrong color. Fortunately, I knew from my conversation with Kevin the reason for that and, even though I could only see a profile of his face, I knew it was him.

“Give me Davey Cooper!” I yelled at Juanita.

She turned to face me then and stood there a moment, chewing on her lip. “This is my friend's boy, Carlos. I'm taking him and Sofia to another friend's house to play.”

“And for that you had to whack Detective Albright here on the head? He needs an ambulance,” I said loudly, hoping the emergency operator was listening in. I got to my feet, wanting to be ready for a quick escape if I needed it or to make a quick pursuit.

“This is none of your business, lady,” Juanita said.

“Detective Albright,” I said loudly again, “is very much my business.”

Davey wriggled loose from Juanita's grip and dropped to the ground, sitting in the snow. He began to cry.

“Carlos, it's okay,” Juanita said, keeping up her façade and reaching down to grab his hand again. She pulled him back up to his feet.

Duncan moved then, pulling a splayed-out arm in toward his body, and I heard him moan.

Juanita saw and heard it, too, and the distraction was enough for the little boy to get away from her. He started to run across the snow toward me, but his feet got tangled in the blanket he was dragging with him, and he fell. Juanita let go of her daughter's hand and dashed after the boy, yanking him back against her while kicking the blanket away. Then she lifted him up and held him in one arm, causing him to go into a mini-tantrum, kicking his feet and screaming. “Mommy, Mommy!” he yelled, and at the sound of it, that strange, nasty taste I'd experienced at the Cooper house that first night came back to me. I knew then that it had been the residue from Davey's screams that had triggered it.

“Want my bumpy . . . my bumpy,” Davey cried, reaching for and looking at the blanket on the ground.

“You and that damned bumpy,” Juanita muttered.

I took a few steps forward and picked up the tattered blanket. Then I heard something, a sound I had only heard once before—when I'd been standing beside Davey's bunk bed. I realized now that it was the smell of this blanket, Davey's “bumpy” as he called it, that had triggered that sound. In essence, it was the smell of Davey himself.

As I looked at that little boy's terror-stricken face and thought about those photos of him and his mother back at the house, I knew there was no way I was going to let Juanita Alvarez leave with the child. Angry and desperate, I dropped the blanket and tried to make a lunge for Juanita, hoping to wrest the boy away from her. But my feet slipped in the snow and I fell to my knees. Juanita backed away several steps and glared at me, her face suffused with anger. Then she went suddenly pale. I realized she wasn't looking at me any longer; she was looking over and behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder, thinking that Duncan must have recovered, or that the cops had arrived, managing a miraculously speedy response. But it wasn't Duncan or the cops. It was Meg Monroe, holding a large canvas bag in one hand and a gun in the other. The gun was pointed straight at Juanita.

I shuddered and tasted something metallic. For a second, I thought I'd bitten the inside of my mouth and it was my own blood I tasted. But then I recognized it as a synesthetic taste, one I'd experienced many times before. It was the distant sound of a voice coming from the phone in my pocket. It boosted my spirits a little, but I wasn't sure it had come in time, or that the person on the other end had been able to hear what was going on.

Meg Monroe glanced down at Duncan's inert form with a faint smile and huffed her amusement. Then she turned her steely gaze back to Juanita. “Give me my grandson,” she said, her voice as cold as the surrounding snow.

Juanita pulled the boy close to her chest with both arms and backed up a few steps. “Shoot at me and you run the risk of hitting him,” she said, her voice low. So far, everyone but me was speaking in low tones, probably to avoid attracting attention from anyone in the neighboring houses. Carefully, slowly, Juanita backed up until she reached her daughter. “Get behind me, Sofia,” she instructed, and the little girl hid behind her mother's legs. Davey stopped squirming and hung helpless in Juanita's arms, sobbing. “Do you have my money?” Juanita asked Meg.

“We had an agreement, you greedy bitch,” Meg seethed through clenched teeth. “Twenty grand, all of which you have already. Plus all the money I fronted you for the other stuff.” I sensed she would have loved to scream at Juanita and go all shrieking harridan on the woman.

“I don't think you are in a position to argue,” Juanita said. “The price went up when I had to kill the boy's mother. Fifty grand or you will never see him again. I have a car parked in front of the house behind me and once I'm in it, we're gone.”

Now it was Meg's turn to look indecisive, but she kept the gun aimed at Juanita, who was slowly backing up into the yard of the house behind her.

I tasted metal again and decided it was time for a desperate move. “That was very clever of you, hiding here at your sister's house,” I said in a loud voice. I recalled how Duncan had phoned in his position and hoped that this would be enough information.

“How do you know who my sister is?” Juanita asked, looking mildly surprised but still taking one small step at a time back toward the house behind her.

“It was easy once we figured out that you were using death records from the hospital to create new identities for people. How many did you help across the border?”

“You know about that?”

“You didn't hide your tracks as well as you thought.”

“Oh, cut the crap,” Meg said from behind me. “You win, Juanita. I have your money right here in this bag. Just give me my grandson and it's all yours.”

