Unhinged Page 7

  I phoned Dave and got his voicemail. It was early morning wherever he was – Tokyo? – and he could be on a plane, or sleeping. Then I phoned Paul Belliveau. Handy having a cop friend on speed dial.

  “Hey, Danny. You should have brought the boys up to the cottage this weekend,” he said when he answered the phone. He sounded relaxed and happy, as though he was on his third beer.

  “I should have,” I said. I wished we had. I couldn’t remember the reason Darren and I had decided not to go up north to the Belliveaus’ holiday cottage when they’d invited us. The boys loved it there, and so did we.

  I told him what I’d just seen and the events of the last twenty-four hours, quickly. I was hoping he’d volunteer to make the calls for me: to the FBI, RCMP, and whatever other law enforcement agencies were looking for Smith. I didn’t like to interrupt his weekend, but I wanted him to take care of this for me so much that my fingers were actually crossed. I have nothing against law enforcement, but there was a quality to some of them that brought out teenage snarkiness in me. Especially after what I’d been through with the RCMP in Nova Scotia. Not to mention Harry Miller, the Orange County cop who’d been one of Smith’s acolytes.

  “I hate to do this,” I said. “Tell Joanne I’m sorry. But I’m standing on the side of the road right now. You can use shorthand when you talk to these people. I just seem to piss them all off.”

  “I wonder why,” he said. “I’ll make the calls.” He sounded very serious, and very sober. “But I want you to get yourself back to The Fortress, and I mean now.” Belliveau had had a good look at our place, at our security, and since then liked to call our home The Fortress. Ha bloody ha. Still, I liked it. “I’m coming back down. Oh shit, I can’t drive right now. I’ll eat something and leave in an hour.”

  “Beer?” I asked.

  “Beer,” he said. “Two or three. Danny, how sure are you? Really? You said you only saw him for a few seconds? It’s possible you saw him because you know he flew into town.”

  “I know,” I said. “And I wouldn’t say I’m a hundred percent.” I was pacing up and down the sidewalk, and a car slowed beside me. I looked in the window, and the male driver made a gesture that indicated that he thought I was on the game. I gave him the finger and he drove off. “Maybe eighty? Probably more. Besides, Paul, what else could it be? Why would Fred be getting into the back of a town car?”

  “Well, why would he get into Smith’s town car?” Belliveau said. Good question.

  “The boys,” I said quickly. “It must have been something about the boys.”

  “But they’re safe,” he said quickly. “You talked to Darren.”

  “Yes. And I heard them in the background. Everything was fine.”

  “I’m sending a patrol car to pick you up and take you home,” Paul said. “Call me again when you get there safely.”

  “Don’t bother,” I said. “I’ll get there faster on foot.”

  “It’s not just about speed, Danny, it’s about—” he started to say, but I just told him I’d call him when I got inside, and hung up.

  I pulled out my stiletto-hairbrush, adjusted the strap of the bag across my body, and started running toward home.

  Zuzi the Stripper could wait. But if she had anything to do with bringing Fuckface Smith back into our lives, I’d tear her into little pieces. With a smile on my face.

  * * *

  I’d done so many runs of shame throughout the summer that it only took me six or seven minutes to get back to the bakery. Every light was on, it seemed.

  Both of the ground-floor entrances to the bakery had been installed with biometric iris scanners as well as smart locks, which unlocked the main deadbolts with the push of a remote button, which we all carried on keychains. But because we didn’t want to call attention to ourselves, to our home, by having such sophisticated equipment in a neighborhood like ours, we had built a false entrance into the front door, the one off the sidewalk. So anyone wanting to gain entry had to go through the front door – a push-button coded security door; not as obvious and certainly not as expensive as a biometric scanner – and then stand inside an entranceway about five feet long to access the iris scanner.

  A pain in the ass. A welcome and necessary one, as far as the adults were concerned, but a pain in the ass nonetheless.

  Rosen was waiting inside for me, a shotgun held at his side. I nodded at him, and tried to smile. He just said, “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  If there’s anything better than a loyal and armed ex-commando guarding you and your family when you don’t know when the boogeymen might try to attack, I don’t know what it is.

  I hugged him, a rare thing. His body was like coiled wire. He didn’t relax into the hug, but he patted me on the back. “Where is everybody?” I said.

  “The boys are on the thing,” he said. The Xbox, he meant. He hated it so much he refused to even name it. It usually drove me around the bend the number of hours the boys could waste on that thing, but I’ve never been so glad for their distraction.

  “Good,” I said. “Good.” I stood for a minute. After the shock of seeing Fred get into the town car, and seeing Smith inside it, and then the sprint home, the peace felt almost anti-climactic. I was ready now. I was ready to take on all comers, to attack anyone who tried to get inside.

  “You’d better put that away,” I said, nodding at the gun. “I called Belliveau. We’ll have cops here any minute.”

  “Lock it up?” he said. He looked perturbed. He didn’t want to relinquish his watch.

  “Lock it up, but stay close to the gun safe.” The last thing we needed was for some enthusiastic cop to do a full search and take any of us in for careless storage of firearms.

  “Why are you holding a hairbrush?” Rosen said. “Emergency grooming?”

  “Funny.” He had definitely spent too much time with the Clearys. I showed him the stiletto.

  He shrugged. “Better than nothing,” he said. He walked into the back, where he kept the main gun lock-up.

  He was a hard man to impress.

  Darren was on his way down the stairs. “I haven’t told the boys anything yet,” he said.

  “Well, we’re going to have to think of something quick,” I said. I told him about talking to Belliveau. I threw my brush back into my bag, and pulled out a bottle of water. I felt sweaty and flustered. I wasn’t looking forward to a police visit, and the boys would know who was at the door as soon as the bell rang. We had monitors with a live feed of the entrances in every room.

  What can I say? Security and privacy don’t always go hand in hand.

  “The truth,” Rosen said, from around the corner. “Tell them the truth.”

  I looked at Darren. “He’s right. I’ll meet you up there in five.” Darren nodded and took the stairs two at a time. I poured water into my mouth and called Paul Belliveau. I’d almost forgotten, which would have meant that he’d probably have helicopters and, who knew, a SWAT team coming.

  “I’m in the car,” Belliveau said by way of greeting.

  “I’m home. Safe as houses.” I watched Rosen doing push-ups. The man was a machine. And, like me, seemingly unable to stay still when he was waiting for trouble. “Darren and I are about to tell the boys. Any chance we could avoid a whole gang of cops showing up at my door?”

  “I’ll be there in three hours,” he said. “I called in a couple of favors. You’re not in my division but I’ll take your statement myself.” He swore, and I heard his car horn. “I’m getting off the phone, Danny. Call me again if you hear from Fred, or if you hear… anything.”

  I assured him I would, and trudged up the stairs to talk to the boys. It was not a conversation I was looking forward to.

  * * *

  Matty, Luke, and Eddie were all sprawled on the floor of the third-floor family room, the boys’ sanctuary, and where we tended to congregate for movies. They paused the game when I came in. I sat on the floor, cross-legged. Darren, who was sitting on the couch opposit
e me, looked nervous. He did not have a poker face.

  “What’s going on?” Matty said. “Did something happen to Fred?” The boys didn’t call Fred “Dad”, and I’d never had the heart to ask any of them if that was a new thing since Ginger had died, or if they never had. I couldn’t remember them calling him anything when I’d gone to California to visit them all, years ago.

  “He’s fine,” Darren said. Eddie stood up as if to leave, but I motioned for him to stay.

  “It’s okay, Eduardo,” I said. “No secrets, remember?” It was something we’d drilled into the kids. We tried to be honest with them, even with things kids their age shouldn’t have to hear. But they’d had an unconventional upbringing, and to keep them safe we had to live a different way. They understood that. I hoped they understood that.

  “I went to meet Fred after dinner,” I said. “He was at a pub down the road.” Honesty is one thing, but telling the boys that their father had been hanging out at a strip club night after night was not, in my view, necessary.

  “But you’re all dressed up,” Luke said.