This was enough to make Juanita halt her retreat. She thought for a minute and then said, “Open the bag and let me see it.”

Still holding the gun, Meg knelt down and set the bag on the ground. With one hand she unzipped it, keeping an eye on Juanita the entire time. When she had it open, she tipped it up, revealing a bunch of banded bills inside.

“Okay, close it back up and toss it over here,” Juanita said.

“First let my grandson go.”

“No way,” Juanita said with a mirthless laugh. “You're the one holding the gun.”

Meg zipped the bag closed and picked it up from the ground, but then she just stood there holding it.

“Throw her the money, Mrs. Monroe,” I yelled. “It's your only grandson, your only remaining chance at a legacy. You've already paid her twenty grand, what's another fifty? I'm sure Douglas won't miss it given all the money he has.”

“Shut up!” Meg snapped at me. “And quit yelling. There's nothing wrong with my hearing.”

I watched as Meg weighed the options and saw it in her face when she made her decision.

“We'll use her as an intermediary,” Meg said, gesturing at me. “I'll give her the money and you give her Davey.”

“No way,” Juanita said again. “Do you think I'm that stupid? There's no way she's going to give me the money. Now toss it over here or I swear you'll never see your grandson again.”

Davey had quit sobbing and he hung limp in Juanita's arms. She pulled him close to her, preventing Meg from taking a shot without hitting the boy.

Resigned to her fate, Meg Monroe swung her arm and tossed the bag over my head. It landed in the snow with a soft
whump!
about five feet in front of Juanita, who then told her daughter, “Sofia, go run to the car and wait for me there. You know where it is, yes?”

Sofia nodded.

“Go! Now!”

Sofia turned and ran down between the two houses bordering the backyard. As soon as she was gone, Juanita slowly walked toward the bag and picked it up, taking care to hold Davey in front of her as a shield the entire time.

“Put the boy down,” Meg said.

“So you can shoot me? I don't think so. I'll leave him somewhere you can pick him up.” With that, she started backing up again, much faster than before, still using Davey as a shield.

“We had a deal, Juanita. Give me the boy.” Meg was clearly growing impatient.

Juanita just shook her head and kept back-stepping, so Meg upped her efforts.

“Okay, look,” Meg said, “I'm putting the gun down on the ground.” She bent over and did just that. Then she held her empty hands up in the air. “Please, Juanita, give him to me.”

Juanita halted, eyeing the weapon. “Kick the gun away,” she said, “and I'll let him go.”

Meg kicked the gun and it slid across the snow. It ended up near Duncan's feet.

“Okay,” Juanita said, and she set Davey down on the ground. He sat down on the snow, looking stunned, staring off at nothing, not moving a muscle. Juanita turned and started to run, but then a shot rang out and she dropped into the snow, writhing in pain.

“Are you crazy, Sharon?” Meg screeched, no longer caring who heard, after the sound of the gunshot had echoed between the houses. “You could have hit Davey.”

I turned and looked to my left, where I saw Sharon, Meg's blond assistant, step into the backyard from the other side of the house. Meg was behind me and couldn't see her from where she was, so I assumed she had known Sharon was there all along. That must have been why she was willing to put the gun down and kick it away.

“I aimed high,” Sharon said. “He was in no danger.”

Davey was still a huddled heap in the snow, but he was no longer staring off at nothing. His eyes were focused on me—frightened, sad, appealing. I've never felt so desperately helpless.

“We need to get out of here,” Meg said, hurrying over toward Duncan to fetch her gun. Just as she reached down for it, Duncan sprang up and grabbed her arm, yanking her down to the ground.

“Mack, run!” he yelled.

After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion, though I know looking back that it had to have been mere seconds. I watched as Duncan and Meg wrestled with one another, and my gut told me to do what Duncan said. But when I looked back at Davey, I knew I couldn't leave him behind. Then I saw Sharon come charging across the back of the house. At first I thought she was going to make a grab for Davey. I started to get to my feet, determined to stop her from taking him—gun or no gun—but she headed for the corner of the house instead, and I knew then that she was running to help Meg.

I glanced over my shoulder again and saw that Duncan had managed to get to his feet. He had Meg wrapped in his arms in a bear hug, her back to him, but Meg wasn't giving up easily. She kicked and wriggled and tried to bite him on the arm through his coat sleeve, anything to get free. At least she didn't have a gun; it was still on the ground.

But Sharon did have one and she was almost by the struggling pair.

I screamed, “Duncan, watch out!” And as Sharon dashed past me, I lunged forward and grabbed her legs.

Sharon went sprawling in the snow face first, but she was quick to recover and get back on her feet. She whirled on me with a furious expression and I saw the gun she still held in her hand swing around and aim at my head.

“You bitch!” she yelled.

It was then that I realized my greatest fear about working for Duncan was about to come true: it was going to cost me my life.

The sound of the shot when it came seemed oddly distant to me, and I wondered if that was because I was dead already, or because that's what it sounded like when a synesthete died.