  “Luke, I’m wearing lipstick,” I said, and laughed. “Honest to God, you guys drive me crazy sometimes. Can’t a girl put on lipstick in this house?”

  “Not if that girl is you, apparently,” Darren said. “You scared us.” He pretended to shiver in horror, and the boys laughed. I threw a cushion at him.

  “So what’s the problem? Did you and Fred get into a fight? Argument, I mean.” Matt was trying not to use the words “fight” and “argument” interchangeably, at Rosen’s urging.

  “No. What happened was, just as I arrived, I saw your dad getting into a car and driving away. And his phone’s off.” I cleared my throat. “It was a big car, sort of like a small limousine. A town car. And Fred got into the backseat.”

  Luke and Matty looked at each other. I had no idea what they were communicating to each other, but the way they did it reminded me so much of Ginger and me that I nearly welled up. I shook my head and willed it away.

  “Now, here’s the sort of scary part,” I said. “There was a man already in the backseat when Fred got in, and I think – I think, I’m not a hundred percent sure – that it was Michael Vernon Smith.”

  Eddie stood up, then. He’d been trained and schooled like everybody else under this roof, and he knew that name. He knew that Michael Vernon Smith was the reason why we lived with so much security, and he knew that Smith was responsible for his friends’ mother’s death. “I’m ready,” he said. “I’ll kill that man if he does anything bad.” Eddie was ten, and small for his age. But I’d seen him training with Rosen, and the kid was fearless. His fists were clenched, and he looked fierce.

  “Come here, Eddie,” I said, and patted the floor next to me. “Sit with me.” I kept my eyes on the twins. Eddie hesitated but did what I said. I put my arm around him and kissed his temple. “I feel safer knowing you guys have been working with Rosen. And I trust you with my life. With all our lives.” I grabbed his chin and looked him in the eye. “But you are not going to have to kill him. Okay? You’re safe. We’re all safe here,” I said, and looked at the boys.

  “Fred’s not,” Luke said.

  “Danny isn’t even totally sure it was Smith, guys,” Darren said gently.

  “No,” I said. “And Paul is on his way here right now to talk to me, and take a statement.” They loved Paul, especially Matty. He remembered Paul from the hospital, on the horrible night when I’d sat powerless over my husband’s body as he bled out. Jack and I had gone to rescue the twins from their kidnappers, and it had gone very wrong. At the hospital, Paul Belliveau was the only person in authority who insisted that a traumatized Matty be allowed to stay with me, when the nurses wanted us in separate rooms. “Remember, every law enforcement agency in the country – and in the States, and everywhere – is looking for this man. If it was him, they’ll find him.”

  “You’ll find him,” Matty said. He looked me dead in the eye. His were so much like mine, deeply set and intense. “You’ll find him, Auntie, and you’ll kill him.” I held Matty’s stare, and nodded, a micro-nod that only he would notice.

  “We have to find Fred though,” Luke said. “Why aren’t you guys out looking for Fred?” He had tears on his face, and my heart broke, right there in my chest. If Matty was like me, Luke was the image of his mother, and there were times it was almost painful for me to look at him. Of the two boys, most people would think that Luke was the sunny, stable one. But he had been away from his family – kidnapped – for longer than Matt had, and after that it was months before he said much of anything, to anyone except his twin. Darren and I had spent many hours late at night quietly talking about, and worrying about, Luke.

  “Luke, if we had any idea where to look, we would,” Darren said. “But the police are looking, and they’re looking hard. And remember, we’re not even sure…”

  Luke got up and left the room, and a second later his bedroom door slammed. Darren started to go after him, but Matt was already halfway across the room, and stopped him. “He’ll be okay,” he said. He looked at me. “Just find them.” And he followed his brother down the hall.

  I gave Eddie a squeeze, then stood up. “Darren, maybe you should take Eddie down and have a chat with Marta and Mama E. Put them in the picture.”

  “I can do that,” Eddie said.

  “Yup, you can,” Darren said, “but I’m going with you. I didn’t get enough to eat at dinner. I want to raid your fridge.” He grabbed the kid by the shoulders and marched him out, and as they left the room I heard Eddie advising Darren not to tell his mother, Marta, that he hadn’t gotten enough dinner. She’d never forgive herself. She wouldn’t stop until she got him fat.

  I paced back and forth. I tried Fred’s cell again, leaving a third message. I looked at the time. Paul Belliveau wouldn’t be here for at least two and a half hours.

  Waiting. I can’t do waiting.

  I wanted crack so badly I thought I was going to lose my mind.

  I thought of Matty’s eyes, the look he’d given me. I thought of Luke, and all he’d been through, and how much he was like Ginger. I thought of everything both boys had endured: losing their mother violently, and being kidnapped, torn away from their home, from their home country, even. I couldn’t let them lose their father too. He might not have been the most hands-on parent, and my feelings about Fred were at best complicated, but Luke was right: I couldn’t sit here while Fred was out there with that man.

  And even if I was wrong, even if that wasn’t Smith in the back of the town car, who was it? Why was Fred’s phone off? He never turned his phone off. He was addicted to technology, refused to even put it on “Do Not Disturb” when he slept.

  No. Luke was right. I couldn’t stay inside the safety of this fortress while a member of my family was in danger. Darren and Rosen were here, and Belliveau was on his way.

  I took the stairs two at a time down to the main level and grabbed my bag where I usually left it. I peeked around the corner and saw that the light was on in Rosen’s bathroom. I went around to the door at the back, through the gym, and to my car, a basic Honda, but with bullet-proof windows that Dave had had installed for me. He “knew a guy”. Dave knew guys everywhere.

  I should have done our safety checks before I peeled out, but I wanted to be off the property before Rosen came after me. A block away, I pulled over and sent a text to Rosen and Darren, saying:

  Back soon. Everything’s fine. Stay there.

  We had GPS on all our vehicles, so if they wanted to know where I was they could find me. That old trade-off of privacy versus security, and we had opted for security.

  I chucked my phone back into my bag, and pulled into traffic.

  I felt better. I was not one for inaction. Unless, of course, crack cocaine was involved, in which case I could happily stay rooted to the same spot for days. Or at least, the old me could.

  A few minutes later, I was pulling into the parking lot behind Helen of
Troy.

  This was where Fred had been beaten up. This was where he had told his new stripper friend all about his life. And this was where Fred had gotten into a car with the man who’d killed his wife.

  Someone in this building knew where Fred had been taken.

  And I was going to start with the stripper.

  NINE

  After the adrenaline flow of the last couple of hours, I somehow thought that walking into Helen of Troy would be dramatic, that the music would scratch to an abrupt stop and every head would turn in my direction in a moment of dramatic silence when a female customer entered alone.

  In fact, if it hadn’t been for the stripper stage, it could almost pass for a regular bar. The décor was a bit dated, despite the promising exterior, and the servers were slightly more buxom than in your average bar. Unless Hooters was your average bar. Their skirts were ridiculously short, but I’d seen female wait staff in outfits nearly as revealing in my Summer of the Prowl. The bouncer at the door barely glanced at me, engrossed as he was in his sudoku. As I paused inside the doorway, surveying the room – and clocking washrooms and exits – a waitress balancing a tray of four pints of beer cheerfully told me to sit wherever I liked. The place appeared to seat maybe two hundred people, and was about half full. People at maybe half of those tables seemed to be eating food. From a glance, the cheerful stripper onstage really did look like she could be working herself through college, and the music wasn’t overly loud.

  All in all, I’d been in pseudo-English chain pubs here in town that had more atmosphere of danger or sleaze. This was the place where the girls were being forced to turn tricks against their will? True, it was still early, but I could only see three or four dancers working the tables to sell lap dances. At first blush, I couldn’t even spot any private rooms, or VIP rooms, where the girls could take their high-rolling customers for more effective wallet-bilking.

  There were two business types chatting quietly at the bar, sharing a plate of calamari. I took a stool at the other end of the bar, and wished like hell I could smoke in here. What’s the world coming to when you can’t smoke in a strip club?